Safiah’s Smile
by
Leora Friedman
SMASHWORDS EDITION
*****
Copyright 2010 Leora Friedman
Smashwords
Edition, License Notes
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*****
This book is dedicated to the men and women in uniform who risk their lives every day to keep our country safe and to anyone who has ever had courage in the face of discrimination and fear.
*****
– Chapter 1 –
“No one can tell me the integral of this simple equation?” Mr. Foreman
glanced at the multivariable formula scratched on the chalkboard and stared at his students expectantly. “Who would think,” he fell to his chair and sighed, “that you all would be taking the Advanced Placement exam in just a few months? This is an outrage.”
4x + 5, Malia quickly scribbled in her notebook, placed her pencil lightly
on her desk, and counted the pleats in her plaid skirt.
“Malia, why don’t you tell us the answer?” he asked almost desperately.
Her eyes shot up and her arm mechanically swiped the bangs from her
face. “Oh, well…” she glanced at her empty spiral notebook and the drawings embroidering its edges. She could sense Mr. Forman’s impatience and feared her pulsating heart would betray her. “Mr. Foreman, I really don’t know the answer. I’m sorry.” Her cheeks turning light shade of pink, she shrugged apologetically.
“I see, Ms. Sanders. I’m very disappointed in you.” Mr. Foreman turned to the chalkboard and jotted next week’s homework assignment.
As the bell rang, Malia breathed a sigh of relief and scurried towards the aroma of moldy cheese and burnt potatoes. The cafeteria menu consisted of a hamburger, super-sized fries, and a diet Pepsi. Malia grimaced, reached for her set of car keys, and trekked towards the double glass doors at the front of the school. A set of about twenty stone steps led to the sidewalk and parking lot that framed her eighty year old, nearly antiquated high school. She noticed that her fellow seniors had already adopted the front-row VIP area of the school’s parking lot. Most of her classmates had already spray-painted Senior Class of 2001 on the windshields of their cars in vibrant greens, pinks, and yellows, though graduation remained an eerie ten months away.
A crew of construction workers arrived at dawn each morning in the fall and spring seasons to try to preserve and renovate the precious bricks of the historic school. She heard their engines blazing now as she walked to her car. A new sign bearing the school’s name in gold radiated blindingly in the eyes of every innocent driver who happened to cruise by.
Over four-hundred classrooms – that was what the principal had boasted to every interested parent and on every school advertisement and pamphlet, Malia recalled the various admissions programs she had attended in agony. James Madison High promised success, almost perfection, or a seemingly unbreakable bubble, of which nothing from the distant outside world could penetrate.
Malia wrapped her messenger bag across her shoulders and turned towards her 1996 Toyota Corolla with two friends who obediently followed from two feet behind. Awkwardly sensing her reign over them, she momentarily envisioned a ruby-encrusted crown on her head and a golden scepter in her palm as her two compliant servants meekly followed.
“Ms. Sanders!” she was thrown from her daydreams.
“Oh, Mr. Matthews. I was just heading out for lunch… is something wrong?” her brows furrowed in concern.
“Malia, have you really forgotten? We have a meeting scheduled for today. In fact, it began five minutes ago.”
She felt a fresh layer of sweat plaster her forehead. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. I’ll be there in two minutes!” she flew past Mr. Matthews, nearly knocking him to the ground, and left her two companions behind, who, without her commanding presence, wandered aimlessly around campus for the remainder of the lunch hour.
How could I have forgotten my meeting with Mr. Matthews? she pondered, though she recalled her mother sticking a hot pink post-it note reminding her of the occasion onto the refrigerator that very morning.
“Ms. Sanders,” Mr. Matthews entered his office, “I apologize for being tardy. You see, I was having some trouble locating a student of mine.” Malia smiled and revealed a set of dimples on her lightly flushed cheeks.
“Now, I think it’s time that we begin to discuss your future. Malia, you only have a few more months here at James Madison, and you really need to start considering your options after high school.” Malia stared as a loose piece of Mr. Matthew’s red curly hair drooped onto his forehead. “Malia? Malia, did you hear what I said?”
“Oh, yes, I did, Mr. Matthews.”
“Well, what do you say? What do you want to do with your life? How do you see yourself five years from now?” he stared desperately into her emerald eyes, looking for some glimmer of hope that for once his position as guidance councilor would lead to some sort of gratification. He hopelessly imagined that she would shout in exuberance, “Oh, Mr. Matthews, I realize now what I want to do with my life. Somehow, I have found my purpose!” But Mr. Matthews could only dream.
“Five years from now? Well, you see, that is a very, very long time from now. I don’t even know what I’m doing tonight, Mr. Matthews, so how do you expect me to know what I want to do in five years?” she exclaimed. She bit her lip.
“But, Malia, what have you been working so hard for in high school? All of your excellent grades and scores, what is the purpose of them? You must have been working for something?” Malia suddenly felt a stroke of shock shimmer up her spine. What had she been working for? Her 4.3 GPA, her 2300 SAT score, her participation in far too many student activities. What had been the goal when she had hired a chemistry tutor last year to get the A she had so longed for? Well, she thought, that had been the goal. To get an A. But why?
She felt tears well up in her eyes. Ever since Beth and her family moved away last year, Malia began searching wildly for a new identity. She painfully recalled their plans to share a memorable senior year and college experience. Now those plans seemed rather dim. “Mr. Matthews, I’m sorry, but I have to go.” She grabbed her bag and ran from his office.
“Was it something I said?” he called after her, perplexed.
She slowed her pace and lightly wiped her eyes before crowds of curious underclassmen – girls in Marc Jacobs heels and Louis Vuitton wallets matching her own. Probably a coincidence, she thought. She felt something soft fall onto her head and wipe her bangs onto her lashes. “What the….”
Danny appeared from behind, “Now we’re all ready for the game tonight.” He glanced appreciatedly at the backwards baseball cap he casually planted onto her head. “You excited to watch prince charming kick a ball across a wet, muddy field?”
