Kicking the covers off, I stretch, hoping to relieve some of the discomfort from the days of doing nothing. Out of habit, I listen for footsteps, for a scream or cry. But Mom is safely encased behind her bedroom door. I think about Trisha and her request. Her need for me to stay to help her say good-bye. I used to wonder how she was doing with our parents. Imagined her catering to them while I was away. She would have done her job perfectly, as only she could.
Shaking off the malaise and the memories, I climb out of bed and switch on my computer. I surf for a few minutes, hoping to distract myself with pictures I have recently taken. When the discontentment lingers, I move on to travel sites, imagining the next place I will end up. I have been all over Europe and to most of Asia. But never back to India, a voice reminds me. Rejecting my culture felt like the natural next step when I left home. An announcement to no one listening that I was free of all the chains of my childhood. Having no definition of myself, I refuse to give significance to a place whose only meaning in my life is that it bred my father. That my mother and sisters were born there also holds little weight in comparison.
A tingling begins at the base of my spine. The need that arises when I have gone too long without relief. I struggle against it, hating myself before I begin. But like oxygen, it is my lifeline. My definition of love. Clicking on a few sites, I read until my eyes are weary. When finished, I return to my bed and find the release that eluded me. Soon I feel myself falling into a deep sleep, one guaranteed to be plagued with nightmares from my childhood.
TRISHA
From conception to birth takes approximately nine months. Thousands of sperm search for that one egg. The lucky sperm gets to fertilize it, and if all goes well, an embryo is created. That is just the beginning. Three months of nausea, three months of excitement, and then the final three months of expecting the unknown. Throughout pregnancy, there is both fear and anticipation. You pray for a healthy child without a real concept of what that means. Ten fingers and ten toes offer initial calmness. The first cry assures everyone the baby is alive. After the months of being solely responsible for its well-being, the mother can rest assured she did not make a misstep that took its life.
But the real job—raising them—begins after they come home from the hospital. If done correctly, maybe they grow up to become happy, healthy adults. If not, then all you have is a wish to return to those nine months of obliviousness, when everything seemed possible.
I had one Barbie and one Ken doll growing up; they were my prized possessions. It mattered little to me that she had blond hair and blue eyes, but Marin thought they looked strange. Her dolls from India, cut from wood, had brown bodies. Their hair, black from dye, was braided down their backs. I cared little for her dolls. Though they were a reflection of us, I was secure in the knowledge that mine were truly beautiful.
Every day I would comb their hair, rearrange their clothes, and settle them into their make-believe dollhouse. They were perfect with perfect lives. Every night I would oversee a wedding ceremony between Ken and Barbie, who would live happily ever after. Sonya asked me what happened after they were married. “They have babies, bewakoof,” I said, repeating the word for stupid that my father called her. “Everyone knows that.”
Eric comes home early from his meeting. I’ve just finished scheduling dinner with friends from the Junior League. Twice a week, I work with them on community service events. My primary job is to set up the thank-you parties for generous donors. Since Eric and I move in the same circles as many of the donors, the parties become an excuse to spend time with friends.
“An unexpected surprise.” I kiss him on the cheek and take his light coat. Shaking it out, I hang it up in the hallway closet. When I turn, he is still standing in the same place. “Is everything OK?”
Taking my hand, he pulls me close. My head nestles perfectly beneath his. He rubs his hand up and down my back and over my hair. “I love you. You know how much, right?”