When I refused to speak, he yelled, “Answer me!”
He strode forward in two steps and grabbed my face, forcing his lips on top of mine until our teeth gnashed together.
I shoved him away and ran for the door. Behind me, Jonathon called out, “Mina, come back. I’m sorry. I was angry. Mina, I just wanted you to give us a chance. Mina, please. Mina.”
I slammed the door behind me.
suna
SUNA OPENS HER EYES, blinks against the darkness, the shadowless night, and wonders what has woken her, if she has been sleepwalking or if she is in her room. She turns over, and automatically her eyes search for Mina in the other bed.
Mina’s huddled form lies sideways, body curled so tight, each vertebra stretches against the thin cotton nightshirt. Suna silently slips out of bed and goes to Mina. Sits at the edge of the bed and places a gentle hand on Mina’s shoulder.
Mina cries silently. She bites her knee, her eyes shut tight against the world, and yet the shaking of her body cannot be stopped. Suna does not know the whys. Mina refuses to talk about it. Refuses to talk to anyone. Suna only knows that Mina has been like this before. And like the other times, Suna gently pats her back and says over and over again, Gha-jang, gha-jang.
Suna leans back against the headboard of Mina’s bed and closes her eyes. She keeps up her rhythmic soothing song, like a metronome, her lullaby gently urging her sister to quiet and sleep. How many times had Mina done the same for her when she was little and scared from a nightmare. The same refrain muttered over and over again until sleep hooded their eyes. Gha-jang, gha-jang, gha-jang.
mina
JONATHON’S WORDS PLAYED OVER and over again in my mind. His angry face flashed in front of me every time I blinked my eyes. Was it my fault? If I hadn’t asked him to help me. If I had only told Uhmma the truth. All this would have never happened. Jonathon and I would still be just two friends who had to hang out because we went to the same church and our mothers liked to talk. We would still be watching TV or playing video games.
I kept to myself the whole day, hardly straying from the front register. Ysrael tried to catch my eye a few times, but I ignored him, buried myself in my books. I didn’t want to complicate things more than they were already. At the end of the day, I bolted from the store and went home to hide in the closet. I cranked up my CD player and put in my earphones. Time. I needed time to figure this all out. I needed time to come up with another plan. Another way out. I needed a river.
There was a knock at the door.
“What?” I said.
Suna cracked open the door. “Uhn-nee, it’s almost time to go to the library.”
I sighed. “I don’t want to go.”
Suna stood up and stated simply, “He’ll be waiting.”
That was what scared me.
Ysrael was leaning up against his car, one leg kicked back like a flamingo, reading a book when we entered the parking lot. A lock of his straight black hair fell across his forehead. His white T-shirt was worn down so thin, the roundness of his shoulders showed through. Usually he wore a plaid shirt at work. His jeans, slung low on his narrow hips, were splotched white in places where the bleach had splashed.
I drove up next to him and Ysrael looked up from his book with a smile.
“Hey,” he said and walked over to our car. Resting his hands on the roof of the car, he peered into Suna’s open window. Suna turned in her seat to look at him. They smiled at each other.
I turned away, checking out the usual crowd on the library steps.
Suna spoke softly, boldly. “Hi, Ysrael. Where should we go?”
Ysrael barked a laugh. The kids on the steps looked over at the car. I turned and met Ysrael’s inquisitive eyes.
“I don’t think it’s my decision,” Ysrael said.
Suna turned to me. “Uhn-nee?”
“What?” I said.
“Are you going to class?” Ysrael asked.
I sighed and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. What was I doing? What the hell was I doing? A heaviness spread through my muscles, my limbs. I didn’t want to make any more decisions. I didn’t want to think anymore.
I shrugged and stared straight ahead. “I don’t care.” I could feel Ysrael studying me. A car behind us honked. Ysrael looked back and gave a small wave.
Suna spoke up. “Come on. Get in.”
Ysrael seemed to be waiting for me. I waved him in. Suna opened her door and flipped her seat forward. Ysrael scrambled into the backseat.
We drove back onto El Cajon Boulevard. The car was silent except for a new steady clicking coming from Sally’s engine.
Suna turned in her seat and spoke to Ysrael. “I think Sally has to go in for a checkup.”
“The clicking?”
Suna nodded. “It’s getting worse.”
I snapped, “It is not.” I hated when Suna tried to be dramatic. She could make a sad story about anything.
Ysrael leaned forward. “Sometimes a noise is just a noise. And sometimes it just needs a tune-up. And sometimes”—he patted the headrest of the car seat—“you just have to be good to her until the end.”
I smiled at Ysrael’s words and stopped at a red light. Suna frowned. I glanced back at Ysrael and lifted one shoulder. He tapped Suna on the arm and pointed at a car wash.
“Let’s give her a makeover.”
Suna’s eyes grew wide. “Really? Really? Sally hasn’t been washed in a thousand years.”
Ysrael bought us purple Popsicles and a car wash for Sally. We sat on the low cement curb that divided up the parking spaces and watched Sally inch forward
