If you could change anything about yourself...

If you could change anything about yourself...

Lydia paused by the door of the bedroom for a moment, and then shut off the light as she walked out. Through the darkness, Marian could see her soft smile. She wore colorful scrubs, even though both Marian and her mother were fine with her wearing street clothes. Yet, as Lydia said, “old habits die hard.” She had worked in the pediatric intensive care unit for 10 years, and wearing scrubs was simply “part of her deal.” Marian didn’t particularly like the scrubs, as they made her feel like her home was a hospital. But, she wasn’t one to argue.

Marian was fifteen years old. The accident had happened five years ago, when she was just nine. She was riding her bike, her new Swanson two-wheeler. Her mother had gotten her a white basket for the front, with pink ribbons laced through it. In the basket were some N’Sync CDs, to share with her friend Ashley, to whose house she was going. Marian couldn’t wait to sing along to the peppy music with Ashley, and to show off her new bike. Ashley would be jealous, surely, but she was so good at hiding her jealousy behind her shy demeanour. Marian didn’t care; just the feel of her envy was satisfying enough.

Marian was so engrossed in thought, so excited to show off her new bike and dance along to N’Sync with Ashley, so overcome with 9-year old bliss, that she barely felt her feet moving. The endorphins produced by the new bike, the fun she was going to have, and the overall excitement of being a child on the move, freer than ever, made her feel like she was flying. She had unknowingly begun to pedal faster, then faster, then too fast. The turn onto Ashely's street came up almost out of nowhere, and Marian quickly moved the handlebars to the left. The turn was abrupt, and she felt the bike start to lose control, her hands clenching around the handlebars. She was not strong enough to hold on, and as she felt the bike begin to tip over, she was thrown from it. She was weightless in the air; as she flew, she innocently thought to herself “I fell off my bike. I wonder what everyone will think when they see how bruised I am!” In those moments she was thriving on her naivety, her feeling of indestructibility. She barely even felt herself hit the ground. Then, everything went black.

Being a quadriplegic is not just horrible. It’s not just terrible. It’s not just the worst thing ever. Well, yes, it is the worst thing ever. But more than that, it’s just not existing. Each morning Marian’s parents hurry out of the house for work; her mom to the local bank, her dad to the car dealership, and Marian stays with Lydia. Lydia gives her her daily sponge bath, brushes her teeth, and dresses her. Marian lies still, as it’s all she can do.

It was her mom’s decision to have her home-schooled. Each day Mrs. Sorcerile comes in for a few hours to give her lessons. Lydia then helps her with her homework. At first Ashley used to come over and visit, to tell Marian about the other kids at school. She’d fill her in on the gossip, excitedly relating the day’s events. These visits started to fade a few months after the accident, and now Marian hasn’t seen Ashley in two years.

Marian used to feel positive. She used to have hope, hope for a cure, hope for a miraculous recovery, hope to salvage her wasted life. As puberty has set in, and her emotions have begun to run wild, that hope has disappeared. She puts on a show for her parents, for Lydia, for Mrs. Sorcerile, but really all she wishes for is death. If only she had the courage to ask for help. Maybe Lydia would give her a hand? But Marian can’t let anyone know how weak she is; that she doesn’t possess the power to go on.

So each day is a meaningless hole. She feels nothing. No arms, no legs. So, she grabs onto her sadness, the only true feeling she will ever have. If she could change just one thing - well, it would be everything.

Fading of innocence

Fading of innocence

Her name was Sarah Ann.  She embodied beauty.  Her blue eyes had an indescribable twinkle in them.  Her round cheeks were not cute per say, rather they caused her to give off a sense of love that made the hearts of everyone who saw her warm up, forcing a smile across their faces.  Her blond curls were wild; they shot out from her head like ballerinas pirouetting, graceful, full of energy and motion.  Her petite frame gave her a sense of vulnerability, making you want to grab out for her, to hold her, to soothe her, to help her.  And she had a twinkle in each eye, causing her appeal to shine from her, giving off a beam that touched every near her.  

