Chapter 6 Asma
Asma
Asma woke up cold and stiff on the floor to the phone ringing.
The room did a lazy turn around her. Disconnected memories from the cast party the night before burst through her brain fog, lurid and sharp one moment and fuddled the next.
Watermelon Jell-O shots in Dixie cups. An expanse of red dots of light in darkness.
Salma’s oversize eyes like a character from Speed Racer.
A joint passed to her again and again. Singing the crass words from “Add it Up” at the top of her voice.
Ruby watching her quizzically. Her father’s face contorted with rage.
The phone rang again. Her skull was too small.
Her mouth tasted foul and metallic. She was naked, half on and half off the mattress on the floor, and had no recollection how she had gotten there.
The ringing jangled her insides, and bile rose up her throat.
Eyes closed, she felt around with her arm searching for a pillow or blanket, anything to cover her nakedness.
Her hand made contact with a throw pillow, which she pulled to her chest like a life raft.
Despite her parents’ belief that shame should be a governor to her behavior, it was not actually a feeling with which she was familiar.
Except that morning. The thought of her father made her burn.
She felt dirty, as though she had done something wrong and was, somehow, responsible for what had happened the night before.
Vaguely, in the back of her mind, she thought that what happened wasn’t her fault.
But tell her body that. She shivered, cold with goose bumps.
Who was that man? It was a rare day that her father touched her in any way, a pat on the back, a passing hand on the shoulder.
The man last night had been a stranger. She felt reduced to a body.
An object. A thing someone else could do something to with no consequences.
The knowledge that her father saw her simply as an extension of himself was a bitter pill.
And once again, where was her mother? Earning one more notch on her present-but-not-helpful belt? Giving cover to her father and his worst instincts?
She loved horror movies for the thrill of fear and rush of adrenaline. But after the events of the night before, she realized that the ginned-up, fake fear she felt watching a slasher film was as close to real fear as kicking her legs under the sheets was to sex.
Leading up to the weekend of performances, Asma’s thoughts had not been about whether she would remember that one line she seemed to have a mental block against or have stage fright.
They hadn’t even been about how her parents would react to the play.
She knew they would be scandalized by the kissing and sex scene and had briefly questioned whether it was the right decision to invite them but then had quickly reminded herself that this was their issue, not hers.
In fact, shocking them had been the point.
She wanted her parents to see her for who she really was.
She wanted them to be confronted with the fact that she was not a child.
She wanted an end to the charade: her and Salma going to great lengths to protect them from the knowledge of anything that might make them uncomfortable and their efforts to protect her and her sister from whatever misbegotten beliefs they thought might corrupt.
In a strange way, the play was the vehicle through which she wanted them to see the cultural clash she and Salma lived with every day, the out-of-body-ness that was a part of their daily existence.
She wanted her parents to be challenged, reasoning that once the play was over, the bar would be lower for her in all future endeavors and, by definition, Salma.
No, the predominant thought in her head had been the coming loss of Ruby.
It was a canyon wall, looming over her, casting an impenetrable shadow over all else.
She knew her grief, in part, came from the anticipatory loss of the bubble in which she’d inadvertently found herself.
The community of the cast and crew, the sense of safety and belonging, the joy and play of rehearsal, the intensity of performing, they were all wrapped up in her feelings for Ruby.
That she may not see Ruby again or be part of such a group felt like a real loss.
Once the play was over, there would be no reason for them to see each other.
Ruby would go back to being a nurse, and Asma would go back to being just a student.
It felt the same as being a child when Mamoo and Aunty returned to the city after a weekend visit—that she was being abandoned and left behind.
Everything and nothing had changed between them after the night of the party.
They spoke to each other at rehearsals in the same way they always had.
Ruby gave directions about how Asma should say a line or where she should stand in a scene.
They talked in group settings. If someone had observed them, there was nothing that indicated there was anything special or particular between them.
But there were subtle signals, which Asma analyzed and cross-analyzed.
Did Ruby look only at her when addressing a comment to a group?
Did Ruby intend to touch her fingers when passing her a soda?
Did Ruby always say goodbye with her eyes as Asma lingered at the back of the auditorium after rehearsal?
Ruby now featured prominently in Asma’s dreams, the final person in her mind as she fell asleep and the first thought she had each morning.
The connection felt as heavy as a weighted blanket, pinning her down and flooding her with a sense of angst and well-being.
Asma waited for Ruby to say something about staying in touch after the show—maybe they could go to dinner or coffee or meet up sometime—but there were only last-minute reminders and instructions given to the entire cast. Even as she thought it, she knew it wouldn’t happen.
They had never done those things before, so why would they start doing them after?
The full extent of their relationship was in the presence of others.
Asma had considered the ways in which their paths might cross again.
Maybe Ruby would direct the spring play.
Maybe she could walk by Ruby’s house on the off chance that she would see her and come out.
Maybe she could get hurt and go to Ruby’s ER.
In any other situation, she would have initiated the conversation; she was allergic to passivity and waiting for others.
But with Ruby, she simply couldn’t. The fear of her disinterest, the potential that she saw her as just a kid or another student, immobilized her.
The silence, the absence of any future, fell around Asma like a shroud.
If someone had asked her what she wanted, she would have said she wanted Ruby in her life as a friend or a mentor.
She felt like a fangirl. There was so much about her that Asma admired.
She was self-assured, patient, funny, and simply cool.
Asma had the impression that while Ruby was friendly to everyone, there were few in her inner circle.
Irrationally, she wanted to be part of that small orbit.
But even as she thought it, she knew that the feelings Ruby engendered in her were far more complicated.
On the day of the final performance, Asma had decided she would bring up the subject of staying in touch at the cast party.
But that hadn’t happened. After seeing her family, she had staggered back to the auditorium, holding her stomach, feeling like she was about to throw up, dodging cars pulling out of the dark parking lot.
She bent over in the bushes behind the building until she could gather herself.
By the time she had changed into her regular clothes and arrived at the cast party, she was already high.
With few inhibitions and a need to forget, she drank too much and too quickly.
Ronny offered her a pill, and she took it.
She met Ruby’s eyes at one point and vaguely remembered her intentions, but then she lost them again.
She blocked the events from earlier in the evening until someone poked her in her stomach playfully and she was reminded of the pain she was promised yet to feel.
The phone continued its ringing insistently until, finally, she inched her aching body toward it. It was Mamoo.
“Are you still sleeping? It’s two o’clock.”
“Oh God,” Asma moaned.
“What’s wrong?” he asked abruptly.
“Uh, just not feeling great.” Asma cleared her throat and tried to make her voice sound stronger. “What’s going on?”
There was a long pause. “Sorry we weren’t able to stick around to see you after the performance last night.”
She smelled the sickening scent of crushed roses and crawled fully onto the mattress and piled all the pillows on her aching body. “Where’d you go?”
“We had to leave, darling.”
Then they both went silent.
Mamoo cleared his throat. “It’s Sunday night. Are you coming for dinner?”
All week, she looked forward to her Sunday-night dinners with Mamoo and Aunty. She saved stories from her week to entertain them with. In their presence, she felt like a normal nineteen-year-old. And God knows she needed that tonight.
“Did you see Salma?” Asma couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice.
“Yes, of course. We sat with them.” Mamoo paused, and his voice became tentative. “Did you see your parents?”
Asma grunted in acknowledgment.
“We really want to see you, darling. Can you come over tonight?”
Nausea and fear bolted through her. Did they know? “I’m really behind, Mamoo.”
“We can come to you and just go to a quick dinner.”
“I’ll stop by one night this week.”