by Jasmin Kaur
“You sure?”
Truthfully, my Eleven costume was a flimsy barrier between me and the chilly air. Goose bumps were quickly popping up across my arms. “Nope. I retract my statement. I’ll take it.”
He passed me his thick bomber jacket and gazed at the night sky, brown skin glowing beneath light that emanated from the party. “No stars out tonight.”
“Technically, the stars are always out. We just can’t see them.” I bumped into his shoulder as we strolled across the grass, darkness growing as we drifted from the house.
“What you mean?”
“In the city, the lights are so bright they block out the stars. If you go to, like, a mountain, or somewhere far from light pollution, you can see the entire galaxy.”
“Guess I should go find us a mountain, then.” He placed an arm over my shoulder and instantly, my stomach somersaulted. If we weren’t in near darkness, he would’ve seen my cheeks go hot red and blotchy. Breathe, I told myself, trying not to ruin what could be a cute moment with nervous sweating and a complete lack of chill. I channeled my inner “nonchalant Sunny” as I searched for his hand and grasped on.
“I’d be down for that,” I said, voice smooth as silk and heart pulsing.
“Yeah? You, me, and a mountain, right? Not you, me, and Jeevan?”
“Just you and me,” I laughed.
He turned toward the house, where deafening bass from the party broke into the outdoors. I could trace his lips, perfectly framed by his beard, under the warm light spilling from the windows. The corners of his mouth were upturned, an almost-grin. “You know, you’re nothing like what I imagined.”
“What you mean?” I asked.
“Promise you won’t get mad?” A soft breeze carried his cedar cologne toward me and he didn’t shiver, despite the wind.
“I make no promises.”
“All right . . . I knew you were artsy and shit. I thought that would mean you wouldn’t wanna chill with a Jack.”
“You’re not a Jack!” I laughed, playfully batting his chest.
“What’s your beef with Jacks?” he gasped, faux offended. “I don’t deny my Jack-ness. I celebrate it.”
“Love that.” I grinned. “Not gonna lie. I assumed stuff about you as well.”
“Like what?”
“Promise you won’t get mad?” I asked.
“Pinky swear.” He gently grasped my wrist and locked my pinky into his, just like Jeevan and I always did. When he released my pinky, he clasped my hand in his, holding it tight.
“Back before I knew you, I thought you were just like Mani. Fighting and selling weed and shit. People kinda see you as the same person.”
He loosened his grip around my hand ever so slightly.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Mani’s annoying but . . . there’s more to guys like him than just fighting and selling weed, you know? He’s a person. Not just a—a Surrey Jack meme or something.”
“My bad,” I whispered, embarrassed to have even said something so judgmental.
“You’re good, Sahaara.” He threw an arm around my shoulder, drawing me closer. “Don’t stress. I guess it’s just a little tiring to feel like we have to live inside of, like . . .”
“A box?”
“Yeah. Exactly.” Sunny said nothing further. Instead, he returned his attention to the seamless black sky. Despite his insistence that he wasn’t upset, I couldn’t help but feel bad. I tried to remind myself that he had his own preconceived notions about me as well. I was stirred from my thoughts when his voice, at once deep and soft, fell through the darkness. “Can I ask you something?”
“Go for it.”
“What do you see in me?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re cool as hell, Sahaara. And you’re mad creative. And you’re going places. Why are you chilling with me?”
Sunny’s vulnerability continued to surprise me, chipping away at my caution in tiny increments until I could see nothing but my mouth pressed up against his. “First of all, just ’cause you’re not into abstract art, it doesn’t mean you’re not creative.” I laughed. “And just ’cause you don’t have everything figured out,” I continued, “it doesn’t mean you’re not going places.”
He opened his mouth as if gearing up to argue my point, but instead, he sighed, something recalibrating in his features. “I guess.”
“And you care. A lot. Way more than you let on.” A smile curled around my lips. I toyed with the brim of his hat as if my heart wasn’t pounding and his mere closeness wasn’t making it hard to think straight. I swallowed and said exactly what was on my mind before my nerves got the best of me. “You also happen to have gorgeous eyes. Even though you hide them for no good reason.”
He cracked up. “Shit, if I knew you felt that way, maybe I’d show ’em off.” He flipped his cap around and his dark eyes came into view under the moonlight. I searched for those flecks of wildflower honey that sometimes flickered beneath the sun. I wandered the constellation of beauty marks above his brow, grazing them with my thumb. For the first time, he shivered.
“You’re a beautiful person, Sunny. Fuck the assumptions people make. Even mine.”
“Can I ask you something else?” He released his arm from around my shoulder and turned to face me.
“Go for it.”
“Would it be okay if I . . . kissed you?”
I answered with my lips, soft against his. He wrapped his arms around my waist and drew me close, the music from the house floating away. When he kissed me back, my skin was not ablaze with his touch. Instead, his mouth cooled everything down, brought time to a slow, blissful halt.
