? ? ?
Mom comes home shortly thereafter and sits with us in the living room, listening to Nuah. Mr. Ram had a stroke, the kind that shuts everything down. The funeral services are being arranged, but Nuah told us it would be cremation followed by a family-and-friends gathering. Deval would let us know the details soon.
Mom goes into action, heading to the kitchen to rummage in the cupboards for something to cook for Mr. Ram’s family.
“Vegetarians, they’re vegetarians,” I mumble. Muhammad leans over and rests a hand on my arm. That just makes the tears spill.
Nuah stands and says he has to leave, that he’d let Mr. Ram’s friends at the community center know. I nod. Thursdays without Seniors Game Club?
I say salaams to Nuah and good-bye to Tats and lie on the couch with my eyes wide open. The smell of chickpea sauce begins to meander into the living room, and I spring up.
I watch Mom stirring the pot, still in her work clothes. Missiles of brown sauce bits launch out of the bubbling pot and land on her white shirt. She wipes the spatters away absentmindedly before scattering a teaspoon of salt into the chickpeas.
It dawns on me: Mom’s never been glam because she makes no time for extras. Only for taking care of the things that need to be taken care of.
So why does she want to become this other person Auntie Maysa thinks she should be? To meet her match?
I’d rather have her be the Mom she’s always been.
I drape my arms around her shoulders and rest my head on the nearest one. It’s been a long time since I’ve given her a hug on my own, and, after a moment of tensed surprise, she turns to me and hugs me back.
“Can I take the food over to Mr. Ram’s family?” I mumble into her scarf.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll come, of course.” She turns back to lower the heat and cover the pot. “I’ll change; just let it burble here. If you smell something burning, take it off the burner. Let it sit.”
That’s Mom’s idea of cooking: Let it burble but don’t let it burn and let it sit. Her food is edible but not the kind you relish.
I feel bad saying this about her cooking because I know she doesn’t have much time and that she does the throw-everything-in-a-pot method due to that, but right now, it feels too similar to what’s happening inside me.
Burbling bits of stuff about to burn.
? ? ?
I call Sausun. “What do I have to do to be in?”
“Good choice.”
“What’s your plan?”
“Don’t worry your pretty head about it. Just wait for instructions.”
“Promise me I’ll be undercover.”
“No one will know it’s you. I’ll call you later. Let me get to work.”
MISFITS
I wake up to two messages.
Dad’s: True achievement is birthed by failure. Even public failure, for then you’re guaranteed a greater audience for your eventual rising. Let your detractors watch as you arise anew.
Sausun’s: Initiated contact with enemy combatant. If he confirms, are you okay for convening at 5 tomorrow? At the Book Nook?
I have twenty minutes to change and get to school. I call Sausun as I fling things on. “What’s the plan? I need to know before participating.”
“So I called him and said I’ve got some more information on the video he sent. Something to do with you. I asked him to meet me tomorrow in the coffee shop at the Book Nook at six.”
“And?”
“And we’ll film him. And reveal his crimes to his face. Capture his reaction. Put it on YouTube. Finis.”
“Who’ll do the revealing?”
“I think it should be you, but if you want, I can participate. The beauty of it is he won’t know it’s you. You’ll be incognito.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“No, the only thing you’ll think about is if the time is okay with you. I got the wheels in motion. You asked and I delivered.”
“A good friend of mine just passed away. I’m not feeling my best.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Take care. I’ve gotta get going.”
? ? ?
I finish the exam and wait. It was pretty straightforward, like Ms. Keaton described, so I’m relieved.
After everyone leaves and she’s putting the exam booklets into her bag, I approach her with my open backpack.
“Ms. Keaton? I’m sorry to interrupt, but a friend of mine wanted you to read this.” I hold out the file folder with two hands. “It’s his view of some of Shakespeare’s plays.”
She opens the file, and we both look at the title page, “The Other in Shakespeare’s Works: A Critical Reading by Vinesh Ram.”
“Thank you. I’ll try to get at it this summer. Maybe some of it will come in handy when I teach Shakespeare again.” She puts the file in her bag.
I pause and turn to her at the door. “He passed away yesterday, so I wanted to make sure I gave it to you.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” She joins me, and we walk out together. “Were you very close?”
“I took care of him once a week. He was elderly. He loved reading.”
“Why don’t you write about him then? It really helps you when you’re grieving to do that. Capture the best points about him.”
“Maybe I should.” I wonder if I should say it, what I’m thinking. Then, because it’s the last day of English and there’s nothing left to do, I let myself blurt, “But I’ve known him for four years, and I feel like I never paid real attention to him. I’m ashamed that I don’t know much about him.”
“Ah, here’s where I can give you your favorite writer’s advice: ‘I write to discover what I know.’ Flannery O’Connor.”
I smile. “She always knows what to say. Thanks, Ms. Keaton. Have a good summer.”
“You have a wonderful summer. See you in September.” She gives me a wave by the staff room door, Mr. Ram’s file in her bag.
? ? ?
I log on to Facebook and click through the notifications letting me know I’ve been tagged and then untag myself methodically. There are sixteen new ones, from one or another of the Pringles, and that doesn’t count the J.Y. account. Don’t they have a Tiffany sale to go to or something?
I unfriend Lauren and create a new page: “Mr. Ram, You’ll Be Missed.”
Scrolling through my camera, I find Mr. Ram’s Belly-Laugh smile and upload it. His first Facebook picture.
Mr. Ram was a dedicated person—that means he didn’t let go of the things that were important to him. He was dedicated to Seniors Games Club every week. He got dressed up to go. Everyone knew he was serious about spending time with his friends, that’s how dressed up he was.