She glanced up at him. His face appeared blotchy, almost blurred through her tears.
“Hey,” he suddenly softened. “What’s the matter?”
“I just, I’m just… I don’t know, I’m confused, alright.” She crunched the Red Sox hat with her fist and shoved it into Danny’s hand. He placed it back on his head with a smirk.
“Not a Red Sox fan, are we?”
“Oh, no I love the Red Sox. It’s you I’m not such a fan of,” she laughed, wiping her cheeks. “Where’s my brother, anyway?”
“What, I can’t walk around campus without your brother?”
Malia stared.
“He’s talking to a teacher. We’re gonna go scavenge for some edible food downtown. You know, as opposed to the cardboard this school expects us to eat. Join us?”
“That’s okay,” she began to walk away while flattening her hair from the hat’s damage.
“What, not a fan of burgers and fries?” he called after her.
“Oh, no, I love burgers and fries. It’s you and my brother that aren’t so tempting.” she smiled.
“At least come to the football game tonight. It’s the first game of the season, and you haven’t been to a school-sponsored event in awhile,” he urged.
She eyed him curiously. “I didn’t think anyone noticed,” she whispered. With that, she withdrew towards her locker to retrieve her splash goggles for chemistry lab.
Before rounding the corner, Malia turned and rolled her eyes as a flock of sophomore girls with beach blonde highlights and Burberry scarves swarmed Danny Sawyer, who for seventeen years had been her brother’s best friend.
James Madison High School boasted the largest football team in the entire state of Indiana. The principal thought it best to give every student an equal opportunity, rather than to cut freshman and sophomores after only two days of try-outs. Corey Simon nonetheless held the position of star quarterback since freshman year. Malia saw signs and posters telling Corey Simon and the James Madison Jaguars to defeat the Truman High Tigers in slabs of red and yellow paint – traditional James Madison High colors.
She saw rows of freshman girls in pigtails and mock cheerleader uniforms and even boys with red and yellow lines of paint under their eyes screaming his name, and she felt a sudden pang of disbelief and confusion in her classmates’ obsession with the sport. She seated herself in a vacant seat on the bleachers and cringed at the unexpected coldness the metal emanated onto her bare legs. She sported a black tee shirt, a pair of faded denim jeans, and a red baseball cap with the slogan James Madison Jaguars printed on its front – a gift from her father, a sports enthusiast.
“Hey, Malia, is that you?” Chelsea, a fellow senior, approached. “I’ve never seen you at a football game before! What gives?” She flashed Malia a friendly grin.
“Oh, you know, I’ve always been a football fan in secret, Chelsea. I just didn’t want anyone else to know.”
“Well, don’t look now, but Danny Sawyer is staring at you.” Malia rolled her eyes and buried her face in the palm of her hand.
“He’s probably just wondering where my brother is.” She unveiled her face and glanced at Danny who was accompanied by her brother, of course. Why is he never with a girl? she thought. Always with my brother. Like glue.
She heard sudden cheers from the sidelines, as the cheerleading squad pounced in their poses and bounced their pompoms. She saw number 18 kick the ball, number 5 pass the ball, and number 12 run with the ball until number 24 tackled him and the cycle was repeated. Endlessly. Almost minutes later, she felt Chelsea shaking her arm and telling her the game had ended and that the Jaguars had lost.
“Some football fan you are,” Chelsea popped down from the bleachers. Malia watched the fans exit the stadium with glum faces.
Corey was chatting with his fellow athletes on the field, she saw, seemingly unmoved by his team’s defeat. Suddenly, just as Corey began staring at her, she realized that she had been staring at him. She quickly switched her gaze to the dimming sun. What’s Danny doing down there? she thought, laughing as Danny attempted uselessly to console the team. “Hey look, you guys,” Corey exclaimed, still staring at her. “It’s that hermit girl. Haven’t seen her around for awhile.”
Danny’s cheerful expression turned acidic. “Hey, man. Watch it,” he commanded bitterly.
Corey was a good three inches taller than Danny, which deeply amused Malia as she watched him attempt to defend her. But when Corey gave Danny a threatening shove, she was no longer entertained. “Why don’t you go back to your Mathletes buddies, Sawyer. There’s a reason you didn’t make the football team,” Corey scowled. Oh no, Malia thought. With that, Danny thrust Corey Simon five feet backwards. The star quarterback toppled to the floor.
“You did not want to do that,” Corey growled, as Malia sprinted to the field.
Danny smiled. “Actually, I’ve wanted to do that for awhile now.” As Danny’s fist extended towards Corey, Malia grabbed his arm.
“Danny, no! Please. He’s not worth it.” Malia’s baseball cap fell to the floor and brown splotches of mud quickly infested it. She felt rain droplets embellish her hair like small, cold crystals as she reached for Danny’s arm to prevent him from fracturing the face of the beloved James Madison sports star. She felt Danny’s arm automatically soften. In the corner of her eye she saw Corey’s clammy shape sprint towards the exit.
Her head fell and the blood rushed to her cheeks. Her fingers swiped her face, trying to distinguish her tears from the rain. A soft jacket wrapped lightly around her arms and shielded her from further wetness. A blast of thunder rang and a spark of lightning that brightened her features momentarily flashed. A thick wave of darkness enfolded them as they stood silent in the center of the James Madison High School football field.
“You really didn’t have to do that,” she barely managed to whisper. He shook his head, his face donning a tired smile. He reached in his pocket for his Red Sox cap and placed it lightly in her fingers. She stared at it shortly and then put it on without a word, her lashes finally free from the blinding downpour. They headed to the nearest shelter – the football equipment shed – and quietly waited for the unexpected wrath of nature to pass as they both clinged desperately to the promise of tomorrow.
A repetitive buzz reverberated in Malia’s ears from under her quilted paisley bedcovers the following morning. She restlessly wiped her groggy eyes and reached for her cell phone. Its screen flashed “10:00 AM, September 11, 2001” on its front. She moaned as she realized she had overslept. A lot happened yesterday, she told herself, Mr. Matthews will understand. Somehow, however, she knew that he would not overlook this simple misdemeanor. She slowly flipped it open, and mumbled an inaudible hello.