He gently pulled his lips away and stroked my cheek. “You know you’re amazing, right?”
“Wait a minute,” I dramatically gasped. “Are you—Sunny Sahota—catching feelings?!”
“Pleeease,” he drawled, pulling me a little closer. “I don’t catch feelings.”
“Yeah, sure you don’t.” I slowly pried my eyes from his to check the time on my cell.
My heart short-circuited: Ten missed calls from Mom. Twelve texts.
Sunny glanced at the screen. “Oh, shit. Someone’s in trouble.”
Unlike my pulse, my fingers moved sluggishly as I tried to unlock my phone.
Mom: Where are you?
Mom: Sahaara, where are you?
Mom: You’re not with Jeevan. Where did you go?
Mom: Hello?
Mom: Pick up your phone
Mom: Hello??????
Mom: HELLO????
Mom’s text messages went on and on in increasing levels of freak-out. “What the hell?! It’s only ten thirty. She wasn’t supposed to be home for at least an hour! Shit! SHIIIIT!”
“Okay, try to calm down—”
“What should I—shit!—I should just go home now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Like the Cinderella I wasn’t, I made for the gate that led out of Mani’s backyard.
Sunny trailed after me. “Hold up! How are you getting home?”
“With my feet,” I called over my shoulder, pushing open the gate, sprinting across the driveway.
“Sahaara—just wait! It’s at least a twenty-minute walk. Lemme see if I can get you a ride home.”
Even through my heart-pounding panic, I calculated that he was right. “Okay, um, please be quick.” Sunny zipped back into the house as I paced the driveway between a maze of cars.
How had Mom known I wasn’t with Jeevan? I fumbled with my phone again as I reread her messages. Jeevan still hadn’t responded.
Sahaara: Mom, I’m with my friend. I’m coming home right now.
Mom: WHERE ARE YOU?
I froze for a moment and tried to collect my thoughts. No matter what I said, I was in deep shit.
Sahaara: Sorry . . . I was trick-or-treating with my friend. It got late. Sorry. I’m coming right now.
Mom: Where are you? Who are you with? I’m coming to get you.
Sahaara:
No I have a ride
The screen immediately glowed blue with a phone call from Mom. I let it ring without answering.
ਪੰਗਾ / panga / trouble
The front door swung open before I could even find my house key.
“Tu andar aaja.” Mom told me to come inside without so much as a hello. “Who were you out with?” She scanned the driveway in search of said person.
“Mom, calm down! I was just trick-or-treating. I was with a girl from school.” I hastily racked my brain for the best name to drop: someone whose parents Mom wouldn’t know. “Rhea Gill.”
“Acha? You were trick-or-treating with Rhea Gill?” Her large eyes brimmed with fury. They pierced right through my skin.
“Yes!”
“What happened to Jeevan?”
“He couldn’t come. He had too much homework.”
“Homework, huh?” There was a hint of laughter in her voice, as if my excuse was beyond belief.
“Yesssss!” I doubled down, committing to my lie. “He forgot about his social studies project. How’s that my fault?”
“If you went trick-or-treating, where’s your candy?”
Shit. I dropped the first excuse that came to me. “I was so stressed about you flipping out at me that I left my bag with her and literally ran home!”
Mom shook her head slowly, no anger dissolving. I kicked off my sneakers and flew past her to get to my room.
“So, explain to me why I’m coming home from work, sitting at a stoplight in Jeeto Aunty’s car, and Jeevan and his mom pull up next to us. And I ask his mom where you are, and she says she had no idea about trick-or-treating. That Jeevan never even mentioned it to her.”
I froze on the stairs without looking back at Mom. Why hadn’t Jeevan messaged me? Why hadn’t he given me a heads-up?
“Just explain to me why, if you were going trick-or-treating with this Rhea girl, you wouldn’t have just told me that in the first place? Why’d you say you were going with Jeevan? I wasn’t born yesterday, Sahaara. Where’d you actually go?”
“Fine, Mom. I didn’t go trick-or-treating. I went to the party. Happy?”
“Give me your phone.”
“What? Why?!” I held my phone tight in my sweaty palm, ready to defend it.
“Do I go to work for you to lie to me and go running off to god knows where? You want me to trust you more? And let you go out and have a phone? Whose house was this party even at?!”
Frustration welled up in my eyes and spilled over the edges. “Mom, you’re not the only one who goes to work. I literally work my ass off after school, I take extra shifts at the bookstore and get all my homework done but if I want to do one fun thing, you completely flip out! I do this shit for you and you still treat me like a little kid who can’t take care of herself. I DIDN’T EVEN DO ANYTHING BAD!”
From her Polaroid-still shock, I could see that the words stung. But my rage was bright crimson, too raw for remorse.
She looked just above my head as she said, “Give me the phone.”
I dropped it in her hand and turned around, walking straight to my room. My nosebleed makeup now mingled with my tears and I haphazardly wiped it away, shutting the door behind me. Mom immediately pried it open.
