This story was finished in January 2009. I had always wanted to write something on the topic of school shootings and its aftermath. It took about a year to write. Hope you like. M
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TEEN SHOOTER WOUNDS 7, KILLS 1 AT LOCAL HIGH SCHOOL
CANADIAN PRESS – Saint Michael High School was ravaged by bullets and blood yesterday when Bryan Braid, a 17 year old student opened fire at his classmates, then took his own life. Seven students were wounded, one killed. His name was being withheld for the first few hours as police had yet to identify him but it has been confirmed that Nicholas Shakri was shot three times in the chest and once in the face. Nicholas was fifteen years old. He died upon impact. A crowd remained outside the school for hours, as police and ambulance technicians evacuated the building. Students claim that Braid was a bit of a loner, but seemed like a regular student. “You never really saw him around anywhere, but when you did he was always friendly.”
When Liz Braid ran into Amita Shakri in the supermarket last Tuesday, too many thoughts were floating in her head. The moment their eyes met, it was as though a hidden language passed between them; an understanding and repulsion at the same time. Liz, who was a master of verbosity and always had the last word, didn’t even know what she should say to the woman in front of her.
How they had managed to avoid each other for this long was strange. Amita looks small, Liz thought as she stared at her in the frozen food section. Unlike her, Amita was photographed by every newspaper, both locally and across the nation. Liz had seen her at Bryan’s funeral standing quietly near the trees. School circles made them aware of each other, but they had yet to actually speak, even after all these years.
After the incident (that’s what Liz chose to call the whole thing,) happened, everyone went to Amita to get a quote about how she was feeling. “I love my son, and I will miss him for the rest of my life”, was the only thing she said.
When Liz Braid heard that statement an unparalleled sadness resounded within her. And what frightened her most of all was the depth from which Amita spoke about her son; that hollow place of nothingness.
I must remember to ask Alex about Amita Shakri’s son.
Liz smiled as diplomatically as possible to Amita. She didn’t know what else she could do. Words would just make the bile in the pit of her stomach come up to the surface.
Amita didn’t smile back. Liz couldn’t blame her. She wondered to herself why she even tried to make some kind of acknowledgment to begin with. The woman could murder me with her eyes.
In what felt like an eternity, Liz willed her legs to move and she walked away from Amita, not bothering to take another look. If she had, she would have seen Amita holding back her tears.
~~~~~~
When Liz returned home, she could hear music blaring loudly from Alex’s room. He’s actually home, she thought to herself. She threw her keys into the bowl near the banister, and walked to the kitchen with the grocery bags.
“I’m home”, she yelled towards Alex’s room.
She started to unload the myriad of products she had purchased. She was always a sucker for advertising. As she took out her Swiffer dust sheets, her Crest whitening strips, Breyers triple chocolate ice cream and the like, she thought about whether this was what life would be from now on.
She put water in the pot and began to boil some pasta. The music in Alex’s room abruptly stopped, as did Liz’s heart. The door opened, and Alex, a teenage boy of fifteen, walked out and went towards the kitchen. He ran his fingers through his messy hair, and sniffed hard in order to unclog the phlegm caught in his throat.
“I’m making pasta.”
“Fine,” Alex responded and sat on a chair near the island table.
What if he had gone to school that day?
“Did you just wake up?” Liz asked.
“No. I was talking to Grandma.”
“Am I supposed to call her back?”
Alex stared at his mother for a split second, and then went straight to the fridge.
Liz’s mother, Rose, had stopped speaking with her about 2 months ago now. She wasn’t ready was what she had last said to her on the telephone. When she would be, she would talk; but not now. Liz could do nothing but wait.
The psychiatrist had told her not to read any newspaper articles or magazines for the first little while. But she couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to avoid it. She especially found herself reading about other incidents that had taken place in Canada and elsewhere.
In case after case that she had read of children who committed the same kind of atrocities, those parents just disappeared. They didn’t say anything. And that got her mad. She didn’t want the public to make their own assumptions as to whom they were as people. She wanted to show that she wasn’t a monster.