“Malia? Malia, is that you?”
After coughing wearily, she responded, “Yes. Who is this?”
“It’s Danny.” He sounded confused. “After everything that’s been going on this morning, I just got worried. Because you weren’t in homeroom.”
“What has been going on? Danny, you don’t sound so good.”
“You don’t know? Malia….” his voice trialed off. He paused, but Malia dared not question him. “Look, Malia, just turn on the news, alright?” She hung up and flipped on her mini thirteen-inch black and white television set. After propping its antennas, she watched in awe as piles of asphalt crumbled to the ground thousands of feet below. The shouts of frantic bystanders and victims soaring to their deaths caused her to cringe.
She suddenly felt Danny by her side, holding her steady as her legs heavied and she felt her body go feeble.
“What’s happened, Danny?” she whispered.
She eventually regained her stability but still felt Danny firmly grasping her arms, as if grasping the edge of a building to prevent falling to his demise.
“Nothing can ever be the same now,” he whispered. He looked into her eyes, but somehow reached far deeper than her pupils. They stood in silence as both wordlessly accepted the untimely end to their short-lived youth. The outside world had finally penetrated their bubble.
– Chapter 2 –
Malia watched as her balding history professor slowly removed his silver spectacles and stared heavily at his class, preparing to discuss the horrors of the previous day’s attacks. He began to discuss the the heroes of the New York police and fire departments and the tragedy that just one day prior plagued America’s most beloved metropolis – New York City.
New York. Malia had never travelled to New York, but she had long aspired to visit the illustrious Statue of Liberty in all of her glory and to ascend the world-renown World Trade Center. The opportune moment had finally arrived at the end of eighth grade – her teachers had arranged a class trip to the Big Apple. Malia had unfortunately caught a cold – a condition her frantic mother would not risk worsening by a cumbersome three-day excursion. Each year since, Malia had pleaded with her mother to attend the Phantom of the Opera on Broadway, but now the prospect of hearing those melodious tunes and walking those scorched sidewalks and riding those brutally dented taxis rather than driving her glossy Toyota Corolla appeared tragically dim.
“And so here we are. Almost sixty years from the conclusion of World War II – the most demoralizing international debacle of the past one-hundred years – and almost immediately the new poison that will ravage the twenty-first century has arrived. Terrorism.” He briefly froze his speech as if to allow this chilling revelation to settle in his students’ impressionable minds.
Jennifer, the ordinarily headstrong girl in the front row who was notoriously labeled the class’s overachiever, timidly raised her hand.
“Mr.… Mr. Collins?” she stumbled.
“Yes, Jen?”
“What’s going to happen now?” For once, the girl with all of the answers intricately preprogrammed into her brain was left bewildered, and the teacher who never once paused while delivering his countless, interminable lectures appeared speechless.
“I don’t really know.” He paused, locked his eyes to the white linoleum floor, and gradually raised his glance to his students who desperately placed their trust in his words. “All I know is that now, more than ever, all of us must have faith in our country. We must remain unified in the face of tragedy and not permit external threats and attempts to divide our nation to succeed.”
He began to pace the room, clearly engulfed in his dialogue and barely addressing his class any longer. “This is the true test of the fortitude and survival of our nation. For years, we have faced intimidation and animosity from others because of our principles and because of our liberal beliefs, freedoms, and tolerance.” He finally perceived the twenty-five expectant students whose aghast stare remained locked on his.
“You all might consider tomorrow’s chemistry exam the test of your lives right now. But, years from this day, you’ll look back and realize that the true test was the test of courage. What you each individually take from this calamity and how you interpret it will carry you through for the rest of your lives.”
The bell signaling the end of the school day pierced the students’ ears, but each remained locked to his or her seat, hardly flinching a muscle.
“Go on. You all can leave. Just… just remember what I said. If you need to speak to me about anything or would like to share your thoughts, my office is always open.” He slumped slowly at his desk and watched his students automatically return to their trivial high school anxieties.
“You know what I don’t get?” Malia heard her brother teasingly ask a group of seniors standing idly by the locker bay, “I don’t get why we’ve still got school this week. After watching the news yesterday, I actually got hopeful.” Malia sighed at her brother’s inability to allow this historical disaster to spoil his cheery mood.
“Sam, you really shouldn’t say things like that at a time like this,” she intercepted. “Even for you. I thought you were better than that.”
He widened his eyes. “Sis, I’m just trying to lighten up a dim situation. I’m sure everyone else appreciates it. Am I right guys?” He glanced expectantly at the crowd of zombies who hastily agreed.
“See, Malia? Not everyone sees this as the end of the world. Life goes on.” Nearly the entire senior class observed her flushed face with sympathy, each inwardly sharing her glum disposition.
She quickly spun around, weary of her brother’s adolescent games. Crowds of chattering teenagers in vibrant plaids and shimmering accessories passed her through the halls, yet she only saw dull shades of grey.
“Malia,” Danny trailed from behind. “Don’t listen to Sam, you know he has a tough time dealing with difficult situations.”
“I know. He is my brother, Danny.”
He quickened his pace to hold open the glass doors leading to the splintered pavement of the school’s parking lot. “But, just know that everyone agrees with you. Sam was way out of line.”
“I never thought the day would come when you would side against my brother.” She noticed his face slightly redden.
Several moments of thick silence passed. “Malia, you seem upset. Is something wrong?” he whispered. He appeared sincerely concerned, never once removing his eyes from hers.
She looked up at his alarmed stare and sighed. “It’s nothing. I’ve just been really stressed lately. That’s all.” Turning her glance towards the grey clouds dotting the sky, she sensed his heavy stare on her face.
“Is this about next year? Are you worried about college?” he inquired.
“No. I haven’t applied to any schools yet. I’m not even sure what I want to do next year,” she confessed.
