My English teacher mind never turns off: he’s speaking in metaphor, a bit cliché, but I like it. I guess I like him, too. From my inebriated bubble, I glance at Emily, giving her a thumbs-up with my eyes. Then I remember the words Angela had said, No preconceived stereotypes rammed down your throat. No society dictating what’s right and what’s wrong … If only others were more open, then they would see that there are a helluva lot of people out there to love.
I thought of those words now, and how badly I reacted when Emily had told me about her New Year’s date, just hours earlier when we were getting ready at my place.
“So, you like this guy?”
“Yeah … um … I think so.”
“Why the hesitation?”
She stops putting on mascara, peers at me, “There’s one thing that is kind of bothering me. And I don’t want to tell you.”
My interest is suddenly piqued. “Come on, tell me!”
A heavy silence fills the bathroom.
“Okay, let me guess: he’s got a good job, but they don’t pay spousal benefits,” I tease. “Or he has got four crazy sisters … or … he is sweet but only has a two-incher.”
“Stop it, Thair!” she exclaims, then laughs. “Now you are making me feel bad. I guess it’s not that big of a deal, but it just feels weird.”
“Okay, spit it out.”
“He was in … jail.”
“Jail? You’re kidding!”
“NO, I am not kidding. But he got out four years ago. He took some classes from a particular program and then got a job at the Department of Social Services.”
“What did he do? Kill someone?”
“Geez, Thair, you are always so dramatic. No, he didn’t kill anyone. He was in for five years after getting in a … fight and … um … stabbing someone.”
“What? So, he is violent!”
“There’s more to the story.”
“What more could there be? Damn, Emily, you sure know how to pick them.”
Emily turns around, back towards me, and I instantly feel awful for what I said.
“I’m sorry, Emily. I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did, Miss I-get-every-perfect-guy-to-fall-in-love-with-me.”
“Hey, that’s not nice.”
“Well, what you said wasn’t nice either.”
I couldn’t believe we were fighting like school girls. This is how Emily and I had gone back and forth over our twenty-year friendship. We were the best of friends, but we were often cruel, attacking each other with words, then feeling guilty after. At almost thirty-two, I had finally learned when it was time to back down.
“I’m sorry, Em, really. I guess I expected you to say that he was in for selling pot or a DUI. Stabbing someone makes me think that he is … well … kind of dangerous.”
“You know, he may have been, but I really feel like he’s one of those that change. That really change. He is smart and funny. And open. We can talk for hours on end. I also respect the fact that he helps so many, every day, with the work he does. You know, he started as a simple office assistant, and now he runs seminars for teenagers because the psychologist he works with saw his potential.”
“Well, good then, if you are happy, then I am happy, and I will try not to judge him. Okay?” I say this while still being worried about my best friend, stabbing someone?
“So do you want another Guinness or not?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey. Yes, please.”
“Can I get anything for you two?” Ravi asks our friends.
Mark sees Emily’s full drink, “No, we’re good, thanks.” Mark is drinking Coke.
After another Guinness, I want to move again. “Ravi, let’s go dance.” His nose scrunches up like he has just sucked on a lemon.
“Naaah. Go with Emily if you want.” Ravi doesn’t really like to dance. He likes to excel at all he does, and it seems as if God, or Shiva, gave him two left feet. But I don’t care. My partner could be John Travolta, Justin Timberlake, or Roger Rabbit; it doesn’t matter. I just want someone who loves to be on the dance floor as much as I do, to feel the music, to feel the thrill of just letting go; to shake, move, rattle, roll, do whatever. But Ravi prefers to sit on the sidelines and watch. Once in a while, he dances, but I know he only does it to make me happy.
Just as AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long,” blasts through the speakers Ravi says, “Ready to go, Thair?”
“Can we dance this one first? Pleeease?”
Another scrunched-up face, “Okay, but after, let’s go, okay?”