He brought a gun into this house, and I didn’t even know.
But there was nothing to do. She could go to a local news station and grant them an interview, knowing that bigger networks would come knocking with money. She could set the record straight about the whole thing; about Bryan, her son that she loved but had lost a long time before all of this had happened.
There was no point though. All of this wouldn’t bring any change.
I am not a bad person.
Liz drained the water from the pasta and put it on a plate. She hadn’t even noticed that Alex had set the table and was sitting down. She brought the meal over and took a seat at the opposite end.
“I saw that Shakri woman at the supermarket today.” She said to Alex.
He stopped eating for a moment and then resumed.
“Uh-huh”.
“You’ve never told me whether you were friends with her boy.”
“You’re asking me five months later?” Alex responded.
Liz had to hand it to him. “Were you?”
Alex paused.
“I knew him, yeah.”
The rest of the meal was silent.
~~~~~~
When Liz found out that she was pregnant with Bryan, she remembered going to a psychic at the coercion of a friend, who had said that it would be fun. It was at this time that Liz was reading all the pregnancy books that were available to mankind. She loved every moment of it and looked forward to the day when she would hold this little being in her arms and love it till the end. She would touch her stomach and sing love songs, and could see Matthew smiling from ear to ear with total anticipation of being a father. She hoped that these moments would never go away. She wanted them to stay with her forever, all of the possibilities of the world manifested in her belly.
The psychic told Liz that she would have a boy and that he was going to be “renowned”. She wondered why she didn’t say popular or famous.
It’s a strange thing to become a parent she would often think to herself during those first few months after he was born. Here was another human being that she had a part in creating. And she was in charge of molding this creature into anything possible. She hoped this pressure cooker feeling inside her would go away.
Two years after Bryan was born, her marriage to Matthew was starting to wear thin. He wanted her to stay at home with the baby, while she felt that getting back into the work force again was what she needed to do. She needed something more than motherhood in her life, and going back to the law firm was what would fit the bill. Matthew didn’t see it her way, and what began there passed through everything else between them. Time went on, and so did Matthew (who was now re-married and living in Mexico) but not before Liz became pregnant with Alex.
She was shocked, vowing at one point when Bryan was 3 years old that she would never have any more children. But, three years later there she was.
~~~~~~
In some way, Liz couldn’t help but blame herself for Bryan’s downward spiral. She had seen something change in him for months on end, and she didn’t do anything about it. The boy who wanted to be a pilot and fly in the clouds gave wind to a shadow. She watched it happen, watched it form and mutate into himself, and she didn’t do a damn thing.
The psychiatrist told her that this happened NOT because of her, but because of what choice Bryan decided to make. She went through all of the possibilities in her head, as to where the wrong turn could have been taken, but she couldn’t put a finger on it. She loved him as much as she could, but that wasn’t enough. Perhaps it was because she started to show less attention towards him (or vice versa), and that was where he veered off. He closed her off, and so she did the same to him. Too much hand wringing and eye gazing to the stars doesn’t necessarily get the answers you need.
My baby boy became sad. Did she even see it happen? Was it all a complete surprise?
She stared at Alex, slurping his spaghetti. She wondered what he thought of her now, whether he still felt a reverberating anger towards her that was growing with each month.
He blames me.
As much as Alex had a million traits that were undecipherable, the one thing about him was that he emanated the truth. His actions were never premeditated. It was who he was. And when he looked at Liz; when he gazed at her with those big black pools of dark water, she knew everything that he was feeling. He didn’t even have to say anything to her.
After eating, they stayed in their separate quarters for the rest of the evening.
~~~~~~
Liz always walked by Bryan’s old room as fast as she could. The thought of what was plotted and created in there made her uneasy. The day after everything happened and when the police had finished their search, Liz went in there like a bulldozer and threw everything in the garbage. Posters, clothes, books, everything went out. (Alex had asked if he could keep Bryan’s hooded black sweater which he did). The police had taken away Bryan’s journals for evidence and Liz said that she didn’t want them back. She didn’t want to know.