“But you’ve been dreaming about going to college you’re entire life,” he exclaimed. “I still distinctly remember that time in first grade when our teacher went around the room asking everyone what they want to do when they grow up, and you said that you wanted to go to Harvard.”
Malia smiled, revealing a set of dimples and pearly white teeth. “I had completely forgotten that. Thanks for reminding me.” She paused. “But that was a long time ago. Things change, Danny.” She opened the front-door seat to her 1996 Corolla and ignited the engine.
“Yes, things definitely change.” He watched Malia quietly exit the parking lot of James Madison High School. He shook his head with a smile and laughed at the various times he found himself deserted by Malia Sanders, his best friend’s sister – the girl everyone considered a symbol of perfection, yet he was starting to see more than the varsity jocks and popular wannabes perceived of her at a mere first glance.
The following weekend, Malia woke to the blare of her alarm clock, accidentally set to sound at seven-thirty on that crisp Saturday morning. After showering and dressing in comfortable autumn attire – light denim Levi jeans, a white Abercrombie and Fitch hoodie, and brown suede boots – Malia scurried down the stairway to consume a light breakfast before enjoying her first free weekend in months.
“Hey, Dad.” She entered the kitchen, clacking the soles of her shoes on the black and white checkered tiles.
“Hey, Mal. You hungry?” he revealed a frying pan of freshly scrambled eggs and plates of homemade waffles and blueberry pancakes. She inhaled hungrily and nodded.
“It’s nice to not eat Cocoa Puffs for a change. Not that I don’t thoroughly enjoy cereal that tastes like chocolate, but may I ask what the occasion is?” She sat at the table and began meticulously dissecting a blueberry pancake.
“Nothing much. I just thought I’d give you some fuel for the day. So you can, you know, work on some college applications.”
Malia instantly froze. “Dad… I don’t know….”
“Look, Malia, I know things have been tough ever since your best friend moved away.” Does he even know the definition of the word? she thought. “But you’ve been working hard for a long time now. I just don’t want to see you throw all of your dreams away.” No one from school had even kept in touch with Beth ever since her mom relocated her family – essentially Beth – to New York for her new job after she got laid off, she thought. No one even knew.
Since nursery school, Malia and Beth Walters had been nearly inseparable. Together they had conquered first grade math, ninth grade biology, the PSAT, and ultimately their high school’s social pyramid. When Beth departed for New York, she left Malia stranded, solitarily responsible for their countless cronies. Now, none of it seemed to matter.
“Speaking of Beth, have you talked to her lately? How’s she doing?”
Malia blinked, “I don’t know Dad… I haven’t spoken to her in awhile,” she replied. In fact, she had spoken to Beth merely two days prior from a payphone at the local ShopMart in an urgent attempt to inquire of Beth’s mother’s wellbeing. When not trapped in her tedious home or in the classroom, Malia could frequently be found at Beth’s apartment for the past ten years. Mrs. Walters almost felt like a second mother to Malia, or at least an adult she perceived as a role model and sought much guidance from in troubled times. Memories of Beth and her mother blazed instantaneously in Malia’s mind, as if she was hurriedly perusing through a painfully nostalgic photo album unopened for centuries.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I have to go.” She felt suddenly weak and feeble.
Her father appeared abruptly nervous. “Are you okay? Should I call the doctor?”
“No, no, I’m fine.” She faked a smile. “I think I might get started on those applications you were talking about a few minutes ago,” she lied. Not for the first time.
After slamming the door to her room, her body trembled and she scavenged for her cell phone in her purse. Her eyes scanned the list of contacts – Chelsea, Rebecca, Ally, Jake, Jordan. The list appeared infinite. She slammed her phone in frustration and let it slide from her fingers to the hardwood floor.
She heard a light knocking on her door. “Malia, can I come in?” Her brother.
After quickly wiping her eyes, she replied, “Sure, Sam.”
He turned the knob and entered her overwhelmingly purple room – lavender wallpaper, dark purple bedcovers, and even a violet lampshade. “Is everything okay? I heard some noise coming from your room. And… were you crying?” he stared at the blotches of water on her cheeks and the red puffs marking her eyes.
“I wasn’t crying. What would make you think that?”
He strode from his position by the doorway to her nightstand and slipped a handheld mirror into her grasp.
“Oh.” She blushed. “Okay, I was crying. You’re right. Is that all, Sam? Because I really should be heading out.” She hopped from the bed, one hand desperately clutching the doorknob.
“No, Malia, that’s not all. Look, I know. Everyone does.”
“About what?” The beating of her pulsating heart quickened and a fresh layer of sweat enveloped her forehead, nearly dampening the hair she so meticulously blow dried that morning.
“Um… Beth Walters, Mal.” How could he know? she thought. She hadn’t told a soul. She had promised Beth that much, and she certainly wouldn’t lie about something so important.
“What about Beth?” she innocently asked. Who knows? she asked herself. Maybe it was something else. It had to be something else. She clung hopelessly to the prospect that it was something else. Anything but the truth.
“Her mom, Malia. She died. Four days ago. On September 11.” He paused to allow his weighty words to sink slowly in Malia’s mind. “I assumed you knew.”
She relented. “I did know, Sam. I promised Beth I wouldn’t tell anyone. It was the least I could do.”
Her brother looked pained – an expression she had never before witnessed on his habitually youthful face. “I just found out this morning.” He ran his fingers through his hair in a frustrated manner. He fumbled his speech for several moments. “Look, Malia. I… I’m really sorry. About before. I’m an idiot. Remember all those years you called me an idiot? Well, it turns out you were right.”
For the first time in days, Malia broke a smile. “I was right, was I? I thought I’d never hear those words come from your lips.”
He nearly returned the smile, yet suddenly recalled the focus of their conversation. “How is she, I mean, how is Beth doing? Have you spoken to her?” Malia quietly recalled all those years she privately suspected that her brother harbored more than friendly feelings towards her best friend. Now she was certain.
