THE OTHER CHEEK
“Olga, if you turn the other cheek right now, Moshe will get hurt, and I mean hurt, in a way you can’t even imagine.”
HURT
What does it mean to get hurt where he is?
What does it even mean to get hurt where I am?
SPEAKING OF THE PILLOWCASE FULL OF SILVERWARE
Once there was this suburban hooligan picking on Misha. The things that happen in the parking lot of a mall. In the Soviet Union, there was at least some discretion and tact. If someone had it out for you, you’d be pulled into an alley, or at least into the shade, by a shrub, behind a car, for some privacy for God’s sake. No one likes to be bashed up publicly, that’s humiliating. But these American knuckleheads, they all want to be gangsters with their awkward guns.
So this white kid named Brendan’s got a gun and he’s bragging about it. He’s dropping his g’s and slurring and mumbling. He’s acting gangster and in the suburbs it passes. He sets his eyes on Misha, tells him “you’re my bitch now, bitch.” Misha’s in middle school. Misha doesn’t say anything back. Brendan’s king. For weeks, Brendan and his crew follow Misha after school with their cars. Misha’s on his bike. The guys start nicking his wheels with their bumpers. Misha’s coming home scraped and bruised and the works. Finally, he spills the whole story. I tell him, Don’t worry, we won’t say anything to Mom and Dad. I’ll fix this.
FIXING IT
It’s etiquette. You never show up empty-handed when invited. Misha was invited to fight. I came with him. I took my pillowcase off my pillow and dumped our silverware into it. I figure with a good swing it could do something.
BITCHES
Misha is standing behind me saying, “Olga, please, forget it.”
“Who’s your babysitter, you little faggot?” Brendan asks.
He has one hand in the waistband of his pants, his baggy 2Pac T-shirt bunched around his knuckles.
“I’m his sister,” I say.
“And what you got, big sis?” He points to my pillowcase.
“It’s a pillowcase full of silverware,” I tell him.
He pulls up his T-shirt and reveals the black gun tucked into his jeans, inside the waistband of his boxers. Even from where I’m standing, it looks fake. All guns look fake. But I know it’s real. He lets his T-shirt fall back down over it.
“You know I don’t hurt girls,” he says. “But luckily you just a bitch, like your brother.”
WAIT
Next thing I know, I’m on the ground and there’s blood on Misha’s white Nikes.
MISHA’S EYE
It’s all red and full of blood. We have to go to the hospital. The emergency care doctor says it’s permanent. My parents arrive. They tell us to wait. My father paces in the hallway and my mother eyes me with a tightened cheek. It’s not rage. I can’t place it. She won’t speak. There is so much childhood in her parted lips.
My father comes and finds us. He is so angry, he’s become gentle. I’m so ashamed, I’ve become arrogant. I explain diligently to both of my parents that it was not my fault. They listen. It’s the only bit of love we can give each other. No one calls the police. Did I mention Brendan’s dad’s a cop?
When we get to see Misha, the doctor tells all of us that his left eye will never regain full sight. Misha cries. Only one eye sheds tears.
LITTLE BROTHER
He grows up to be handsome, despite everything. One blue Georgian eye. A crown of dark Jewish curls. Still pale all over. Still somewhere else.
BIG SISTER
To be alive and not to be able to.
HOW THEY START
“It’s not like a physical pain,” Nicky’s explaining to me. “But physical pain is how you get there.”
He lifts up both of his hands and opens the palms wide, facing me.
On each palm is a bulbous diagonal scar.
“This is how they start,” Nicky says.
CASH
Nicky’s taking cash out of his wallet.
“You got work to do,” Nicky says and tilts his head toward the counter. “Lisette will set you up.”
“Set me up with what?”
“Olga, your brother is counting on you.”
SLEEP
When I get back home, I peel off my shoes quietly, undo my clothes, and tip-toe into the dark bedroom. There she is, my love, sleeping like an angel. I climb into bed and reach my arm around her waist under the covers. From her sweet dreams, she takes my hand and pulls it up to her chest and squeezes it against her sternum.
A JOB
I wake up early. Angelina is in the shower. When she comes out, I’ve already made coffee and got the box of cereal and milk out on our small kitchen table.
“Good morning,” she says, drying her hair.
“I got a job,” I say.
“A job?” she looks up at me with her merciful dark eyes.
Her hair is dripping and she’s smiling. It’s only dawn outside.
“It’s at the diner on 79th and Capitol. Waitressing.”
I wait a moment.
“It’s just for now,” I continue. “Cause I want to go back and get a real degree, you know, I really do…”
She takes a step toward me. She puts her warm hand on the side of my head.
“I’ll drop you off on my way to work,” she says, kissing me on my brow.
MORNING SHIFT
It’s not even 7am when I’m back at the diner. I kiss Angelina goodbye and tell her not to worry, I’ll take the bus home after my shift. I head toward the doors. Everything is bare now in the morning light. It smells like black coffee and fried potatoes.
Lisette comes up to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. She looks extremely well rested.
“Good to see you again,” she says warmly.
I follow her behind the kitchen