On this particular evening, Liz walked into his barred room and stood in the middle. There was a hum that she could hear in there, almost like a mantra that kept going. She did a little walk around. Her foot came across the loose baseboard. She pushed the board all the way back and saw there was room to store all kinds of objects.
How could this have been right in front of me?
Was she that self involved that she didn’t notice anything? The more she kept thinking about it, she couldn’t really see.
The soundtrack from Alex’ room continued into the night, with his door shut to the outside world. Liz sat at her dresser staring into the mirror. These moments of silence were so loud.
She reached into her drawer and took it out. It had become ritualistic as she did this every night.
She held the heavy stone in her hands. It was brown in color (it reminded her of the roads in Charlottetown from when they went on their family visit there all those years ago) and jagged. It was jagged and had cut her when she had picked it up for the first time.
The stone, wrapped with a note, was tied with some twine. Scrawled on the paper were the words “It’s Your Fault, Bitch!” Liz ran her fingers over the letters.
The stone was hurled through her bay window a week after the incident sending shards of glass, picture frames and dry wall crashing to the floor. Liz was downstairs in the basement at the time and heard the thundering noise. She rushed up the stairs. Alex wasn’t home (luck again). She wasn’t surprised that this had happened. As she stared at the garbage and broken pieces she had to clean up, she felt resigned to the whole thing.
I deserve this.
Why she kept the stone still was another thing altogether.
She took the stone and held it tightly in her hands. She closed her eyes. Tighter, tighter, tighter…and then she stopped. Tears had welled up in her eyes. She looked down and two small piercings had been made in her palms. Tiny drops of blood were growing. She stared at her wounds, wanting them to grow larger and more painful but they didn’t.
She took the stone and put it back in the drawer, went to the washroom to clean her hands and quickly went into bed.
Tomorrow won’t be better was the last thought she had before she fell asleep.
~~~~~~
Seeing Elizabeth Braid at the supermarket just added to Amita Shakri’s anxious day. She didn’t even want to think about her feelings towards that woman. There weren’t any words in English or Hindi to explain. And yet at the same time, there were too many words to choose from.
Since Nicholas’s death, Amita began to watch Oprah. On today’s show, the talk show guru said that it was important to give way to your emotions and to release in order to break free and live. She didn’t know what that meant.
It was only a matter of time before Raheem came home. She had laid out his dinner as she had been doing, so that he could come in the house and go straight to the table. If he was late and dinner got cold, he only had to put it in the microwave. But, he was never late. Always back home by 6:30. Some things don’t change.
Today, Amita felt ready to tackle it. She had a red circle (she stayed away from red because it reminded her of blood, but it was the only Sharpie she had handy) around today’s date so she was working herself up to it. It had been 16 weeks already, and under normal circumstances, this is something she would have done the day after. (She had cleaned out her mother’s entire apartment the day after, and it took her all of 6 hours.)
In the corner of Nicholas’s room, she could still see the etchings he made on the wall. She had been so angry at him for ruining the paint job like that. She went over to the place, and ran her fingers into the grooves of his writing. What happens now was etched with scissors in his sloppy penmanship, made worse by scissors. Amita closed her eyes, and repeatedly ran her fingers over the writing. This had become a ritual for her that she did in the mornings. She didn’t tell Raheem about it, for fear of his yelling at her to not pick up any strange habits.
She got up from his bed and found her foot tangled in his iPod earphones. She kicked it to the side of the wall and walked away. Through the corner of her eye, she saw something between the wall and the head of Nicholas’s bed. She went down on her knees and extended her arm to fish it out. After a few stretches, she caught the thing in her grasp and dragged it towards her. It was a notebook of some sort that looked quite old. She opened to the first page and read the etchings on it.
Ravi and the Golden Wings by Raheem and Nicky Shakri
Tears came to Amita’s eyes as she flipped through all of the pages and saw words covering each line. He did it, she thought to herself. She embraced the book close to her chest and left the room.
Amita had always put rules upon herself. She maintained control over anything that she did. This was mainly because she was brought up with rules her whole life; never any room for spontaneity. It was in this methodical way that she laid out her entire bottle of tranquilizers with a bottle of Evian water.