She wore a pink jumper, which floated around her roundish frame.  On the collar of the jumper were tiny flowers with white petals.  There were two pockets near her knees, empty, as Sarah Ann had no possessions.

Sarah Ann was a simple soul.  Quiet and calm, she was not one to pontificate life’s mysteries.  Rather, she lied still on Lilly’s bed when unoccupied, or stretched out on the blue carpet of her bedroom.  She liked to feel the sun shine on her face through the bedroom window.  In those moments, when she lied there alone, she felt at ease; the silence singing into her ears, its soft melody like fluff running over her body. 

Sarah Ann was content in her life.  She enjoyed her duties as Lilly’s companion.  When she was home, Lilly never left her alone.  She was constantly checking to see how she was feeling, poking and prodding at her, or wanting to play dress up or shove food in her face.  When Lilly wasn’t around, there was Allison.  Sarah Ann tried her very best to like Lilly’s newest companion.  She had a sweetness about her, an innocence that Sarah Ann did not possess.  The truth was, Sarah Ann was jealous of the attention Lilly devoted to Allison.  Sarah Ann would see Lilly run up to Allison, excited to tell her about her day’s activities, to caress her and give her the a type of affection that Sarah Ann now rarely received.  There were times when Sarah Ann looked at Allison, and felt a hot rage grow in her stomach.  She pushed it away, as she knew she should not be having these types of feelings; they were not part of her being.  At those moments, she felt for the twinkle in her eyes, begging that twinkle to take over her body, making her pure once again.

The wonderful soul of Sarah Ann did not have a happy ending.  One day, Sarah Ann heard Lilly clunk up the stairs.  She heard her mother screaming behind her “Clean up your room, there is crap all over the floor!”  “Fine!” Lilly screamed back.  Lilly entered the room, tears smeared across her face, anger breathing off of her skin from her mother’s scolding.  Sarah Ann saw Lilly approach Allison, happy that she would bear the brunt of her discontent.  Lilly picked up Allison, struggling to get her words out, saying “Oh Allison, oh Allison, why can’t I stop crying?”  Lilly then placed Allison on her bed, lightly laying her across her pillow.  Lilly began to pick up things off of the floor, throwing clothes in the hamper, and toys in the basket next to the window.  She picked Sarah Ann up roughly, muttering “Hi Sarah Ann,” and threw her into the toy basket.  She then continued to clean the room, tears still running down her young cheeks.

Sarah Anna would remain in that toy basket day after day for the next five years.  She would watch Lilly snuggle with Allison each evening before falling into a quiet sleep.  The twinkle in Sarah Ann’s eyes would start to fade, perhaps due to the constant shine of sun coming through the window.  But Sarah Ann knew it was not the sun that was causing her twinkle to disappear.  It was the sense of abandonment and loneliness that tore through her body minute after minute, day after day.  Sarah Ann would stare at Allison on the bed, wishing she could move, that she could wrap her hands around her perfect beige neck and take back her place as Lilly’s number one doll.  

Dreaming

Dreaming

I wrap the warm covers around me, and snuggle into my bed.  I curl my legs into my stomach, bend me arms and crunch them into my chest.  I picture how I look from above, a little ball enveloped in a fluffy blanket, silent and motionless, like a turtle in its shell.  I close my eyes and feel myself doze…

Before I know it I’m there.  The powder blue sky sits above me, and I’m surrounded by bubbles.  The sun shines on them, the reflection revealing their blue and pink tint.  I spin around, my arms raised in the air, surrounded by bubbles and the perfect blue sky.  I feel pure elation, inner peace, a sense of happiness that I never thought possible.

Then I see it from the corner of my eyes.  The gray and black ball comes rolling toward me; not fast, as if someone kicked it, yet not slow, as if the wind were pushing it along.  It stops in front of me.  It slowly splits itself in half.  It is hollow inside, and I approach it.  Before I know it, I am sucked into the black ball, shrunk to fit inside it, and taken away.

