“I feel like I’m imagining things. How are you here? Why are you here? Are Ma and Daddy with you?”
You’re still not ready to speak. Jane cautiously steps forward and stands next to you.
“Jane!” Leah says. “You’re here, too? Did you come in for a show? A school trip? I’m so confused.”
No, you shake your head and keep shaking it. But the tears that were already in your eyes fall and fall.
“Oh, Ari,” Leah says and hugs you hard. It’s strange hugging her with her different body. Her baby will be your niece or nephew. You’ll be an aunt. You can’t believe it, any of it.
After Leah releases you, you see she’s crying, too. With Jane’s help, you sputter out the whole story. You tell her about the contract for the bakery, about Ma’s migraines and vertigo, about having to move, about why that made you come here today to try to find her.
“I couldn’t do it alone anymore,” you say.
She hugs you again. You can feel her body shaking.
“I never meant for it to happen like this,” she says in a thin voice. She pulls her body back, still holding on to your arms. “But why didn’t you write me back?”
“Write you back?” you say, staring at her. “But you never wrote me.”
“Ari, I wrote you so many letters, but then I stopped trying since I never heard back. I figured you were just too angry at me.”
“You did? You wrote me letters?” The sidewalk feels a little tilted as you take in what she’s saying to you. “I tried writing you. I didn’t know your address.”
“Ma finally wrote me back, but then we moved. I was angry, so I haven’t written her since. We were in student housing farther downtown, but then we found this apartment that’s cheaper. It’s only a short commute for Raj. I was going to visit after the baby comes. I thought once Ma and Daddy saw their grandchild, they wouldn’t be able to turn us away.”
“You really wrote me?” you say again, wondering if you heard wrong. “Where did the letters go?”
“Something tells me you might have to ask Ma about that,” Leah says, her face changing, becoming hard. Then she picks up her grocery bags and waves you toward her. “Come, it’s chilly. Our apartment is a few blocks from here. You can call Ma and Daddy. Jane, you can call your mom, tell her you’re safe,” she says, ushering you down the block.
You and Jane follow your sister down the busy city blocks. You all walk silently, weaving through the people, still not believing how quickly everything changed a few months ago and was now changing again just as fast. While you walk, you think of part of a poem.
The world breaks open
and suddenly you see
your sister as a mother
and your mother
as a person
You hope you’ll remember it later.
How to Be In Between
“Here we are,” Leah says, putting her key in a heavy metal door. To the left, in a dark hallway, is a row of metal mailboxes with numbers on them. Ahead is a black stairwell. You have to walk up four flights of stairs to get to Leah and Raj’s apartment. By the time you reach the fourth floor, Leah is breathing hard.
“Why didn’t you give me the bags?” You can’t believe you let your pregnant sister walk up all those stairs with groceries.
“It’s okay, I’m used to it, though Raj usually brings them up. His exams are soon, so I was trying to let him study.”
You wonder if Leah wishes she were in school, too. What has she been doing all day? Probably not playing tennis and preparing for dinner parties like some of the moms who live in the big houses in Eastbrook.
There are only three doors in the hallway. Leah goes to the one in the back. Before she walks in, she takes off her shoes and lines them up against the wall, next to a pair of men’s loafers. You both follow her lead and take off your shoes. She opens the door and lets you and Jane in first. The apartment is small, but there’s a big window ahead of you, letting in the light.
Raj is there, sitting at a little round table in a small kitchen area, with papers all around him. Against the wall to the right there’s a couch with a coffee table. To the left is an alcove with a bed covered in a blue spread. A printed tapestry hangs on the wall over the couch. That’s it. Raj looks up.
“Oh!” he says, startled. He stands and starts straightening the papers on the table. “Leah, you didn’t tell me your sister was coming.”
He smooths his hair to the side. He’s wearing a white undershirt, pants, and brown sandals. You’ve never seen a man wear sandals.
“I didn’t know myself,” she says and drops the two bags of groceries on the counter by the stove and sink, and starts to put things away. Raj just stands there. You and Jane stand there. Jane’s eyes are about to pop out of her head.
“Wow, Leah,” she says. “Your own apartment in Greenwich Village. It’s very bohemian. Or wait, are you guys hippies now?”
Leah laughs. “Is that what you think?”
“I have no idea what to think,” Jane says and plops down on the couch. You feel a hum throughout your body, but you don’t know whether it’s from being upset or happy. You are so much of both things right now.
“You call Ma. I’m not ready to talk to her yet,” Leah says and points to the big black phone hanging on the wall near the refrigerator. “We just got it connected. Before that, we had to use the pay phone down the street.”
That’s why they weren’t listed. You glance at the phone. You aren’t ready, either. You sit down next to Jane and look at her with pleading eyes.
“I’ll call my mom first,” she says and hops off the couch. Leah comes over and sits down next to you. Is this really Leah’s new life you’ve suddenly walked into?
You cautiously turn to her. “Are you happy, Leah?” you ask her.
She smiles and looks at Raj. “We’re happy together, but we don’t want to bring a baby into a family that’s split apart.”