Yes, today was definitely the day.
When Amita was a little girl, her parents treated her like an ornament for people to look at. Their relationships with her remained superficial at best, always throwing money at every problem or situation. They provided for her. They wanted her to be the best catch in New Delhi for her age group. They made her take etiquette lessons, had her hair primped and made proper every weekend. Every week, a new dress was bought for her so that she could go to the socials and catch the eye of a potential suitor.
At her mother’s suggestion, Amita met Raheem at a friend’s house. Raheem was a man of few words, who brought Amita flowers from his parents’ garden. She liked the way that he stood, with an air of calm, comfortable in his own skin.
Raheem was moving to Canada in a few months for a teaching opportunity that he had at the University of Toronto. He had wanted to get married soon, so that the transition to being a married man and being in a foreign land wouldn’t hit him all at once. Amita went along, wanting to see something new and wanting to forge a life for herself with her new husband. She thought it exciting to be able to go to another country and learn something other than her own.
They got married quickly and with the usual pomp and circumstance. The wedding was a three day affair, filled with marigolds and sari scarves and mehndi covered hands and feet. Amita loved the whole thing, and so did Raheem. She remembered laughing when Raheem had a sneezing fit when he was saying his vows. She found herself loving his sneezes.
Fast forward to their first few days in Canada; this cold, large, noisy country was now her home, and she didn’t know what to do with herself. When she was in India, everything seemed normal. Calm within chaos, her father used to say when describing life there. But this Canada seemed unfriendly, and everyone seemed tired and preoccupied. Quickly, her naïve notions of the unknown dissipated. And this was nearly 15 years ago, and still things haven’t changed here.
That sense of preoccupation seemed to spread to Raheem, who slowly began to get caught up in work and the daily grind. His distance from his wife was apparent and hurtful. In the beginning, it seemed as though the world revolved around them. Amita had never been intimate before, and neither had Raheem. Their first time as a married couple was tender, exhilarating and close. But as time went on, even that left them. After finishing, Raheem would just roll over, wipe the sweat from his chest and go to sleep. Amita would curl up and feel around for her clothes quickly.
When she found out she was pregnant with Nicholas, she was in ecstasy. Finally, there would be a human whom she could look after, and not feel empty. This baby could fill the void that had been inside of her for so long. She had thought a husband would fill in the void in her life. Now, she was looking towards her son to do the job.
That was a mistake, she thought to herself.
Nicholas was everything a mother could ask for in a child. He adored his mother and father, and lived a peaceful, good life. A good boy was how he was often described.
Amita loved him with all of her heart. Somehow, her love for him surpassed her own life. He lived, and therefore she did as well.
Raheem loved him just as much as she did. Every day, when Nicholas was a boy, he would come home with a new book under his arm. As time passed, the books changed. The Cat in the Hat one day, A Tale of Two Cities the next.
Nicholas was the golden chain that linked Amita and Raheem together.
Raheem would be home in about two hours or so. Amita went to her bedroom, and took her clothes off. She stared at herself in the mirror. Stretch marks, bruises and blemishes found its way all over her body. She never thought that she was bad looking, just average. Looking at herself now, for the last time, she felt that perhaps she should have put some makeup on for when Raheem found her.
She was sitting outside on the veranda on that cursed day. Sipping tea and reading the newspaper. The sun was shining brightly and its rays were falling onto her shower wet hair. When she would think back to that day, she remembered a feeling of absolute quietude; which she loved.
She had made breakfast for her two men, one going off to mold the minds of future professors and academics, the other to learn and come closer to what the future would bring. She felt happy that morning.
She suddenly saw a group of people running down her street crying and screaming. It caught her off guard. A feeling of ice cold ran through her as she looked at the group of people running as though chased by some sort of imaginary monster. Their faces looked twisted and contorted. Something’s wrong.
Amita sat still as a statue. She didn’t move. She didn’t breathe.
She had no idea what was happening, as the crowd of people running grew by the millisecond. But, yet somehow she felt that something had happened to Nicholas. She clutched at her chest, feeling a sharp pain. Something was definitely wrong.
