Just before Nick’s remains were interred at Sacramento Valley National Cemetery, Audrey and baby Janie returned to San Francisco. They stayed with Mom and me, in my brother’s bedroom. But it was too hard, Aud explained when she broke the news that she and Janie were leaving the city—leaving us. She wanted a fresh start. She wanted to live in a place that wasn’t saturated with memories of Nick, where every park, every street corner, every landmark wasn’t a kick to the gut.
“Cypress Beach,” she said. She and Nick had visited for a weekend after they were married, a sort of mini-honeymoon. “It’s special, but it’s not San Francisco. I think Janie and I could be happy there.”
They’ve made a life for themselves and I’m glad, but at the same time, I wish my brother could be a part of it. It doesn’t seem fair that Audrey and Janie—and now Mom and me—get to live in this lovely seaside community when he can’t. Our world, no matter how beautiful, no matter how fulfilling, will forever feel off-kilter because Nicky was taken from it.
“How’s your mom settling in?” Audrey asks now.
“Good, I think. She says the ocean air’s doing wonders for her creativity.”
“We’re so glad you guys came. I know the timing’s not ideal for you with school and everything, but having you here … It’s like having a piece of Nick back.”
I shrug. “I got a dog out of the deal, so there’s that.”
Aud shakes her head, biting her lip to hide a smile. “You can never be serious, can you?”
“Sure I can.” I make a churlish face and tickle Janie. She giggles and squirms, scattering cookie crumbs over her tutu, flaunting the dimple she inherited from my brother. I help her brush the crumbs from her lap before movement out the window catches my eye, and all the merriment’s knocked clean out of me.
The boy from the beach.
The tall, dark boy I hauled from the ocean a few hours ago, walking down the sidewalk in jeans and a burgundy T-shirt. His hair’s dry now, short on the sides, longer on top, and his eyes reflect the sun’s light as he speaks to the woman he’s with. She’s old enough to be his mother, wearing loose-fitting khaki pants and an indigo blouse, her hair tucked under a silky scarf. They’re carrying two grocery bags apiece.
It’s difficult to tear my attention from the boy’s angular face, his graceful gait, his scrupulous half smile. His presence tugs at me, like there’s an invisible thread spanning the space between us. The same thread that kept me from turning my back when he walked into the waves this morning.
“What are you staring at?” Audrey asks. She leans forward to follow my gaze, then groans with unmistakable disgust—ugghhh. I turn away from the strangers outside to focus on my sister-in-law. Her eyes hurl daggers through the window, and she’s crumbling her madeleine to pieces.
“You okay?” I ask.
She looks resentful, jarringly so, but she shakes it off like it’s nothing—like I don’t know exactly what she’s thinking about the tawny-skinned boy and his scarfed companion.
“I’m fine,” she says. She kisses the top of Janie’s head, as if the contact tethers her to the here and now.
When I look out the window again, the boy and the woman have disappeared.
MATI
The people of Cypress Beach stare.
Like they are curious.
Like my parents and I unnerve them.
Like we are doing something wrong.
They stare like they are wishing us away.
I hate their stares.
It is worst when I go out with Mama, because she does not pass.
A silken hijab, blue or pink or soft green, hides her hair and proclaims her other.
I am other, too.
The girl from the beach thought so.
Her expression roared loud as the rolling waves.…
Stupid boy, battling the sea with his hands.
Stupid boy, swimming alone in biting water.
Stupid boy, clamming up when questioned.
I’ll wither if I ever see her again.
I’ll wither if I never see her again.
Mama prefers that I escort her to the market.
The staring gets to her, as it gets to me, and my presence makes it easier for her to bear.
I am her eldest son and since my father is ill, it is up to me to look after her.
I walk the sidewalks
of Cypress Beach with her,
swallowing my complaints,
and smothering my quarrels.
I wear invisible blinders to block countless pairs of probing eyes.
But today, we encounter more than stares.
After passing the bakery
and a gallery displaying paint-splattered canvases, a slur catapults through the air, striking Mama and me.
Her eyes widen with fear;
I want to sink into the sidewalk.
I know better than to engage, though I cannot help but turn
when the deep voice adds,
“Go home, hajjis! You’re not welcome here!”
I flinch, my vision blurring with rage as I look at evil incarnate.
He is a large man, leaning casually against a brick facade.
He wears work boots with jeans,
and a vest crowded with pockets.
Copper hair, flint eyes, menacing smile.
He is foolish.
He uses the word hajji as a slight, though it is a title of respect
given to Muslims who have lived long enough to make a pilgrimage to Mecca.
His ignorance is almost as offensive as his bigotry.
I open my mouth to enlighten him, but Mama nudges me— a reminder of where we are,
and who we are.
“You got somethin’ to say?” the man taunts, raising his arms in invitation.
“Matihullah,” Mama says,
shifting her bags to grip my elbow.
She drags me forward, away from the threat.
“Home! We must go home.”
My heart thrashes against my ribs as I follow, listening to the man’s unrelenting jeers, clenching my hands into useless fists.
I hate him,
but I hate myself more.
It reeks of weakness, allowing prejudice to affect me, to hurt me.
But sometimes …
Sometimes I wish I were anywhere but here.
elise
Bambi is up at dawn. She wakes me with slobbery kisses.
I roll out of bed, then throw on a pair of leggings and a baggy sweatshirt, one my brother sent me after he and Audrey moved to Fort Bragg, leaving me behind for what would not be the first time. It’s black with a crest of blue, yellow, and white, set off by a red lightning bolt. His unit’s motto—Advise, Support, Stabilize—is embroidered below. I sport it so often it’s pilling and faded. Last year I had to mend a hole along the right sleeve’s seam. I’m not sure what I’ll do when it’s too old to pass as wearable.
Bambi bounces around while I brush my teeth and twist my long hair into a knot, her claws clicking against the hardwood. I leave the house sans camera, and she seems pleased that I’ve got nothing to slow me down. In the front yard, I clip her leash to her collar and hold her tennis ball out so she can clamp it between her jaws; she likes to carry it all the way to the beach. We’re heading down the cobblestone path when our salt-and-pepper-haired neighbor, Iris, approaches the waist-high box hedge that separates her yard from ours.
“If it isn’t my dear Elise,” she says. “And Bambi, too!”
Bambi turns an excited circle, grinning around her ball. She loves Iris, and Iris loves her—almost as much as she loves her garden, which encompasses her entire yard, front and back. I appreciate her green thumb because sometimes, when my window’s cracked and the wind whirls just right, my room smells of gardenia and lilac and rose. She’s outside all the time, pruning, planting, weeding, and eavesdropping on neighborhood goings-on.
“Morning, Iris.”
She holds up her hands, a pair of garden clippers in one, and a basket full of periwinkle hydrangeas in the other. “Seems I’ve got more blooms than I know what to do with. I can tie a bundle for your mother, if you think she’d like them.”
“She would. Her library could use some cheering up.”
“Has she locked herself in there again? Someone should remind her that soil and sunshine are good for the soul.” She adjusts her knitted cardigan and casts a disparaging glance at our yard, which, generously put, is overgrown.
“I’ll tell her, but do you know what she’ll say? ‘I’m on a deadline, Elise.’”
“We’re all on a deadline. Every day’s a step toward extinction. Why not make the best of our time?”
“Exactly. Why else would I be up before the birds, on my way to the beach?”
“You’re better for it. So is that darling pup of yours.” Bambi wags her tail as if she understands. Iris puckers her lips and blows my dog a gale of kisses before saying, “I’ve got to get back to work. I’ve got company arriving today.”