I try to breathe, yet I’m covered in mud.  I feel my lungs begin to collapse, an intense pain forming inside of them, as I struggle to take a breath.  Finally, an air hole opens under one of my nostrils.  I still cannot open my eyes, and the sensation of the sticky mud and the unawareness of where I am pushes an intense sense of fear up my throat.  The fear lingers, lodged in my mouth, which I cannot open to release it. 

I somehow manage to move my head, and I am back in paradise, with the flawless blue sky and bubbles all over.  I feel the strong sun on the top of my blond hair; I am somehow clean of all the mud.  The sun takes me in, and my feet are being pulled off the ground.  I am rising up higher and higher into the sky.  I see my parents below me, my mother wearing a light green dress with buttons down the front, my father in a gray suit.  They run toward me as I rise up, smiles on their faces and twinkles in their eyes.  I am higher and higher in the sky, I am weightless, complete bliss taking the space of where my body used to be.  Suddenly, I feel a jolt.  I find myself falling fast, faster, faster, faster, my heart racing and despair taking over me. 

My body shakes unexpectedly and I am awake in my bed.  I open my eyes, and wipe my forehead, which is warm and damp.  I turn toward the window and see the sun is rising.  I look at my watch, which says 6:30am.  I climb out of bed, ready to start the day.  

Melotriste

Melotriste

The full moon shines from the dreary night sky.  I lie on the ground outside, my family’s straw-made hut a few feet behind me.  I brush my finger through my thin black hair, and rub my itchy tanned nose.  I look down at the piece of loincloth covering me, my only clothing.  There is a slight breeze outside.  I see the hairs on my arm begin to rise, and feel a chill run up my back.  All the same, I don’t want to go back in.  I prefer the peace and quiet of the early night, the darkness surrounding me, the comfort of being all alone in the evening’s tranquility.

I look to the right of the moon, and there I see the cohort of stars that form the constellation Melotriste.  I glare at the two golden stars, and the arc of five fire red stars below them.  I feel the stars pulling me toward them, as if they want me to rise and join them in the ebony sky.  As I breathe in the constellation, I think of the story my father told me, of how these stars came to form a group.

Long ago lived two stars in the sky, Serene and Brilly.  Serene and Brilly had grown up next to each other.  Each evening they would come out, shining, filled with excitement to see each other again.  They would talk for hours, laugh, and tell each other about their days’ adventures.  Over the years, Serene and Brilly’s childish bond molded into a romance.  After hundreds of years of friendship, they decided to become one under the moon’s law. 

Serene and Brilly were married on a cloudy night, allowing them to feel alone, hidden from all the other stars in the sky.  As per tradition, only the moon was present to formally unite them for eternity.  Side-by-side, next to the glowing full moon, they felt pure harmony between them.  After the ceremony, they retreated to a location far away from the other stars. The following evening they returned to their families, two separate starts yet joint forever.

Several hundred years later, Serene and Brilly had their first child, Jallord.  Followed by Jallord were five other children, Marny, Estrelle, Toile, Oro, and Lune.  Serene loved all of her children with such passion, such devotion, such power, it was like nothing anyone in the entire universe had seen before.  As the children grew older, Serene reveled in watching them change and begin to shine brighter each evening.

During their first centuries together, Serene and Brilly’s unity remained strong.  Yet, as time passed, Serene began to notice changes in Brilly.  He was distant, and she could sense that his love for her was not the same.  They did not laugh or share stories as they had as children, and Brilly moved further and further away from her.  With Brilly’s silence, Serene could feel her heart breaking more every evening, as she felt the vow they had taken under the moon slowly diminishing.

Serene swallowed her sadness and continued to care for her children.  With each night of Brilly’s silence, Serene felt a hot ball of fury, anguish, and utter grief grow within her.  One evening, Brilly approached Serene closely, something he had not done for ages.  He said he had come to her for forgiveness for his behavior of the last centuries; that he was sorry for abandoning her.  Serene turned to Brilly, and could not speak.  She felt the years of sadness break out of her, in rows of light bursts, red, yellow, and orange, flickering with ire and fury.  The light bursts formed an upside down arc under Serene and Brilly.  Serene did not understand from where the light had come or what it meant.  She tried to speak to Brilly, but she could not move.  She saw that Brilly was also attempting to speak to her, but could not move either.  The upside down arc of light bursts below them shined with incredible intensity, breathing off a firey air that kept Serene and Brilly frozen in the intense heat.  They remained there, uncomfortable, inert, powerless, still, for eternity.