“She’s getting by. She’s living with her aunt in the city now. Her aunt’s cool, so I think she’s going to be okay.”
Sam nodded approvingly. “That’s good. Are you going to be okay, though? I know you and Beth… and her mom… you guys were all really close, weren’t you?”
She locked her eyes to a budding rip in the carpet by Sam’s feet. She hoped that one loose thread wouldn’t shred the carpet to pieces. “Yeah,” she whispered. “We were.” She sunk to her bed. After several minutes of contemplation, she met her brother’s eyes and noticed his anxious stare. Another new expression from her brother, whose only care in the world for seventeen years remained solely basketball. “You know me, Sam. I don’t let anything take me down. Don’t you worry.” She smiled, sensing no need to extend her despair to immediate family members.
“So, are you hanging out with Danny today?”
He looked at her. “Nah. I mean not today.”
Malia gaped, “Are you serious? This may be the first Saturday in ten years that you haven’t spent with Danny. Explain yourself.” She waited expectantly.
“I don’t know. It’s just… lately, all he talks about is you.”
She froze. “I guess without Beth this year, we’ve become friends in a way,” she responded casually.
“Friends,” he repeated slowly, emphasizing each syllable. “You know, Malia, I don’t like sharing my friends with my sister,” he chuckled. Another awkward silence. “Well, sis, I won’t take anymore of your time.” He headed towards the hall.
“Oh,” he swirled to face her, “Dad wanted me to remind you to edit each of your college essays at least fifteen times. Microsoft can’t catch every mistake, you know.” She rolled her eyes as she watched him sprint to his room and snatch his basketball. His thin shadow floated across the wall opposite her room and evaporated within seconds. She heard his basketball thud rhythmically against the lobby’s hardwood floors.
“Sam, no bouncing basketballs in the house!” she heard her mother reprimand from the kitchen. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with that boy, Jack. I really don’t.”
He’ll be fine, Malia thought. She seized her car keys and headed to the driveway at ease, no longer drowning in her secrets. While racing to her silver Corolla, Malia stooped to inspect the mysterious envelope emblazoned with her name lying lifelessly by the front door.
“What the…?” she curiously slid the packets of papers from their package, each stamped with the names of various prestigious colleges – Penn State, Brown, Washington University, Princeton. “Mr. Matthews,” she thought quietly. She secured the envelope under her arm and strode to the kitchen, her father still merrily whistling while delicately knotting spongy dough into butterscotch croissants.
“Dad, if you ever get tired of accounting, you should definitely open your own bed and breakfast.”
He analyzed the array of creamy croissants, strawberry muffins, and crispy waffles adorning the kitchen table. “Oh, this? It’s just a hobby.”
“Dad, this envelope, do you know who...” she began to question the origins of her unanticipated envelope of college applications when the doorbell obstructed her speech.
“Danny?” she opened the front door to Danny’s smirking face. “Here to see my brother?”
“Nope. I just wanted to make sure you got my gift,” he watched the enveloped crumple beneath her arm. “And I see that you did,” he smiled.
She stumbled to find words. “You?”
“Yes. Me,” he said, his eyes unwaveringly tied to hers.
“Why?” she challenged.
“I can’t let you throw all of your dreams away. Just let me help you, Malia.” He searched her face for some glimmer of agreement. “I heard about Beth. You can’t keep these things inside.”
“You can’t even begin to understand,” she whispered. She no longer attempted to vigorously prevent her tears from streaming down her pale-white cheeks. Why is she always crying in front of him? she pondered. “You don’t know how hard it is to go on like nothing is changed,” she elevated her voice, nearly screaming, “when everyone around you moves on like nothing even happened.”
“Let me help you, Malia,” he took a step towards her.
“I don’t need help,” she asserted. “I don’t. I’m fine. Why don’t you believe me?” Her last words muffled with her tears.
“You’ve always been so stubborn.” He slid the envelope lightly from under her arm. “This is your future, Malia.” He snatched a handful of Kleenex from the nearby mantelpiece and offered it to her. She wiped the smudged mascara from her lashes and lifted them to him. “Just let me help you.”
“Okay,” she surrendered.
– Chapter 3 –
The fleeting days of September passed painstakingly slowly, as Malia Sanders faced her senior year at James Madison High School flustered and abandoned. Nonetheless, as with all traumatic experiences, she gradually healed and discovered that she would eventually return to her more carefree, youthful self with time.
After snatching a cereal bar, Malia scanned the morning newspaper for the latest headlines. Printed in block letters on its front was the President’s declaration of war against Afghanistan in response to the attacks Osama Bin Laden spearheaded against the United States one month prior. She felt a bolt of electricity blaze up her arms. Finally, Malia thought. Maybe now Beth’s mom can rest in peace.
After skimming the lengthy article analyzing the historical event, Malia crammed the newspaper into her shoulder bag and drove peacefully to James Madison High, somewhat at ease.
“Mr. Matthews!” she dashed into her guidance councilor’s office with a chunky pamphlet of stamped and addressed envelopes. “Here are those teacher recommendations you asked about last week.” She slapped them onto his desk.
He analyzed them briefly, grinning and nodding in approval. “Thank you, Malia. You know,” he rose from his seat, “You’ve come a long way. I am so glad you’ve decided to apply to college.” His brows furrowed, “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what is it that persuaded you to change your mind so quickly?”
She bit her lip, contemplating the past month. “I guess you could say I was… inspired.” She thought about Beth and her strength in the face of such a massive loss.
After muttering a brief farewell, Malia stumbled to homeroom in search of a familiar face. Her brother was standing idly by his seat in the back row listening to music and rhythmically snapping his fingers against the hardwood desk.
“Sam, guess who just handed in their recommendations for college?”
“Huh?” He squinted, recognized someone was speaking to him, and swiftly removed his ear buds. “Oh,” his lips curved upward in a brief grin before he immediately returned to his hard metal tunes. “I’m glad,” he robotically uttered.