“Yay!” I say as I sashay onto the dance floor and begin to jump up and down like a teenager.
Ravi is moving his hips slightly to the left and right, laughing at my enthusiasm but a bit embarrassed that his mature girlfriend is jumping up and down. He looks a bit awkward, not sure how to move, but it’s sweet. I think I really like this guy. It’s too soon for love, but in the last few months, he has certainly made me happy.
Early November, 2002
Ravi and I have just made love, slow, rhythmic. I get up to put on a pot of coffee, and when I walk back in the room, Ravi has a serious look on his face. Oh no, I recognize that look.
“Thair, can we talk?”
I tie my silky robe tighter around my waist and sit on the corner of the bed.
Ravi is leaning against the headboard, pillows propping up his body. His sculpted chest is exposed; under the sheets he is still naked. I wish we didn’t have to talk, but for the last few weeks, I’ve had a feeling this was coming. The stares have gotten longer, deeper. When he holds my hand, it’s anxious, not relaxed.
“You know how much I care about you, right?”
“Yes,” I state hesitantly.
“Every time I bring up marriage or children you always change subjects. I want to talk about it. All the way this time.”
My shoulders sag, my robe opens slightly, my breast—my heart—no longer concealed. Of one thing I am certain: I don’t want to marry Ravi. The worst part is I don’t know why. It has nothing to do with him. It has everything to do with me. Something, just something, isn’t right. I can’t hide it anymore. I was giving this relationship a chance, but something has always been a bit off. I am not going to allow myself to slip down a hole and become isolated again, but this relationship is starting to make me feel uncomfortable, my discordant view of love, intolerable, even to me. I do like being with Ravi. I just don’t want to marry him. Not now. Maybe one day? I don’t know. I’m just not sure.
“All the way, Thair. We need to talk.”
I sit on the on the corner of the bed as he continues.
“You’ve known since we met that I want to get married. I want to have kids. I want a family. I am thirty-nine years old and I still live at home. No one in America lives with their parents until they are almost forty. I’m graduating next month, I already have a good job lined up, and I want to start a real life.”
Real life? I think to myself. What has the last year been? A fake life?
“Thair, I have a ring and a date. And I have two names on that ring. You are the first name, but I am ready. I will be married by this time next year.”
All I hear is the “two names” part. A slight jab in the heart. “Two names?” I say out loud. I should be furious, but mostly I am confused.
“Thair, I have never cheated on you. But there is another woman. I don’t want her, but I want to get married. I want to be a father. And damn it, it’s you I want. He pauses then adds, “You are the love of my life. Undoubtedly. Unequivocally.” The love of my life. I repeat the words in my head. He has never spoken with such passion before. The words “I love you” slipped out of his mouth after we had been dating for only four months and had one too many Cadillac Margaritas. I was a bit surprised to hear the “L” word so soon but responded in kind, though my “I love you” was more like a “Yes, I like you a lot, too.” I didn’t feel it in my heart, but it made me happy to see him happy. And those three silly words would alwa
ys make him beam.
“Thair, there is a family in India that my mother has been in contact with over the years, and they have a daughter who has always been the one chosen for me. I know it sounds ridiculous, someone chosen in this day and age, but it’s true. I never thought that I would marry her. I was always waiting for my Thair. And now that I found her, I just don’t understand why she is so distant at times.”
Slumping, I am again on the verge of tears. I don’t want to disappoint this good, good man.
“What’s wrong? Please. Please talk to me.”
“I don’t know. It’s this dumb thing about Zeus,” I hear myself say.
“What?” His voice raises, the blood adding crimson to his altered face, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I don’t know how to explain it …”
In a quiet voice, I hear myself say: “I do care about you, but I … I’m sorry … you are not the love of my life. Maybe there is no such thing for me. But there’s also a part of me that is so stupid, such a damn romantic, that I still believe when I find it, I will just know.”
