Chapter 15 Salma
Salma
Ruby starts doing drop-off and pickup. We are two women approaching middle age, trapped in the same moment of history, unable to find our way out or to each other.
Poppy no longer stays after school. I am devastated by this loss.
She has forgotten me so readily, so easily.
Even though it came at the end of a long day with kids, I had come to rely on that time together.
It filled something in me. Not teacher. Not mother.
Perhaps the closest description is aunt.
And again, I’m hit by the loss of something I have never had and will never be.
There are times I almost regret having Poppy miraculously wind up in my life.
Sometimes, I send Ginger out. Sometimes, Poppy, as if detecting the unrest, says “Mamby’s here” and dashes off to meet Ruby across the school lawn.
Sometimes, Ruby and I silently look at each other over Poppy’s head as the din of school fades around us.
I tell myself this is only for two weeks, after which Ruby will return to Chicago and we will revert to our routine.
Why did Ruby discard the diaries and the video, items she clung to for almost two decades? To spite me? To spite herself? I’m so confused.
Having been given the promise of a piece of Asma, just to have it pulled away, almost feels worse than the numbness I’ve been living with for all these years.
I have never thought so much about Ruby and Asma’s relationship.
All I know is that Asma risked it all for her.
What secrets did those diaries contain? What does Ruby know about Asma that I don’t?
What does Ruby remember? What the diaries have denied me, Ruby must still possess.
Perspective about my family, Asma’s feelings about me.
If I can’t read the diary, then I must get these thoughts directly from Ruby.
My feelings of angst and desire consume me.
If it wasn’t the middle of the school year and I didn’t have these students, I don’t know that I would be able to get out of bed.
One day Marlene comes to pick up by herself, except she’s on time.
It is our first time alone since Rainforest Night.
I can feel myself wanting to connect with her like usual, to hear her goofy and sly take on something, to draw me out of my shell and make me giggle.
But I hold back, and I can see that she’s doing the same.
It’s awkward. Whatever friendship and intimacy we had formed is behind a thick wool curtain that we are each too scared to draw back.
I am about to ask how the divorce proceedings are going when she says, “She’s really trying, Sal.” And again, I feel like an ass.
As I accompany my class back from the cafeteria one day, the school secretary hurries over to me and whispers, “Your uncle is in the hospital.”
My mind is on fire. If something happens to him, I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to forgive myself. I race to the hospital and find him strapped to all kinds of machines in the emergency room. Oh, how I hate hospitals.
“I’m fine now, baitay. Everything is okay. My heart was going crazy, and I thought it best to call an ambulance.”
He looks so small in the hospital bed. “Honestly, Mamoo,” I say through my tears.
“You didn’t have to go to such lengths to get my attention.
” I have not been attending him the way I should out of my own petty grievances.
I know he’s ill, and yet I have still pushed him away.
Why am I punishing the best person I have ever known?
He will not be with me forever. I have so few people. I cannot afford to lose any more.
He cups my face with his wizened hands. “Salamander the Great.”
I promise myself to live in the now with the people who love me best because time is short.
It is Halloween, a day where little schooling is accomplished.
The kids do their best to stay on task in the morning, but after lunch, there is no competing with the coming parade and class party.
Parents arrive shortly before 2:00 to help their kids don their costumes and set up the room for Halloween games and treats.
At the top of the hour, the school gathers outside where some older kids will lead the parade on bikes riding around the large residential block on which Sunnyside Elementary sits.
Even though the parade starts by grade level, in a matter of seconds, friends from different classes have found each other, and little siblings have found their big siblings, and it has become a joyous skeleton-and-ghost-filled mob.
Parents and neighbors line the streets, waving and cheering.
I take up my spot at the end of the parade. I dress up the least possible, sometimes a clown wig or a witch’s hat. There is no competing with Emil’s Cat in the Hat or the art teacher’s take on whatever cultural phenomenon is current, this year Bumblebee from Transformers.
I hear someone call my name and see Marlene and Ruby and Bear rushing past. Bear is in a Curious George costume, running to join the parade. Marlene’s hair is the color of the changing trees.