“Sahaara, I’m talking to you! Don’t just walk away from me.”
“Says the woman who walks away whenever she’s mad,” I mumbled under my breath, getting into my unmade bed and forcefully pulling the covers over me. “Can’t even look at me when I point out the truth.”
“Sahaara? Hello, we’re still having a conversation.” The hardwood floor creaked where she paced the room.
“What’s there to say?”
“You still haven’t told me whose party you went to! Or who you were with.”
There was nothing to lose at this point. I threw caution to the wind and told her. “It was Mani’s house party, Mom. And I was there with my friend Sunny, who—oh my god!—is a boy.”
“Who is this Sunny? I’ve never heard of him before. And who’s Mani? Were his parents there? Were people drinking?”
“I wasn’t drinking, Mom,” I said from beneath the covers. “I literally just went there to hang out with my friend, and I didn’t do anything bad. I’m freakin’ responsible and you act like I’m gonna snort coke or something.”
“Sahaara, it’s not that. I obviously know you’re not going to snort cocaine. And yes, you are responsible. But you don’t understand other people, Sahaara. Not everyone else is responsible. Or has good intentions.”
“Do you really think I don’t have enough common sense to not do things just ’cause other people are?”
I felt the mattress sink where she sat down at the end of the bed. “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about boys, Sahaara. Men. Who is this Sunny guy?”
“He’s my friend from school. And he’s a good guy.” She didn’t need to know that I kissed him.
“And how do you know that? How do you know he’s a good guy?”
“Because . . . I just do, Mom. He’s Jeevan’s friend from basketball and he’s gone to Jameson since eighth grade and he’d never try anything weird with me.”
“You don’t understand, Sahaara. I’m just trying to keep you safe. Boys only care about one thing. Even if they act like they care about you. You can’t just trust them . . . you never know what could happen when you’re alone—”
“Yeah? And is Jeevan the same? Does he only care about one thing?”
“We’ve known Jeevan for years. I’ve known Jeevan for years. I’ve never heard of this Sunny guy before today.”
“I know what you’re implying, Mom. But Sunny isn’t a shitty person. He’s not gonna rape me or some shit.”
With the covers still over my head, I felt Mom slowly rise from my bed. I peeked out from beneath my blanket to watch her walk toward the door.
“Mom. When am I getting my phone back? I have work on Friday.”
She said nothing as she left the room.
trigger
breathe. distract. forget.
breathe. distract. forget.
breathe. distract. forget.
breathe. distract. forget.
breathe. distract. forget.
breathe. distract. forget.
breathe. distract. forget.
breathe. distract. forget.
breathe. distract. forget.
breathe. distract. forget.
choke. distract. forget.
choke. tremble. forget.
choke. tremble. recall.
break.
b r ea k.
b re ak.
b r eak.
so how was your night?
the next day
we both turned up at school with puffy eyes
and no cell phones.
and i broke the silence with
why don’t you go first
so jeevan took a deep breath
and recalled the bullshit
right from the beginning.
he told me that
he came home from school
to the type of day that he dreaded:
dad yelling and cussing
and blaming it all on mom
he told me that
he tried to calm everyone down
but containing a fire to one spot
on a carpet was almost impossible
he told me that
his dad smashed his phone against
the tiles and held him against the wall
before his mom finally agreed
to go to her brother’s house
he told me that
he returned home in the morning
relieved his dad wasn’t there
and all the things
i wanted to vent about
evaporated into thin air
insubstantial before
the bruises he carried.
by the end of november
i’d already told him too much
i didn’t want to b
e a burden when jeevan was exhausted
so when i’d catch sunny in the hallway between classes
or shooting three-pointers on the basketball court
or lying in the grass, following the clouds
something made me want to spill my guts
maybe it was the way he looked at me
like my eyes were a film he didn’t bore of
maybe it was how my worries went still
each time his velvet lips tasted mine
maybe it was a weight i was desperate to unload
in arms that held me like i was more magical
than a friend
whatever the reason
i forced myself to keep the deepest secret
he knew that mom left punjab
and raised me on her own
he knew that my bibi
wasn’t mine by birth
but he didn’t know
mom was undocumented.
an honest self-portrait
girl with a patchwork body
a living, breathing form
fueled by questionable blood
i washed white over the canvas
and began with a blank slate
first
i built the scaffolding of my features
in soft 4h pencil outlines
soon the underlayers
then every shade of purple pigment
in murky blots and watercolor vortexes
i riddled my skin with holes
all the places where my absent dna
haunted me
i filled the dark emptiness with silver stars
begging for illumination
imagining the healing balm of clarity.
flirting with temptation
art school was a mishri-sweet daydream
a mouthwatering illusion just out of reach
even with a full scholarship
creativity would never pay the bills
or support my mom
or soften her callused palms
but mr. kim insisted that
the grant could be within my grasp
because my paintings exhaled and cried
and trembled
just fill out the form!
he said
what’s the worst that could happen