I retold this story to myself in my head as I stared at Melotriste.  I thought of Serene and Brilly, their love, and their ill-fated ending.  As my thoughts ran, I stood up, abandoning my peaceful spot outside of my home.  I walked toward the straw hut, with an intense longing to enter and share my day’s adventures with my family. 

Onion and garlic flavored chewing gum

Onion and garlic flavored chewing gum

Dear Bill,

I got your package in the mail last week.  And I must say, I wasn’t surprised.  After the artichoke flavored chewing gum in August, the olive flavored gum in November, and the oyster flavored gum in January, it was no shock to me that you would send me onion and garlic flavored chewing gum this Valentine’s Day.  By the way, thanks for the note mentioning our little kiss in the movie theater sophomore year…I have fond memories of that evening…it adds an air of excitement to our lifelong friendship.

So, anyway, since you got your job at Trident, you’ve really done some amazing thing.  Your creativity, your willingness to take risks, your “fuck you all” nature, that’s really benefited you.  You even won “employee of the month” after that awesome presentation on why kids will surely buy steak flavored gum!  Each time I get a new idea of yours in the mail, I open the package with such ferocity…you wouldn’t believe it, Bill, I’m like a dog in heat, begging each stick to bang me and explode its flavor into me, opening up my inner taste buds and filling me with its zest.

As I write this, I’m gnawing on a piece of garlic flavored gum.  I must say, it’s completely out of this world.  Last week, I set the garlic aside, and tore into the onion.  As I chewed that first piece, I had no time to relish in its originality, since I suddenly remembered I had a meeting with a coworker at Teresa’s Café downtown.  I grabbed my coat (even though it was 60 degrees out - the onion fumes must have gotten to me), and bolted out the door.  On the crowded subway (oh, rush hour, how I loathe thee), I attempted conversation with a hottie in a Hilfiger suit.  He was holding on to the bar next to mine, yet he made a face of agony (like nothing I’d ever seen, I swear), and turned away.  What was the problem?  Was my makeup smeared?  Did I have a stain on my blouse (I mean, in a $400 silk Versace blouse, what does a little stain matter?).  I recovered my poise though, and although my ego was hurt, I stood with confidence the rest of the subway ride, pretending to have important things on my mind.

Once at my stop, I briskly walked out of the subway and up the stairs to the street.  I entered the café just on time (lucky me!), and met my colleague at the table.  He was sitting there sipping a ginger ale (or was it a vodka tonic?  Was it THAT kind of meeting?).  I held out my hand and gave him a firm handshake (a woman must make her confidence known at all times), greeted him, and jumped right into business (with the possibility of ordering a Merlot lingering in the back of my mind). 

About fifteen minute into the meeting, my coworker, Joey, excused himself.  I saw him head toward the bathroom.  A few minute later, I saw him exit the bathroom, and head straight for the door.  And Bill, you know what?  He walked straight out the door.  I had never witnessed such shocking, unprofessional behavior in my life.  I sat by myself at the table, chewing the nearly flavorless onion gum.  After about a half hour, I asked for the check (thanks for leaving your share, Joey!) and solemnly walked out of the restaurant. 

What had just happened?  How would I explain this to my boss?  How would I finish my report for Monday?  I needed some key figures from that bastard Joey!

Luckily though, none of that mattered.  As I walked down the street I felt my tongue begin to swell, and my mouth begin to heat up.  I felt my tongue crowding into my teeth, growing larger by the moment.  My mouth felt like a fire ball, and breathing was starting to become difficult.  The last thing I remember is seeing an old lady walking past me with barking miniature poodle in her arms.  I tried to grab out to her, but I honestly don’t remember if I reached her.