“Can someone please tell me what’s going on here?” Raj says, rubbing his hands through his hair again, worry in his eyes.
You want to answer Raj, but you don’t know where to begin.
“I’m in the city,” Jane says into the phone. “With Ariel. I know, Mom. I’m sorry. I know!” she says and rolls her eyes.
You put your cold hands on either side of your face and stare at Jane.
“Ari,” Leah says and puts her hand on your back.
“Just tell Ari’s parents we’re with her sister,” Jane practically yells to Peggy on the phone. “We’re fine, I promise. They shouldn’t worry.” Then she pauses, listening for a moment. “Okay, but you don’t under—” More listening.
“Let me,” Leah says. She hoists herself up and takes the phone from Jane.
“Hi, Peggy, it’s Leah. Yes, the girls are with me. I know. It’s a really long story, but I think they were trying to help. Of course. We’ll be calling my parents next, but if you talk to them, tell them everything’s okay. We’ll make sure the girls get home safe.”
She tells Peggy her phone number before hanging up.
“Do Ma and Daddy have your phone number? Have you talked to them at all?” I ask after Leah hangs up.
Raj holds up a hand. “I’m sorry to interrupt again, but I’m really not clear on what exactly is happening here. How did they find us? Leah, did you give your parents the address? I thought you said you wanted to wait.”
Leah takes a deep breath. You still don’t understand why she didn’t give Ma and Daddy their new address.
“You’d better sit down,” she says to Raj. He sits back at the table, and she sits down in a chair opposite from him. You and Jane huddle together on the couch. Leah tells him about the bakery being sold, about Ma going to the hospital, about needing to move. She tells him about how you and Jane tried to track him down at NYU to find them and that she saw us a f
ew blocks away while she was out for groceries.
“Wow,” he says, leaning back in his chair, then picking up a pencil and pressing the eraser to his lips. “Wow,” he says again.
“But, Leah,” you say. “It’s like you didn’t want us to ever find you again.”
“No,” Leah says and leans forward. “That’s not what I wanted at all. Do you know how many letters I sent? I asked to come and visit. They told me I couldn’t bring Raj. That wasn’t okay with me, and still I wrote. I called. They hung up on me. Both of them, two different times.”
You swallow. “I don’t want to believe they did that,” you manage to squeak out. It makes you feel again like your parents aren’t who you thought they were. But then you think of how hard this has been on Ma. You think of Daddy on Rosh Hashanah wondering if they made a mistake. You think of them talking to Rabbi Ackerman and trying to find Leah. Can people be good and bad at the same time?
“They did,” Leah says. Your sister looks older to you, but still so young. “Ma wrote me one letter back, finally,” she continues. “Her last letter to me before I moved. We’ve only been in this new place for a month. I told you I was planning to visit after the baby comes, Ari. I wasn’t just going to disappear forever, but I needed them to know what they could lose. You didn’t deserve any of this heartache, however. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for that.”
There’s a part of you that feels a spark of anger at both Leah and Raj. You want to tell Leah that she’s right, that you didn’t deserve it, that she should have made sure somehow that you knew they hadn’t disappeared. But you look at her face, and you see a pleading in her eyes. She’s asking you to forgive her.
Leah gets up and goes over to a small white nightstand beside the bed. The bed makes you feel shy—the thought of Leah and Raj sharing it. She opens the drawer in front and takes out an envelope, carefully removes the letter, and hands it to you.
“Maybe it’s better if you just read it,” she says and goes back to the kitchen area. The folds in the letter are deep from being opened and closed many times.
“Should we start dinner?” Raj asks her.
“Make extra,” she says, smiling and reaching for his hand. He takes it, and they look at each other in that way that makes you feel as if you shouldn’t be watching.
You unfold the letter and start to read.
Dear Leah,
First I want to tell you that I love you. I will always love you. Always know that in your heart, wherever your life takes you.
You stop. This isn’t what you expected to read. You take a breath and keep going.
You may not understand why we have done what we’ve done. We were trying to stop you from making a mistake. Now you are married to a foreigner, an Indian man, a non-Jew. This is not what we hoped for.
I never told you this, but once when you were young, maybe seven, and Ari was just a baby, someone painted swastikas on the bakery windows at night. It made the local news. I was afraid to go to work the next day. My hands shook for a week. But your father said we should clean the windows and continue with business as usual. He said we needed to show that we weren’t afraid. So we did, but I was very afraid.
At the time, I regretted leaving Brooklyn for Eastbrook, but it was your father’s dream to own a bakery, and we could afford the space and send our kids to good schools. We wanted a better life for you and Ariel. We also wanted you to go to college and marry educated Jewish men, raise Jewish children, and continue to thrive as Jews. To me, that is also showing those who hate us that we aren’t afraid. Can you understand how important that is?
Eastbrook, by the way, rallied in support of us, and the bakery did better than ever for a while. But things like this, Leah, you never forget. I wish I had communicated that more to you. I wish you knew what you sacrificed when you didn’t marry someone Jewish—and on top of that, a colored man from another country. I fear for the uphill battle I’m sure you both will face as a couple. Marriage is hard enough. I’m sure he’s a good man or you wouldn’t love him, but how can your father and I support this decision?