She got up and decided that she needed to get to the school, get to Nicholas. Losing control of her joints, she knocked the mug over and it smashed in two. She wasn’t wearing shoes.
Amita followed the crowd running towards Saint Michael. She felt lost, not knowing still what was happening.
“I can’t believe this”, one woman said in the crowd.
“Not here. Not here”, another woman said.
“Is anyone dead?” a man was asking.
Her brisk walk turned into a jog, which turned into a run and then a sprint. Her breath was ragged and coming up short. Her mind was flooded with images. I will not lose him, I will not lose him.
The sun was still bright and its rays were falling on her, as she ran into the mouth of fire.
She filled the bathtub with water. She liked hot baths, so as if this were a usual situation, she made sure the water was at the temperature she preferred. She walked back over to the sink and mirror, where the pills were ready for her. She opened the bottle and poured the contents into her hand. 25 pills; circular, tiny, orbs that brought her comfort day to day.
Despite all of the chaos that these last four months had brought her, Amita found herself quite calm at this moment in time.
She took the handful of pills, and started taking two at a time. With each pairing, a gulp of water washed it all down. With each swallow, she thought about her life and her various experiences. Swallow. The nerves in her stomach when she found out she was pregnant. Swallow. Handing her Papa a handful of daisies on his birthday. Swallow. Why she didn’t pursue her studies for longer. Swallow. Clutching the earth in her hand for as long as she could before throwing it onto his grave. A slight gag, then swallow.
When she was done, she felt the usual haze that came with one regular dose. She sauntered over to the bathtub, and clutched the edge. She dipped her foot in, and slid into the water.
What happens now was the last thought that came to Amita Shakri, before she dived into an absolute blue.
Nicky Shakri was sitting next to Alex Braid, waiting for his Mom to pick him up. Daniel’s party had just finished up with loot bags for everyone, and the two boys were the last to be taken home.
“Do you boys want anything before?” Mrs. Anderson asked,
They shook their heads.
“Well, it shouldn’t be too long if you both want to play in the living room.”
“No, thank you”, Nicky said.
Alex didn’t say anything.
Nicky was always dressed in his best for birthday parties. Indeed, this ten year old would show up to parties dressed to the nines. For Daniel’s birthday, he was wearing a white button down shirt, and a pair of beige dress pants that his mother specifically bought for this occasion.
Alex turned to Nicky. “Are you still mad at me?”
“I’m not talking to you”. Nicky said back to him.
They sat in silence again.
“I was only trying to play fair, and you were out”, Alex said.
“You didn’t have to laugh at me after.” Alex didn’t say anything. “You hurt my feelings.”
“I’m sorry.” Nicky quietly wiped a little tear from his eye. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
Nicky waited a little bit more before he said “Okay” to Alex.
“When’s my Mom going to get here?”
Alex looked down at his sneakers.
“Do you wanna come to my house tomorrow?”
“I can’t,” Nicky said.
“Why?”
“’B’cause my dad wants to take me to the circus.”
“You’re going to the circus?”, Alex asked incredulously.
“Yep,” Nicky said proudly.
Mrs. Anderson came out from the kitchen.
“Nicholas, your dad just called. He’s running late”, said Daniel’s mother.
“Okay”, Nicky responded.
The boys didn’t say anything to each other for a while. Alex was staring into space, thinking about what he was going to do when he got home. Probably go outside. It was a beautiful sunny day, and he had a soccer ball with his name on it, waiting for him. Bryan was probably waiting for him. They always played soccer in the backyard together. He was hoping that he was ready for a championship. He was ready all right.
The thing was that Alex liked the fact that Nicky always seemed to keep to himself, and never felt bad for doing the things he wanted to do. Whenever everyone else was playing or getting into scuffles, Nicky would be with a book or talking with his friends, or sitting quietly. Nothing seemed to bother him. And yet at the same time, Nicky freaked him out. There was something about him that was unlike other kids that he knew. He couldn’t put his finger on it. It was just something.