The next morning, I awoke in the hospital.  There were flowers all around me, an IV in my left hand, and I was dressed in one of those ugly hospital gowns you see on TV.  I turned to my left and saw Joey.  His had an expression of intense guilt on his face.  “I never should have left you; this never would have happened if I hadn’t snuck out like that,” he said.  “Why did you sneak out of the restaurant, Joey?” I uttered sleepily.  “Well, frankly, your breath fucking stunk,” he said. I thought about Joey’s words, and shrugged my shoulders.  It felt wrong to feel offended over silly words in the hospital, when I should be thankful I wasn’t dead and all.  “What happened to me?” I asked Joey.  “You had an allergic reaction to something, and you passed out in the street,” he said sadly.  How odd, I thought to myself.  All I’d eaten that day was an apple (red delicious, my favorite!) and I popped in a piece of your new onion gum, Bill, to ebb my hunger a bit before dinner.  “Stranger things have happened,” I thought to myself.

Well, Bill, I’m just going on and on here.  What I really wanted to tell you is that Joey and I just got engaged!  After his visit at the hospital, we started to chat online, and realized just how much we have in common.  I know it’s quick, but when it’s true love, it’s true love, what can I say.  I don’t know why, but I feel like you’re somehow connected to this relationship, in a weird way.  Maybe because you were my first crush in high school (as if you didn’t know!).  I don’t know, whatever it is, I felt the need to write you a special letter, to thank you for the gum (Trident is lucky to have an employee like you!) and to let you be the first to know about me and Joey (I plan on waiting exactly 72 more hours before posting it on Facebook).  So, Bill, I hope to see you at the wedding.  You can pass out some of your gum samples if you’d like!  

Love,

Sally

Back to school

Back to school  

As I approach the building, I can’t help but cringe.  So many people, so much noise, so much chaos. 

I turn around, and see a row of houses on the opposite side of the street.  Behind them, the roofs of other, larger houses, peak out.  I wonder what the people inside are doing, how they are feeling.  In the red split-level on my left, I picture a woman in a beige bath robe, sipping coffee while sitting at her round, wooden, pale brown kitchen table.  The sun shines on her face through a small window, and as she swallows, she wonders what the day will bring.  In the brick two-story house next door I picture a man sitting in his bedroom, on his bed.  He wears a blue and white checkered button down and khaki pants an inch too short.  He is sitting with his head down, resting his face in his hands, his bare feet lying still on the floor, legs spread out.  He is resisting the urge to cry, making grunting noises instead.  How will he tell his wife he lost all of the money?  What will she say to him? 

As my imagination goes wild, I look at my right hand.  In it lies an unsharpened pencil, which my mother handed to me hurriedly when she dropped me off a few minutes before.  As she handed me the pencil, she quickly uttered “Bye sweetie, have a good day.  I hope you write something great with this new pencil.”  The pencil is a shiny silver, with multi-colored hearts on it, the ideal back to school gift for a thirteen –year-old girl, in my mother’s eyes.  As if this pencil will do me any good.  Little does my mother know what awaits me inside the colossal building behind me. 

I hear the bell ring, and can’t help but sigh and swallow the dread emanating from within me.  I think about my mother driving away in our silver minivan.  She was probably relieved to get rid of me, to see me off after two months of non-stop kid.  I bet she drove straight to Dunkin Donuts.  I envision her seeping her tea bag in and out of the Styrofoam cup, sitting relaxed in front of the sticky table, then taking a massive bite out of a vanilla frosted donut with sprinkles.  Those pastel sprinkles, that perfect hole in the donut.  It’s just not fair.   I remember begging for sweets all summer, only to be denied, my mother saying “Honey, those things are horrible for you!” 

I turn around again, facing the large building, and seeing the tumult begin, students packing in the front door like little ants racing to that long lost bread crumb on the ground.  I take a deep breath, tighten the ribbon holding my shiny blond hair into a side pony tail, pat down my cheerleading skirt, and straighten my sweater.  I see them approaching from the left.  Sally is the first to run up to me “Oh my God, hi Mary, can you believe we’re back here?  What a bummer!”  After Mary comes my boyfriend, Steve, captain of the football team.  He whispers the perfunctory “Hey babe” and rests his bulky arm over my shoulders.  The rest of the posy follows behind.  I put on my biggest fake smile, my most-popular-girl image reflecting off of my sparkly, white, perfectly straight teeth.  As I walk into the school a sheet of invisible sadness drops over my entire being, disconnecting me from the world.  