It doesn’t make sense, not even to me. Ravi is ideal … and I am not getting any younger. I’m already thirty-three. What am I thinking?
After Ravi leaves, I figure that I will never see him again. Surprisingly, I don’t cry, but I am suffering nonetheless. He knew how I felt about children but thought he could change my mind. I did enjoy his company—I just couldn’t make a commitment for life.
Thair’s Story
Encinitas
December, 2002
Thair didn’t want to go to Emily’s annual Christmas party, too many people and too many questions. Last year she was there with her new boyfriend, Ravi, and this year she was alone—again. In her thirties, never married, never engaged. Apart from her recent breakup, life was moving along just fine. Thair was assigned classes regularly at the local community colleges, she had just remodeled her condo with hardwood floors, and the best thing was that her mother was cancer free, six months and counting!
The last two years were the worst and best of her life. On one hand, she had met a decent man who really seemed to understand her. Ravi was so patient, so helpful when it came to Phaedra. When Thair could not accompany Phaedra to an appointment, Ravi always stepped in. He was filling the shoes of a son-in-law with ease, not going because he had to, but because he wanted to. After only a few months of dating, Ravi had invited Phaedra and Thair over to his parents’ house for a fabulous Indian dinner. Ravi’s mother had cooked lamb rogan josh and chicken tikka masala, vegetable biryani, and there were all sorts of goodies on the side: samosas, chaat, and mutter paneer—a total feast. Lots of Johnny Walker Blue was poured that marked it as a night of true celebration.
From the moment they met, the mothers adored each other. They shared similar stories, similar lives: both were foreigners who had left their countries, making the US their home. And they both loved it here. Neither had any desire to return to their native country. More than lacking the desire to return, they no longer felt close to their country, saying that their lives before the US seemed so foreign, a distant memory, part of their past. Though Ravi’s parents were quite modern, they held on to certain traditions and were against the relationship initially. They learned to accept Thair, and the invitation for dinner with Thair’s mother was their way of telling Ravi that they would, begrudgingly, support his choice.
Ravi’s mother had chosen another woman for her son, but after meeting Phaedra, she decided Thair was, indeed, suitable wife material. It did not really matter what Thair thought; after the delightful dinner, she was convinced Thair was the one for her son and agreed with Ravi that he had found a good woman. She planned to write a letter to the other Indian family, saying that her son had chosen his own wife, a Greek-American woman, a woman with strong values. Both mothers planned Ravi and Thair’s wedding in their heads; it was a match made in Orthodox and Hindi heaven. Even though Thair’s mother was going through radiation, she was happier than she had ever been. Her daughter had met Mr. Right. Mr. Presentable. Mr. Happily-Ever-After. He had a solid family, was finishing his PhD, and wanted to start a family right away. It was all so perfect. At least that’s the way it looked to Phaedra.
There was a part of Thair that hoped over time she might fall deeply in love with Ravi, so she shielded her mother from the truth: that deep down she always knew Ravi was not “The One.”
It made Phaedra so happy to hear stories about the two of them. While Thair and her mom waited in the radiation clinic for each session, Phaedra would say enthusiastically, “Tell me, Thair, how is Ravi?”
“He’s well, Mama. Last night, we went and saw a production at the Old Globe Theatre. It was fantastic. We saw The Taming of the Shrew; it’s a Shakespearean play, the one about—”
“That’s nice, honey, so did you and Ravi do anything after?” As always, Thair’s mother had very little interest in the Arts. All she was interested in was the love story—the one where her daughter meets Mr. Right, the one where he proposes, the one where two kids are born, the one where Phaedra can finally be a yiayia. And everyone can live happily ever after.
If Phaedra was not in such a vulnerable state, Thair would have been flustered at being cut off, but during those times, Thair’s mama could do little wrong. Thair feared for her mother, and though her chances looked good, one never knew. Being in the hospital Monday through Friday made life, all of a sudden, seem so fragile.