“Speaking of college, where are you thinking of going next year?” Though she adored her twin brother, she privately yearned that they would attend separate universities the following year. Essentially inseparable for seventeen years from her brother, three minutes her elder, she needed to find her own identity. She no longer wished to wear the label of Sam’s little twin sister.
He flipped off his portable music device and stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans. “Oh, well,” his eyes perused the classroom, as if desperately searching for something. “Malia, you know I’ve never been the best of students.”
She eyed him concernedly. “There are plenty of schools out there. I’m sure you can find something that’s right for you.”
He sunk his fist into the tabletop in frustration. “That’s just it, Malia. I’m not so sure that college is right for me. At least not yet.” She waited, certain that an explanation would follow.
He stumbled on his words. A sharp pang of fear reached his eyes, and he swiped the sweat from his face. He hastily removed his bulky denim jacket. “I think that I need to do something different. Something I’m better at. I’m thinking of joining the army, Malia.”
She stared. “Please, don’t tell Mom and Dad. I’ll tell them when I’m ready. We both know how they’ll react when they find out their oldest son doesn’t want to win the next Nobel Peace Prize.”
She continued to stare. “Malia, can you please say something?”
“I… I don’t,” she started just as Danny miraculously appeared.
“Morning everyone.” Neither Malia nor Danny acknowledged his presence. “Did I interrupt something?”
“I’m sorry. I have to go,” she slid past Danny.
The mundane halls painted in shades of creamy ivory and iron grey swirled dizzyingly before her eyes. She leaned heavily against the wall and sunk to the ground, swimming in colors of confusion. A teacher, possibly Mr. Foreman, inquired of her wellbeing and then, struck by her lack of response, scurried to the nurse’s office. The reverberation of the morning bell chimed piercingly in her ears, yet all she heard was a deafening silence.
“Mr. Matthews is looking for you,” she saw Danny striding towards her. His form was hazy, almost ghost-like. “Class just started.” She looked at his feet. Brown leather with laces. Mesh holes dotted either of their sides. “Malia, did you hear what I said?”
“I heard you, Danny.” Her eyes fixated on the opposite wall. The crusty, lead-infested paint was already starting to chip. Small brown gaps stained the previously hospital white hallway. And yet, despite all of the wall’s insufficiencies, Malia continued to stare.
“Sam told me about the whole army thing,” he confessed. “Is that what’s bothering you?”
Her trance was suddenly broken. “The whole army thing?” she mimicked. “He’s been your best friend since kindergarten. You played little league together, you learned how to throw a fast pitch together, you…. Danny, how can you let him risk his life?” she challenged.
“For his country,” he intercepted. “For something admirable.” He sat beside her, breaking his speech for several minutes, simply contemplating. “I might go with him, Malia.”
She looked at him, his face nearly an inch from hers. “I guess you’ve made your choice then.”
He leaped bitterly from the ground in irritation. “Why does this have to be a bad thing?”
“Because it is,” she retorted, “Why can’t you see that?”
“You’ve suffered so much because of terrorism. I thought you’d want me and your brother to fight it.”
Her breathe quickened, and she shrunk deeper into the ground. Her heart pounded, nearly escaping her chest. Eventually, she steadily lifted herself from the checkered linoleum floor. “I’m afraid,” she admitted.
His muscles grew tense. He fixed his gaze on a copper penny lying flatly by Malia’s loafers. “So am I.” He wrapped his fingers around her snowy hand and steered them towards homeroom. In spite of everything, he worried that Mr. Matthews might condemn them both to a week’s detention upon their arrival.
The remainder of the afternoon was a blur. In chemistry, Malia’s professor rebuked her for improperly extracting DNA from a strawberry. In calculus, she plainly forgot the formula for the derivative of the cosine function. In history, she delivered an oral presentation in which she unintentionally mistook the Jim Crow legislation for the black codes. Between classes, she bundled herself in a quilted winter jacket, dragging herself through the school’s maze-like hallways. Her bag sturdily strapped around her shoulders, she tried to minimize speculation from her curious classmates.
After finishing her two-hour shift at Pete’s Pizzas later that evening, Malia slouched on the staircase leading to her house’s family room. The scent of Swiss cheese and tomato sauce lingered on her skin. She draped a furry blanket around her arms to mask the odor, and began to pry into the conversation taking place between her brother and her parents in the adjacent room. Her brother, slouching casually on the sofa bed with a backward baseball cap lying flimsily on his head, looked at both of his parents expectantly. Malia’s mother and father sat tensely opposite their son, their hands fidgeting wildly in their laps.
“Sam,” her mother began, breaking the painfully tangible silence. “Your father and I think that this is just another one of your attempts to slack from your studies.” She glanced at her husband for some inkling of support. He returned her glance with an uncomfortable stare. With his silence, she continued. “You cannot join the army just to evade college, Samuel.”
“Mom, this isn’t about my relaxed attitude towards school and… and my unwillingness to wake up at seven in the morning on weekdays. This is something more,” he pressed. He swiped the cap from his head and fiddled it in his hands. After straightening out his muffled head of hair, he seated himself upright.
“Joining the army is an incredibly serious thing. I don’t think you are prepared to make that kind of commitment,” his mother persisted.
“Well I do.” Malia stepped from the staircase and stood boldly before her family. Rolling the sleeves of her thick cotton sweater to her elbows, she defended her brother’s maturity before her skeptical parents.
Confusion marked her brother’s face. “Malia? But, I thought….”
“Sam, I’ve never seen you so determined.” She seated herself beside him and sank into the cushion with ease. Noticing a cluster of dust lying by her hands, she softly brushed it to the side. She eyed her chipped fingernail polish with disdain and, suddenly swept with a rush of cold, enclosed her hands in the sleeves of her sweater.