Nicky kept looking at his watch, wondering when his dad was coming. He wanted to leave and not be in this house anymore. He liked Alex, but he was weird. He never talks to me in school. He wondered why Alex wanted him to come to his house. Maybe he wanted to be friends, but couldn’t for some reason. He did know that Alex wasn’t one of the mean people at school, who would call him names. He never did, but he never talked to him either. He continued to stare out the window and imagined what it would be like to be an explorer and making new discoveries. He imagined what he would look like as an explorer, uncovering different civilizations in India and Egypt. The world was big, and when he grew up he wanted to see it all.
All of a sudden, Alex’s mother burst into the room.
“Hi, honey. Sorry.” Liz looked at Nicky for a brief second then looked back at Alex.
“You’re late”, Alex said back to her.
“I know, I know.” Liz thanked Daniel’s mother for the party. Alex held on to his loot bag and looked over at Nicky, who was still sitting by the window.
“See you at school”, Alex said.
Nicky nodded back at him.
Liz took Alex’s hand and they went out. Alex took another look behind him.
It was that look that he would remember for years to come whenever he thought of Nicholas Shakri.
~~~~~~
Raheem had just driven into the driveway and turned off the ignition. Nicky undid his seatbelt and was about to go into the house.
“Nicks, I have something for you,” Raheem said.
Nicky’s eyes widened. Raheem handed him a worn out journal. Nicky took it from him,. It was leather bound and had many cracks and was worn on the edges. The corners were turned in. This book has lived a long life, Nicky thought to himself.
“My father gave it to me. I started writing but I never finished.”
“Why?”
“Well…I thought it might be something you’d like to do.”
“Why don’t you want to do it?”
Raheem paused. There was a weight in his words.
“I’m out of stories now, Nicks,” he said. “You don’t want it?”
“Uh..no, no. I’ll take it.”, he said confused. “Why are you giving this to me now?”
“No reason. Just felt like the right time.” Nicky nodded his head. “Besides, you have all the time in the world to come up with it!”
Nicky smiled when his father said this. He held tightly to it. He didn’t want to let go ever. Anything his father gave him, he took care of.
He turned to the first page. He looked at his father’s handwriting. He liked the way he looped his “ls” in such a carefree fashion. He liked the title. It made him think of clouds. And flying.
“Thanks, Dad.” Nicky said to his father. Raheem smiled.
They got out of the car and went into the house.
When Alex Braid knocked on Amita Shakri’s door the morning of February 22nd, he wondered whether she would change her mind about meeting him. It had been fifteen years, and yet it seemed like it was five minutes ago. Montreal was freezing this morning, and he was nearing the end of his Starbucks coffee. He hoped that she would open the door soon, as he was a few minutes late.
Amita opened the door.
“Hi Ms. Shakri”, Alex said politely to her.
“Call me Amita. Come in,” she said as Alex entered the apartment quickly.
Amita’s apartment was better than he thought it would be. It was warm and homey, which is something that most people strive for with strange results. This seemed normal and yet it was still. There was no action, no noise. It was almost monastic in its vibe.
She’s really alone, Alex thought to himself.
When he found out that Amita was now living in Montreal, and just a few metro stops away from him, he thought it was a sign. It was too much of a coincidence. But, he was ready to do something about it. He searched Canada411 for her number and called. He wasn’t expecting anything, but when she said to come over he had to.
He took a seat on the ottoman in the living room. There were pictures of Nicholas everywhere; as a baby being held by his father, as a toddler, even as the self that Alex remembered him as when they were in school.
Alex was taken at how beautiful Amita was. Her style was simple, never obvious. There was something in her eyes that was just breathtaking.
She must have hurt so much afterwards, he thought to himself.
Amita entered the living room with a tray of cookies, a white kettle and napkins.
“I know you just had coffee, but…”
“Thanks for agreeing to see me.”
“I wanted to,” Amita said.
Amita poured Alex a saucer of tea. He helped himself to two sugar cubes and doused his beverage with milk until the tea was a pale brown.
“That’s the way I like it also. Not too strong, just weak enough.”