The removal of part of Phaedra’s breast had been successful. She did not want any reconstruction and instead had two lopsided breasts; one, a full C, the other, barely a B cup. But Phaedra didn’t care. She dressed in front of Thair as if her body was in no way disfigured. She still exuded confidence and spirit. She acted like nothing in her life had changed. Thair pondered, could this be possible? Was her mom really that strong? Even when the skin turned bright purple and was obviously sensitive, Phaedra still wore a perpetual smile, one that wrapped all around her head.
With each session of radiation, Phaedra seemed stronger while her breast grew redder; she was more positive, her breast more damaged. Scratchy, dark scabs covered the entire surface of the lopsided breast. After thirty-three sessions of radiation, Thair found her mother cheerful while she was depleted. Ravi had come to about ten of the sessions, his schedule being much more flexible. And after each “visit” with Ravi, Thair’s mother was certain that her dream for her daughter was coming true, the cancer being nothing more than a temporary obstacle in her life. For Thair it was the opposite. The cancer was everything. It was something that had the power to take away her beloved mother. Her relationship with Ravi was something, but it was not everything. Early on in their relationship, she had known this in her heart, but she would not allow her brain to accept it. And now, after causing more heartbreak, for herself and for others, Thair didn’t know how to feel.
18
Encinitas, California
It’s Valentine’s Day. I can’t believe I am going over to a couple’s house instead of wallowing in my wine by myself. Rick called a few minutes ago, “Thair, what are you doing?”
“I just opened a bottle of wine,” I grumbled.
“With whom will you be having this wine, Mademoiselle Thair?”
“With my three favorite guests: me, myself, and I.” I say this as a joke because I am trying not to feel sorry for myself, but this damn holiday is the worst. Wherever you go, there is all this red. Red roses, red stuffed animals, red boxes of chocolates. I know it’s just another day, but all this romantic crap everywhere makes me feel lonelier than ever.
“Thair, just hop in your car, and come on over!” he said.
“Are you sure? I mean it is Valentine’s Day and you two …”
“Thair, I’m hanging up. We’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Okay.” I finally replied.
Thank God for Rick and Frank. Emily and Mark are celebrating some anniversary, and when I called my mom, she was already
in bed. The truth is, I really don’t want to be alone tonight. I put the cork back into the bottle of $9 Costco wine and go into my room to change. It takes me about twenty minutes to get to Hillcrest, and when I see the coral house, I already feel better.
“Hi, sweetie!” Rick says as he opens the door before I can even ring the doorbell. I stand there with a dozen red roses for the lovers (what the hell!) and a bottle of Pinot Noir, a ’97 Calera Reed. It was expensive, and I was saving it for a special occasion, but on the way out of my house, I decided tonight is special enough. Sticking both my offerings out as soon as Rick opens the door, I hand him the wine and flowers. He juggles them while simultaneously giving me a kiss on the cheek. Frank is sprawled out on the big purple couch, the “Tinky Winky” couch, as they call it. They named it that after some religious zealot cautioned parents that one of the Teletubbies subtly depicts homosexuality because it is purple with a triangle on his head; the pink triangle being a gay pride symbol, a symbol that was used by Nazis to shame homosexuals but now is embraced by the gay community. The fanatic spread fear, saying that Tinky Winky subconsciously enters the minds of toddlers and introduces them to a “gay lifestyle.” My first reaction was how absurd, but after reading the ridiculous rant in the the New York Times, I never did see Tinky Winky—with its high-pitched voice and red purse—the same way again. Now I loved Tinky Winky more.
As Frank is happily lying on his purple couch, I stand there thinking: it’s unfortunate the measures crazies take to breed ignorance rather than compassion. And so what if Tinky Winky is gay? In fact, yay! Let’s see more types of people—or creatures!—represented in our media. Frank sees me standing there pensive, puts down his magazine, and slides his legs to the side of the couch.
The Greek Persuasion Page 12