My parents suffered so that I would suffer less. We did the same, but now you will suffer more. I can’t bear it. It breaks my heart. I’m sorry. You can still divorce. We are in modern times. We will help you raise your child. You might have another chance at marriage. Please don’t contact us unless this is your choice.
Your mother,
Sylvia
You finish the letter and lay it carefully in your lap. The smell of the onions Raj is chopping stings your nose. You’re more confused than ever. You understand a part of what your mother wants—the part about wanting to show the people who hate you that you aren’t afraid. But Leah and Raj are also showing people that they aren’t afraid. Didn’t the Lovings do that, too?
Raj has turned from the kitchen counter, where he was chopping onions. “Ariel, what did you think of the letter?” he says, surprising you.
“Raj, don’t,” Leah says.
“What?” he says.
“It’s not fair to put her on the spot. She’s not my parents.”
“I can’t ask her a question?”
Their faces look tense, and you see something between them: anger. You remember hearing Leah on the phone before she left, the argument they had. You wonder how hard it has really been for them. Not even a year ago, Leah was living at home, going to high school, and now she’s living with her husband in New York City, about to have a baby.
Raj looks away from Leah and back at you. “I don’t mean to put you on the spot, Ariel. I’m just interested in knowing what you think,” he says. “About us.”
His voice is calm. His face doesn’t seem upset. The anger between them passes.
“It’s okay,” you say. Leah is watching you carefully. “I want you to be together, but I miss my sister. I don’t want it to be like this forever. Are your parents, um, against your marriage, too?”
“They aren’t happy about it,” he says, going back to chopping. “But they talk to me. We’ve visited them a few times. They’ve come here once. But they’re disappointed and worried.”
“So do you hate my parents for what they’ve done?” I ask.
“Ari,” Leah says.
Raj heats some oil in a pan and throws the onions in. The sizzle reminds you of Ma cooking in your kitchen.
“She came all the way here, Leah, to find us, to talk to us. She should know our feelings,” Raj says to Leah.
You watch Leah’s shoulders drop, and she relaxes a little bit.
“To your parents I’m simply an Indian immigrant, a foreigner. Your parents’ views don’t surprise me, but I know this hasn’t been easy for them. My parents’ views don’t surprise me, either. They wanted me to marry a Hindu girl. They had lots of choices lined up for me. But Leah and I love each other, and there’s nothing we can do about that. It’s sad that we can’t come together, because we all know what prejudice feels like.”
He stops talking for a few seconds. The onions make little popping sounds in the pan.
“And no,” he continues. “Of course I don’t hate your parents. I understand that their feelings are complicated, but so are ours. I hope they don’t hate me, either. But Leah and I decided that we needed to be true to ourselves no matter what.”
His words hang in the air. We needed to be true to ourselves no matter what. No matter if everything stayed broken forever? Was anything worth that? Maybe if you ever fall in love, you’ll understand.
“It’s just so much,” Jane says. And then she puts her face in her hands and starts crying.
“Jane?” you ask gently. “Why in the world are you crying?”
“I don’t even know. Sometimes it feels like I’m the only kid without a dad in Eastbrook, like my mom and I are outsiders. But this, what you guys are going through”— she circles her finger ar
ound in the air—“sure is tough.” You put your arm around her shoulder. Raj brings her a tissue. She blows her nose in it, loudly.
You think about how many ways there are to feel outside of things, and settle back on the couch with Jane on one side of you and Leah on the other while Raj cooks dinner. There’s too much to think about, and your brain feels like jelly. Raj stops stirring for a moment and goes over to the little black turntable in the corner. He puts down a 45 and goes back to his post by the stove as music fills the room.
You look around this little apartment in Greenwich Village. Different sounds drift in through the window: honking, sirens, things you never hear much of in Eastbrook. There is Raj, a man in sandals, cooking dinner. Leah, your sister, has a baby growing inside her. There’s your best friend, Jane, with her red lipstick still on. A part of you doesn’t even know where you are.
You’ve heard the song before, “Respect,” by Aretha Franklin. It plays on the radio all the time. The music thumps, and her powerful voice hits your ears. Raj starts moving to the beat a little as he adds some spices to the pan with the onions, then chopped tomatoes, a can of chickpeas, and a bunch of shredded spinach. Rice boils in a pot. The warm scent is different than what your nose is used to. You’ve never smelled spices like these. Your mother mostly sticks to salt and pepper.
“You should call Ma,” Leah says, and you nod. You will in a minute, but suddenly all the confusing thoughts that have been swirling around for so long stop. Maybe it’s the music. Maybe it’s because you can feel the side of your sister’s soft arm pressing against yours, or Jane’s on the other side. Maybe it’s the delicious smell of the food Raj is cooking for all of you, but for a moment, you feel something light and easy, something like joy.
How to Find What You're Not Looking For Page 18