Book Review - And the Mountains Echoed, Khaled Hosseini

           

Have you ever felt like you didn’t belong somewhere?  Like something was just off.  Like there was something missing, or perhaps too much of something.  I think most of us have had this feeling at some point in our lives, and we just shake it off, attributing it to “having a bad day” or it being a “weird situation.”  But imagine if you just couldn’t shake this feeling, if it were there every minute of every day, and you just couldn’t put your finger on what was causing it.  That is exactly how Pari feels in Khaled Hosseini’s And the Mountains Echoed.

            And the Mountains Echoed is Hosseini’s third work of fiction, after his debut novel the The Kite Runner (2003, later adapted into a film) and his second novel A Thousand Splendid Suns (2007).  Hosseini is Afghani-American (born in Afghanistan, moved to the US in 1980), and worked as a physician before becoming a well-renowned novelist.  Hosseini won a great deal of fame from his debut novel The Kite Runner in 2003, and therefore his third novel was welcomed with much anticipation and excitement.

            Pari Wahdati is the central and connected character of many in And the Mountains Echoed.  Born to a poor family in the run-down village of Shadbagh, at age three Pari is as curious and rambunctious as any child.   Pari enjoys a simple childhood in the town of Shadbagh in Afghanistan.  She lives with her father, older brother, younger half-brother, and step-mother.   With her mother having died during her birth, Pari’s older brother Abdullah, seven years her senior, is a central part of her life, playing the role of the mother she lacks.  He takes care of her, brings her gifts, and loves her as if she were his own daughter.  The family lives in poverty, and their constant hardship is what leads Pari’s father to sell her to the couple his brother-in-law works for in far-away Kabul.  This decision inevitably changes the shape of not only Pari’s life, but every life had touched up until that point, and every life she would touch in the future. 

            Having loved Hosseini’s two previous novels, I eagerly awaited my turn to get my hands on this book (there were 40 requests ahead of me at the library for the three or so copies).  To say I loved it as much as Hosseini’s other works would be a lie.  The characters and the plot simply didn’t hold the same intensity; they didn’t grab you and shake you up like Amir’s deception in Kite Runner or Mariam’s sacrifice in A Thousand Splendid Suns.  I wouldn’t go as far to say that I disliked the novel, but Hosseini set his bar high, and he just couldn’t reach the level he did in his previous works.  Now, what I did LOVE about this novel was the way Hosseini connected the different people in Pari’s life (and not JUST her family), adding engaging side-plots with their own interesting relationships and conflicts.  From the Greek doctor who moved into the house in Kabul where Pari grew up, to Pari’s step-uncle and his relationship with Pari’s adoptive father (also his employer) in Kabul, Hosseini interlinked everyone in a creative and meaningful manner.  In some cases, these sub-plots also shed light on the powerful political climate of Kabul in the 1980’s and the war-damaged Kabul of the early 21^st century.  In other cases, they touched upon traditional conflict, such parent-child relationships and dealing with a mental illness.  Hosseini’s ability to effectively integrate and connect multiple viewpoints showed that although the novel was a bit of a drag at times, his narrative technique may be enough make this a winner. 

            Did I LOVE this book (like I LOVED Hosseini’s first two novels)?  Heck no.  Did I enjoy it?  Yeah, for the most part.  I think this is a worthy read for any fan of Hosseini’s first two novels, and any fan of popular fiction books.  Although it had its dull points, Hosseini took one event in one character’s life and created a web of enticing themes and conflicts, at least one of which is sure to grab any reader.  This novel also ends on a high note, showing that although it may torment you your whole life, that irking feeling of not belonging can bloom into something beautiful that, in the end, brings pure joy and warms your heart.