“If this is what you really want,” she started. She met her brother’s eyes. Snippets of memories from their childhood – running madly through the snow without a care in the world, riding the merry-go-round at the state fair until they both went sickeningly dizzy, and competing against each other to see who could snatch the most leaves falling rapidly from the oak in their backyard – flashed fleetingly in her mind. “Then,” she continued, “then, I have to support you. And Mom and Dad,” she rotated to face her parents, “I think you should, too.” She brushed the bangs from her eyes. After giving her brother a meaningful smile, she mouthed I’m sorry in earnest sentiment and exited the room.
Though terrified for her brother’s fate, Malia could not protect him from the world. She could no longer shield herself from the outside to prevent loss and heartbreak. Her brother was undertaking an admirable responsibility, she realized, and he would need her support to succeed. They had been sheltered in the realm of high school and luxury for far too long, she thought. She only wondered how she would find her own identity, and she secretly coveted her brother for his strong resolve in becoming a soldier.
A yellowed copy of Crime and Punishment was lying meekly on her empty bookshelf when she reached her room. With a sigh, she slid it from the shelf and perused its lengthy pages – nearly six-hundred of them – in search for guidance from the great Dostoyevsky. She recalled writing a report on the classic Russian novel in the ninth grade; she had been partnered with Chelsea Donnohu, and the paper received a B-. For weeks she had contemplated her teacher’s criticism that the paper lacked dimension and profound thought. Now, however, she finally understood.
The true theme of the novel was healing and self-discovery and about the immeasurable value of life both at its worst and at its best. That sometimes, to experience true joy, you must first experience great grief and suffering. Finally, she located the passage she had tirelessly been searching for:
Where is it I’ve read that someone condemned to death says or thinks, an hour before his death, that… if he had to remain standing on a square yard of space all his life… [for] eternity, it were better to live so than to die at once! Only to live, to live and live! Life, whatever it may be!
“Life whatever it may be,” she whispered. These words had always been a graceful river to Malia – admirable from a distance and superficially spectacular. Nonetheless, Malia had never read beyond the surface. With life’s sudden waves slowly sinking her to the depths of the ocean, she now clutched to them dearly.
Snatching her cell phone from its place in the left-hand pocket of her olive khaki pants, she urgently dialed Danny’s number.
“Hey, this is Danny.”
“Danny, I’m so glad I….”
“You’ve reached me at 765-845-9966. Please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you when I can.”
“I talked to Beth today,” she began after the beep sounded. Tears cascaded down her cheeks, and her uneven voice cracked. “She said she’s really proud of you guys for what you’re doing.” She breathed heavily and wiped her cheeks with a Kleenex. “She said that it’s because of people like you and Sam that… that.” She paused. She did not foresee this much difficulty in delivering a simple message. “That we can bring her mom justice. And bring justice to every other innocent person who died that day.” She finally regained her composure, muttered a goodbye, and returned the phone to her left-hand pocket.
The remaining months of Malia’s senior year of high school passed abnormally quickly. Before she knew it, high school had ended. Graduation had passed, and Malia, along with the seventy-four other members of the James Madison senior class were no longer simply high school students but adult members of society.
The beams of sunshine that had blinded Malia from the world had inevitably evaporated. In their place, grew a dark abyss of confusion and emptiness – a typical post-graduate’s despair intermingled with the pain of the times.
At graduation, Malia nonetheless recalled Dostoyevsky and his wise words, and through Beth’s strength, she found her own. Every eye in the oversized auditorium gazed intently upon her as she approached the podium attired in her navy blue gown and graduation cap, her golden tassel casually swung to the side. Her eyes scanned the room – her parents who had sacrificed so much to ensure her success and happiness and her teachers who had shared their invaluable guidance with her. She smiled at Mr. Matthews and began.
“We are here today to celebrate,” she began. “Today, we celebrate us, our teachers, and all of those who have helped to reach this point in our lives. For twelve long years we have fought all the odds against us and approached all of our obstacles with courage. We have worked tirelessly so we can come here today, on this blazing June afternoon, and receive a little, folded up piece of paper with our names on it.
“But this is not just any piece of paper. This is our key to the future, our key to the rest of our lives.” She looked at her parents. Her mother, of course, had a digital camera in one hand and a Kleenex in the other, most likely anticipating an emotional conclusion to Malia’s speech. “But, in truth, it is not the key or the piece of paper that matters. What matters is what we choose to do with our diplomas, how we use what we learned here at James Madison High to better the world and to follow our dreams.
“Some of us may dream to play professional basketball and become role models for young children all around the world,” she glanced at Jake and Jordan. “Some of us my dream to save a life someday.” She looked at Chelsea and grinned. “And some of us,” she continued, “may dream to save the world.” She looked at Sam and Danny. “To serve our country. No matter how unrealistic your aspirations may seem, always treasure what you learned here in high school. In a high school where the highest goals any of us have ever set were… were to become popular or to get into an Ivy League college. Out there,” she pointed to the window, “we can truly reach for anything.
“So, take this diploma,” she held hers high in her hand for the audience to see, “and carry it with you as a reminder of what you can accomplish. But, more importantly, always carry with you courage and determination.
“Recently, someone very close to me taught me an important lesson,” she looked at Sam. “He taught me that the most important goals in life are those that seem the most daunting. The most impractical. But, I’ve learned that no obstacle, no fear is ever too great to overcome. The only thing that can possibly hold you back is yourself.
“My fellow seniors,” she looked at her classmates, “This past year has been one of the most trying years of our entire lives. We are watching as our country and the rest of the world is slowly falling apart. But we are the future. We grew up together, we laughed together, and we cried together. And now, on our own, but together in spirit, we’ll change the world together.”
A thunderous applause roared in Malia’s ears, and she clung to it desperately. She clung to the sound of her peers and to the reassurance of the crowd that almost made her words believable, established them as truths.
“Malia!” Danny called. “I wanted to say goodbye,” he appeared from behind, as crowds of people thrust through the swarming halls and shoved her from side to side. Proud parents took photographs of their beaming children. Graduates smiled in various poses with various relatives as Malia stood with Danny, saying their farewells, in the center of the uproar.