“I suppose it’s the British in me”, Alex said trying half heartedly to make a joke.
“I saw you at the school, I think. That was the last time, no? You were still young.”
Alex nodded his head. That was about 5 years ago in Toronto. There was a memorial service to commemorate the anniversary and everyone gathered at Saint Michael’s. Alex stood away from the entire proceedings, as Amita and her husband were at the forefront. He remembered turning his head around throughout the whole thing, to see if his mother was going to join him rather than stay in the car.
“So what made you come to Montreal?” Alex asked Amita.
“My sister and her family live here. And it was time. How about you? Wait, you told me you’re in school, right?”
“No, no, I finished school. I’m working as a filmmaker here. I studied at Concordia. Eight years later, and I’m still here.”
Amita took another sip from her tea.
“If you don’t mind my asking, when did your husband pass?”
Amita paused before she answered. He’s well mannered, Amita thought to herself, and easy to talk with. She decided to choose her words carefully.
“Heart attack two years ago.”
Alex slowly nodded his head.
“God gives people what they can handle.”
What they can handle. Alex didn’t know what to think about that one.
“So were you good friends with Nicholas?” Amita asked.
“No. I wasn’t.”
Amita put her cup down.
“You weren’t?”
Alex paused for his words.
“We were in the same class, and talked sometimes. But were we good friends? No. I would even say less than that.”
Amita got very serious.
“I don’t understand. Why did you come here?” What does he want then?
“For many reasons.” I’m sweating, “But I will spare you the details”
His confidence was growing, He leaned in towards a cookie. “May I?”, he asked Amita.
She nodded firmly.
“I wasn’t a friend of your son’s. But we went through elementary school and high school together.”
Part of high school, Amita wanted to correct him.
“Can you imagine that? Being with someone in school all that time, and not knowing anything about each other?”
Alex took a bite of his cookie. His throat was getting dry.
“He was always a good boy, my Nicky”.
Sweat dripped down Alex’s back.
“You’re right. From what little I remember, he really was. I don’t whether this sounds weird or not, but I want you to know that I wished I could have been his friend.”
Amita got up from her seat and walked a little in her living room. Alex watched her. After surveying the room a little, she went back to sit down.
“Why did you come to see me?” Amita asked.
Alex had thought long and hard about this next response. And he didn’t want it to come out as hollow as it sounded in his head.
“Because…I wanted to know if you hated me. Because I wouldn’t ever for a second blame you if you did.”
Amita paused and took it all in.
“Can I ask you a question?” Alex asked Amita. She nodded. “Why did you want to see me?”
The spotlight was now on Amita.
“I want to know about your brother. I’m ready to know about him.”
Alex wasn’t expecting this question at all. As much as he thought of Bryan every day, he hadn’t spoken about him in a long time.
“What do you want to know?”
Amita was surprised that Alex was so forthright.
“What was he like?”
Alex had rehearsed versions of his opinion of his brother many times in his head.
“He liked to read a lot. He was friendly to most people. He was…troubled towards the end.”
A short silence passed between them for a little while. Amita initially didn’t feel like it was her place to pry about the inner workings of this man’s brother. But her demeanour changed, as Alex was in her house and she had every right to ask whatever she wanted to.
“What do you mean by troubled?” Amita asked Alex.
Alex put his plate down.
“I always saw it in him. You couldn’t put a finger on it. He just withdrew.”
Amita listened to Alex. She really looked at him and saw that there was sadness in his eyes when he spoke of his brother. And for the first time, she realized that there must be another side to this heartache.
“You must hate him.” Alex said to her suddenly.
“It doesn’t matter”, Amita responded.
“I hated him. And I loved him.” Alex said wisely.
Amita was caught off guard by the power of this statement.
“What about your parents?”, Amita asked. Alex looked at her questioningly. “What do they…”
“…feel?” Alex said. “My father doesn’t talk about it. He and his wife stay clear from me and Mom. For years now.”
“And your mother?”
Alex paused before saying what he was about to say.
“She’s broken.”
Amita pursed her lips. She stared long and hard at Alex Braid. She just looked at him, tried to decipher what was going on in his mind.
