puja-shah

Their vacation was beautiful, being in the natural wonder of the island, the crystal waters, the aromas of sweet paella and fresh olives filled their nostrils at dinner, the sounds of euro beats took over their bodies at night. Their lovemaking was intense, Sima was surprised about his thirst for her there, and he had not been that passionate with her in what felt like a long time.

It was there, that Sima saw cocaine for the first time. They went to his friend’s villa, where she could not believe how picturesque it was-the breathtaking view of mountains, the detailed stone windows, the rustic wooden doors with beautiful handles. They had been drinking, all of them, the new friends of the island they made, and soon didn’t mind the evening rain shower as they sat on the stone patio enjoying sangria and herbes eivissenques, the local brew of alcohol infused with rosemary, thyme, orange peels-the flavors Sima could not capture in just one taste. She went in the back room, where she kept her purse, searching for her camera to take another photograph of the windows out front, since the sun started setting against the palm trees behind them. His friend, the Australian, was there, and asked her if she wanted a little bump. Sima saw the thin white lines on the table, the curled euro note in his hand, and she looked around, for maybe an answer. “No, I’m okay” she said, timidly, finding the coil of the camera as she heard him say “It’s just a little pick me up hun, you sure?” he said this on his way down, to the table, nose meeting the fine powder. She turned away and left the room with her beating heart, to enter the sounds of people laughing, forgetting to take her photograph, looking to find comfort in his hand at her waist.

When they discussed it later, she asked him to respect her feelings on it, to understand what made her uncomfortable, of the things that scared her about the aftermath of hard drugs, the things she had read in her textbooks. He listened to her, but yet she hoped he understood her concerns.

She thought of her mother, the first time she left India, at a new years party with her father, seeing alcohol for the first time, smelling spilt champagne on her sari, watching the liquid change her new friends’ faces. The way her young mother must have felt in fear of this substance that made people different.

That night Sima woke up multiple times, something making her feel uneasy about her surroundings. She was insecure about being the one who could not allow her body to take in the drugs she feared. His friend spoke of the experience as elating and she told him she found peace in finding elation in meditation instead. She feared judgment from the people he was close to, and was grateful he did not take part of any of it. She reminded her self she did not need to care what others thought, and to stay grounded, the way she had been told by her yoga teacher, finding strength at the root of her first chakra, not letting images she was unaccustomed to sway her. Her grounding helped her for the remainder of the trip and she did not mind or care what others around her did, what drugs they found pleasure from, she let herself love the music and ocean and things she knew were her own natural highs.

On the flight back, she thanked him for the amazing trip, for the experiences she never thought she would feel. Her favorite day being their last day there, when they all had taken a boat to a neighboring island. For some time, their boat sat still in the middle of the sea, turquoise surrounding them like a painting, surreal but alive. They had been daring that day, Sima following his lead, jumping into the sea, the water encompassing their bodies, as they swam to a mud bath, naked, exhilaration at their toes, giggling at the sensations of just water and skin. She breathed in these memories, as they flashed in her mind while she slept on their plane ride home.

Home. Each time they woke up, they would each think of chores they needed to do, things they needed to buy for their apartment, and would often say, ‘When we get home…’ She let in these thoughts and the feeling of security he gave her and she started to understand what it meant to have a new meaning, to harbor a new feeling, for home.

They had a fight from the other day that melted away, in the things that mattered more, in their breathing together at night, when she asked him about it later, he responded to her with love, with a positive affirmation to what he felt in his heart, not in his immediate fear like he did that day.  She trusted him after her confrontation to him, of an email he had sent, she let it go, as did he in his own way, to let their everyday start to feel right, start to fall into place.

The smoothies he made in the morning were precise, cashews and coconut water at the base, the scoops of cocao he would add in, slowly, measuring the right amount and the fruits Sima would wash and slice for him to add at the end.  They were always perfect in consistency, and she didn’t mind washing out the blender after, she liked their roles in such a small task, effortlessly, they took on chores and silently, things always ended up done. The first time she used his blender was when she decided to make dinner for him, to make the white corn tortilla soup that she had perfected the recipe for and placed her ingredients in, like she had seen him do with the smoothies, but did not hold the cover tight enough, sending tomatoes and corn in her hair, the cabinets and on her hands. The soup was hot, she felt the tears come and ran to his office, where he sat at the computer and she showed him the red skin at her wrist. He kissed it, sending her to the kitchen, advising her to run cold water on it and when she went back to continue cooking, he came behind her, picking the corn out of her baby hairs, wiping the soup off her forehead and then kissing her there. Later that night he gave her the ayurvedic oil he had, the one that reminded her of her grandfather, to cool her hands, that continued to burn from cutting jalapeños and from her blender incident.  In the morning she felt better, the burn was still there, but she knew his concern for her soothed her injury with care.  He complained that there was nothing to eat so she opened the refrigerator, surveyed the food they had and made lunch for them. She was used to creating meals from finding random ingredients in kitchens, she often did this during her times of studying in grad school when exams were days long at a time and the grocery store was too much of a chore to visit, at home when her sister and brother were hungry, when they replenished groceries days at a time, their growing bodies and fast metabolisms requiring snacks at odd hours, where preparing in between meals were a constant task. She would become creative in these meals, vegetable quesadillas, chutney sandwiches, queso, pizza wraps, and roasted garlic and red pepper hummus was her sister’s favorite.

 That weekend, they went to phoenix to visit his friend, and on their way, they two of them sat in the backseat while his friend and his fiancé sat in the front, and Sima let her thoughts fill her mind as they drove past deserts and windmills, through small mountains and narrow roads, on their journey. She thought of Anuj, and wondered about her brother, his college experiences thus so far, his goals in his future.

 He was holding her hand as they sat there, and when she turned to him, he asked her “How is Anuj” and she often felt this energy with him, his ability to read her mind, her thoughts, her fears without her saying so.  On their drive together, the sat in silence mostly, her hand running through the curls at the nape of his neck, her fingers pressing his large thumb in her small palm, his hand resting at her thigh. They napped on each other’s shoulders; they laughed with his friends, who were now becoming her friends, of a joke on the radio.

They spent the weekend focused on their visit, his friend’s home, experiencing a new city for just one day, the four of them visiting and she thought of her parents and their friends, his parents and his friends, generations apart, visiting cities and friends like they were doing. When they returned home, she unpacked their suitcase, they planned the next day, she had to study, he had some work to do on the computer, they had laundry to do and together, they fell asleep, and she felt their breaths coincide, like their days, their lives, becoming one.