Ruby is about to walk past me when I surprise myself and her by saying, “Can we talk?”
She freezes. I recognize Poppy’s eyes in hers, large and round.
I have caught her unprepared. She is as scared as I am.
It hits me that I’m talking to a person who is not healthy.
She cannot meet my eyes. Her hands are shoved deep in her pockets, and she looks hunched over.
She is trying to hold it together, and unexpectedly, I feel a deep empathy for her.
I want to assure her that it’s okay. Maybe Mamoo and I aren’t the only ones who didn’t escape.
Maybe Ruby is caught in that same net, writhing, unable to break free.
It is sunny and crisp outside. We both face forward, watching the parade of liveliness march further and further away, leaving us in its deserted wake. We watch Bear plop down in the middle of the road and pull off his costume and, in just a diaper and his Curious George hat, chase the merriment.
Now that I’m with Ruby, I don’t really know what I want to say. I turn to her. I trip over my words and stall out at the same time. “I love having Poppy in my class.”
Ruby remains silent. She does not interrupt. She is not going to make this easy for me.
“I didn’t even know the diary and the videos existed. And I was so shocked. I . . . I . . . I asked Marlene to get them because I just wanted something of Asma.”
She blinks.
“Mamoo told me he gave them to you. After . . .” I pause.
I’m waiting for her to give me a reaction. Any reaction.
“I didn’t know that at first. Maybe it was wrong of me to ask for them. I guess I’m saying it’s okay. I understand.”
Finally, she speaks. “You’re forgiving me? For not giving you something that’s not yours?”
I am trying to follow the double negatives and, at the same time, not take pleasure in the dulcet velvetiness of her voice. This is the most I’ve heard her speak and can’t help but be taken in by her voice. I simply nod, even though I don’t think that’s what I was saying.
“If I’d known through some fluke of ill luck, our return to this godforsaken city would have landed me back with your fucked-up family, I would never have done it.
I don’t care that Marlene’s parents live here.
I don’t care that this is a more manageable city.
I don’t care about some stupid old houses we can’t afford anyway. We would never have come.”
I step back and trip on the curb.
“Do you have any idea what your family did to me?” She advances.
I feel the rough bark of a tree against my back. Is she lumping me in with my parents?
“I loved your sister completely. What happened fucked me up forever, and you think it’s okay to just ask for the one piece of her left?
Your whole family is toxic. Just like you.
I told you before, and I’m going to tell you again.
I want you nowhere near my family. You may be Poppy’s teacher—for now—but you’re not our friend. ” And then she strides away.
The day after Halloween is Poppy’s and my birthday.
The Day of the Dead. How fitting. Our school does not do class parties for birthdays because it is too disruptive.
At morning meeting, the class sings “Happy Birthday” to Poppy.
She stands up and takes a bow. Ever since her family units presentation and Ruby being home, she has been showing up in a different way, slowly becoming a part of the classroom community.
She has joined Mamoo’s book club, sometimes plays soccer with the boys at recess, and is starting to make friends with Sophie.
And then, without asking me for permission, she takes over the class and leads it in singing “Happy Birthday” to me.
I am mortified. I love it. I have managed to block the conversation with Ruby from my mind.
But seeing all those bright faces celebrating me cracks me open.
What did Ruby mean by I’m Poppy’s teacher “for now”?
Was she going to have her moved from my class?
How could she put me on the same footing as my parents?
Weren’t our roles in what played out fundamentally different?
Later that day, after school, I wait for someone to pick up Poppy.
No one comes, and I am upset for Poppy, whose birthday it is, after all.
Even though it has been more than two weeks since she stayed late, we easily fall back into our old routine.
We go inside, and Poppy starts putting the chairs on the table so that the janitor can more easily vacuum.
I go to the staff room to get a snack. I haven’t packed snacks for us, but I do have an apple and a contraband jar of peanut butter locked in my bottom drawer.
We squeeze into the basket of the hot-air balloon and make our picnic snack.
We have not visited for some time, and there is an awkward quiet.