The sound of the waves breaking along the beach turned our attention to the sea. I breathed in deeply, letting the cool ocean air wash me clean. Suna came and stood next to me. All my earlier anger seemed so childish and extreme. I reached out and caught Suna’s hand, giving it a squeeze. She smiled and swung our hands high into the air.
Ysrael joined us, his hands shoved deep into his back pockets, shoulders high and near his ears as though he were cold. “It’s beautiful here,” he said, meeting my eyes.
I nodded in agreement. Suna let go of my hand and walked out in front, heading for the sand. I stood in my place, unsure of whether to follow Suna or to wait for Ysrael.
“Go ahead. I just have to get my guitar from the car,” Ysrael said.
I chased after Suna, the giddiness of being away from everything—Uhmma’s expectations, studying for the SATs, the dry cleaners—infecting me until I felt three years old again.
We ran for the water’s edge, hurrying to kick off our shoes before the waves ate up our feet. I jokingly made to push Suna in and she screamed and tried to push me back. We jostled back and forth, kicking up the water, the last rays of the dying sun glowing on our faces, our hands, our shoulders.
“Look, Uhn-nee,” Suna said and splashed water toward the horizon. “Sundrops.” The sunset rays caught each bead of water suspended in the air, if only for a moment, and shaped them into jewels. I placed my arm around her shoulders and hugged her close. This sister of mine.
The soft distant notes of music caught my ears and we leaned into the sound, heading up the beach toward Ysrael.
suna
YSRAEL PLAYS WITH HIS eyes intense on the strings. Mina turns away slightly, as though to give him privacy. The music at first is hard to hear over the waves. Suna concentrates, focuses on the notes, on the way Ysrael lets the people who walk by, families, teenagers, a baby, sway the music until it seems that each body moves in time to the song.
Suna buries her hands in the sand and closes her eyes, lets Ysrael’s playing take her to another place. Out to the sea. On a boat bobbing along the waters, sails billowing, hair whipped back, the sun so bright, it hurts to smile. And when Ysrael begins to sing, his voice at first low and raspy at the edges, Suna bows her head and a breeze washes down the back of her neck. He strums loudly and lets his voice open, throws it to the sky as though it were a bird. The note flies up. Alone. Perfect.
Ysrael softens his playing, lets the last few notes speak to each other in a private conversation. Back and forth. Back and forth. Silence.
Suna opens her eyes. Ysrael huddles over his guitar and goes through the notes, tightening the strings here and there. Mina sits with her legs drawn up, her arms wrapped around her knees, her eyes gazing out at the sea. A look of pain echoes across her face and she begins to methodically chew her bottom lip. Suna stares at her for a moment. She has seen this look before. Her sister grappling with a ghost, a haunting that will not leave her be. This look, this one part of Mina’s life, Suna is not allowed to know. Suna stands up and goes to gather seashells for Mina.
mina
YSRAEL’S PLAYING HELD SUCH a longing. To be in this world, to hold on to this life. He played with his heart. And where was mine? I stared out at the sea. I had buried it so long ago. Buried it under all of Uhmma’s dreams for me. Buried it under all the lies I told to live up to those expectations. When had what Uhmma wanted become more important than what I wanted? Did I even know what that was anymore?
Ysrael came over and sat down next to me, placing his guitar on the sand. I smiled, a weak tug at the corners. “That was great.”
Ysrael looked doubtful. “You look sad. Did I do that?”
I smiled wider. “No. No. It wasn’t your playing. Well, kind of. It just made me think about things.”
Ysrael nodded and buried his feet into the sand. “I guess that’s good.”
We sat in silence, watching Suna off in the distance gather seashells. Ysrael cleared his throat. “Has she always worn a hearing aid?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Since she was a baby.”
“That’s too bad.”
“It’s actually okay. She’s got some hearing in one ear and her hearing aid for the bad ear. But it’s getting her to wear the aid that’s hard. She likes to escape, which drives my mom crazy.”
Ysrael glanced over at me. “Does your mom give Suna a hard time about it?”
I tilted my head to one side, thinking about a way to explain. “It’s what she doesn’t give Suna.”
Ysrael scooped up a handful of sand and let the grains trickle out between his fingers. “Like she gave up on her,” he said.
I nodded. “Suna will always somehow be damaged.”
Ysrael pulled the guitar onto his lap and played with the strings for a second, his eyes tight at the corners. “I know that feeling. I didn’t realize she wore a hearing aid until I saw her at the library that last time. I guess I just wanted to do something for her that would make her smile.”
I nodded. I stared at him, wondering about his history, about the scar on his face. And because he had shared so much already, had given a piece of himself over in his music, I asked, “How did you get that scar?”
He touched it for a second with the back of his knuckles. “How long have you guys owned that dry cleaning business?” he asked as though he hadn’t heard my question.
“Five years,” I said, focusing on burying my hands