“When?” she shouted above the deafening tumult.
“Tomorrow.” There was pain in his eyes. She didn’t want to believe it. She just wanted to get it over with, to make it end, to make the pain end. She couldn’t take any more goodbyes.
“Danny, promise me something.” Her brother would come later. Now, she just needed to tell him. To make sure. “Promise me you’ll be careful out there. Promise me you’ll come back, and promise me that you’ll make sure my brother comes back too.” His promises were no guarantee, she realized, but she desperately needed to hear his reassurance. She knew that it was his reassurance that would get her through the coming months.
He strained to hear her words. He strained with astonishing intensity, holding on to each word as if they were here last.
“I promise,” he vowed with incredible sincerity. His face was somber. They swiftly said their goodbyes, and in seconds he was gone.
Minutes later, the crowd consumed Malia, and she disappeared.
She watched Danny fade into the hurried swarm of parents, siblings, and graduates. Sam was by his side. Two children, she thought, two children off to fight a battle as men.
In the coming months, Malia would frantically piece together the memories of her last day of high school in her mind. But, mostly, she would cling to the notion that after the storm always appears a rainbow. So she patiently waited for her rainbow with faith and with hope.
June, 2002
Malia stumbled to the rear of the local library and huddled in the dusty corner with a weighty book on the history of the United States. She trembled at the photographs of soldiers. Some in lively poses with a burning vivacity visible in their pink cheeks and some fallen. Intermingled with the yellow grass and muddy water. Fallen heroes.
July, 2002
Two months from now Malia’s parents would place all of her beloved possessions in a brown suitcase and haul the heavy load to the St. Louis campus where she would inevitably spend the next four years of her life. Four years. An eternity. Her mind turned numb at the mere thought of it. How could she spend four years at college when one day in Indiana lasted decades?
August, 2002
The grey sky and four white walls of her bedroom felt like a prison. Malia needed to escape, she knew. She needed to breathe, to once again inhale the sweet scent of oxygen and to live unshackled by the chains of her agony. It had been two endless months since her brother and his best friend had departed for the war. And, somehow, Malia was ready to accept it. Don’t waste time, Malia. Her brother had warned several days before he packed his bags and boarded the local shuttle. Don’t dwell in the past. And, please, whatever you do, don’t kill yourself over this. Don’t kill yourself over me. I’m not worth it. He smiled, trying to alleviate the anxiety of the moment with levity. Everything that’s happened this year… with Beth… that should have taught you at least that. Taking one last look at her neighborhood – at her home for the past seventeen years – she breathed heavily, lifted her luggage with both fists, and entered the passenger seat of her father’s Toyota.
– Chapter 4 –
Come September, Malia entered Washington University with an odd combination of indifference and enthusiasm. Fully prepared with a fresh set of college attire – Washington University baseball caps, pajamas, and track jackets – she viewed the four-year path ahead of her as a means of freedom – freedom from her past.
For weeks she aimed fruitlessly to liberate herself from the haunting memories of her last months of high school, but the luscious greenery of the campus and the fresh, grinning faces of her new college classmates planted within Malia a new hope. A hope that she would finally find joy and forget the frets of a world slowly disintegrating with the horrors of war.
Nonetheless, within the depths of Malia’s soul, still lay a vacancy. An agonizing emptiness and anxiety. A constant fret for her brother’s safety. For Danny’s safety.
Meanwhile, she still mechanically attended her classes and participated in far too many student activities in a weak attempt to fill the void her painful past left behind. Always in awe of the actors she saw in the theater, Malia almost immediately signed up for the drama club’s rendition of The Importance of Being Earnest. Gwendolyn seemed like a cheery enough character, she thought. Cheery enough, hopefully, to scatter the horrid spells of anxiety that infected her mind every now and then. In truth, she knew, every other minute.
Brushing her hands lightly against the velvety rose curtains of the university’s renowned theatre, Malia inhaled the fresh scent of the recently built auditorium. She stared in awe at the architectural masterpiece before her. The walls were not flat, but carved into various exotic designs. A crystal chandelier dangled in the center of the ceiling, brightening the countless navy blue seats speckling the room. These very seats were currently occupied by the twenty or thirty members of the exclusive drama club of Washington University. The young members of the committee, men in too-tight jeans and black tee shirts and women with exaggerated eyeliner and ruby lipstick painted on their pale faces, stared impatiently at Malia as she approached center stage.
A golden light focused only on her shape and the surrounding areas of the theater were lost in a bizarrely thick darkness. The light beamed blindingly in her eyes, nearly resembling the instantaneous and unexpected flash of lightning that inevitably follows the howl of thunder. Malia closed her eyes and envisioned the afternoon when a storm unexpectedly befell her small Indiana town just one year prior. With the flash of lightning, she saw Danny’s shape. Almost instantly, the darkness reappeared, and they had been lost in the night with no foreseeable escape. Almost like right now, she thought, ironically.
“Malia, is it?” the janitorial assistant flipped on the light switch and Malia’s eyes found the irritated face of the president of the drama club – Trish Fisher.
“Yes, that’s me. Malia Sanders. I’m a freshman.”
“Of course you are,” Trish smiled knowingly. “We really don’t have all day. If you could read those lines, please?” she pointed impatiently to the packets of papers lying flimsily at the rear of the stage.
After stooping to retrieve them, Malia recited the dialogue with painfully tangible spirit and sentiment. She walked the stage with poise. Her hands gesticulated, and her words soared effortlessly from her lips. Her five minutes performance brought her a sense of freedom, a sense of ecstasy. But, eventually, the show ended. And her life was once again saturated with pangs of emptiness.
“You put on a good show.” Trish finally said after several moments of silence, smirking.Malia’s lips curved upward, glad to see her hours of preparation culminate in success.
Trish analyzed her from head to toe. “But, Malia, the performing arts are not simply about the show. Theatre is not only about the action, the movements, the facial expressions.” She removed her black plastic frames and wrapped her fiery red bangs behind her double pierced ears.
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