She went over to him and held his hand.
“I know,” Amita said to Alex.
Alex wasn’t expecting that. It was something he would hold close to him for the rest of his life.
~~~~~~~~~
Alex Braid had left a little over an hour ago, and Amita opened the curtains in her bedroom a bit wider. It was a clear sunny day. She let the rays shine on her, and she closed her eyes. What a day and there’s still more to it, she thought to herself.
She went over to her shelf and took out the leather book. It had been a long time since she looked at this. She touched the cover lovingly and turned to the first page once again. As she sat there, she thought about all of the dreams and living that brought her to that very moment. That day in the bathtub, Raheem rescuing her from those depths, their promise to stay alive for each other now. And she wondered if Nicholas had anything to do with that. She thought about when Raheem clutched his chest and collapsed on the kitchen floor while she was making breakfast. One second he was here, the next gone. All the men in her life seemed to do that.
She held Nicholas’s story in her hands now. A story made true by him and his father. She loved the part when Ravi confronted Satha. She started to read the story again. Everything happens for a reason, she thought.
~~~~~~
Maryse had just arrived home with Lily in tow, when she saw Alex sitting alone on the sofa. He heard her come through the door and he quickly went to see her.
“Salut, babe. Qu’est-ce qui a passé?”
Alex hugged her tightly. Lily started to cry.
Alex took Lily from Maryse and brought her to the sofa. It occurred to him right there that time was really flying by, as he cradled his five year old.
“It was good.”
She put her head on Alex’s shoulder.
“Sometimes I wonder if I hadn’t listened to him, and had gone to school that day.”
Maryse lifted her head. “Don’t even think that.”
Alex looked at her. Her brown eyes were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He was glad that Lily inherited them.
“He scared me so much that day. Like, he was just…gone. Stay home, he kept saying to me.”
“I’m glad you listened”, Maryse said.
Alex kissed her forehead.
“I’ll have to call my Mom later”, Alex said.
Maryse nodded her head.
“I love you”, he said to her, “more than you know.”
He caressed Lily’s hair in his fingers.
You can tell me anything, Alex thought to himself while looking at his daughter.
~~~~~~
Alex didn’t know what was to come for him. It seemed as though he had closed his eyes and he was no longer a kid; that scared, sensitive boy who lived in the shadow of his brother for so long. He had watched his brother turn into a monster and then disappear that Alex had thought he was destined for darkness as well.
But it never happened.
The sun was starting to set now, and Alex went to the phone and started dialing his mother’s phone number. Every day was something different, something closer to peace.
~~~~~~
Ravi was face to face with Satha after all this time. He showed no fear, but just demanded what was his to begin with.
“I have come for my wings,” Ravi said in as loud a voice as he could muster.
“You have no right to them. I shall strike you down,” Satha replied in his loud cackle.
“Do what you must”, said Ravi, “I am not afraid of you.”
Satha was impressed by this boy’s courage. He took out his sword and pointed it at Ravi’s throat.
It was at that moment that this tale took on many forms. Some said that Satha killed Ravi on the spot right then and there, and his darkness enveloped the entire world until the next descendant of Rachna. Others say that Satha turned to stone right on the spot and Ravi reclaimed his wings and fled. But the most well known end to this story was that Ravi turned into a snowbird and vanished into the republic of the sky, returning to his home. And it was time for him to depart and return to the gods to tell them of his journeys.
~~~~~~
He put his pen down. It was getting late and he had school tomorrow. The lights in the house were already off, except for in his parents’ bedroom. He could see the crack of brightness spilling through his own at the bottom of his door.
He took the journal, and hid it between the slot of the wall and his bed. As much as he loved the journal and his father giving it to him, he wanted to keep it secret from everyone until the time was right.
The last thought that crossed his mind before sleep took over, was how he was looking forward to no gym class tomorrow. He could stay longer in the art class if he wanted to. It was going to be a good day. He dreamt of circles and paintbrushes, of music notes and riding his bike in the blazing sun. Everything was absolutely perfect.
musings 