In the Slivers of Doorways

It’s a day that can take anywhere between weeks or years to come back to me. There’s never one fixed reason why I remember it, and, every time I do, I find something new to take away. 

I was thirteen and I’d agreed to go over to Ruskin’s place to study. It was either a Saturday or a Sunday, and it hadn’t started out well. My mother scolded me that morning for getting a jar of Jolen Crème Bleach when she’d sent my father out for groceries. It wasn’t my first time doing this—I’d casually dump the small green box into the cart while his back was turned, and he never saw it there. Or maybe he did and just assumed it was something my mother had asked for. Regardless, she’d spotted it in the bag I’d been trying to sneak upstairs to my room, so I received an upbraiding.

“Vanity,” she’d tutted. “Apne may se bahar ho te jaari. Who told you you could buy that? Is this the age to be worried about your looks? How about your exams? Kaam dhanda nai hai kya tum ku?” She was washing prawns in the kitchen sink for lunch. Her tone was calm but she wouldn’t look at me, a sign I was on thin ice.

There was no use explaining to her that the hair on my upper lip just wasn’t concealable anymore. My skin was nowhere near as light as white girls, nor did it run as dark as most of the other desi girls from our family friend circle. But my hair was as black as anyone’s. The wispier ones growing on my face didn’t blend into it the way they did for duskier people. Ever since I started having periods, it grew more and more noticeable, and I wasn’t old enough to be allowed threading, nor was I brave enough to chance smuggling in hair removal cream.

Instead I said, “I am worried about exams. I’m supposed to study with Ruskin at 3:00.”

“With that potta again. Don’t think you can keep going there just because his parents said so. That’s the only reason he puts up with it. Otherwise, wouldn’t he rather spend time playing with his friends instead of studying with you? That boy is probably who you’re doing all this hair bleaching and ban-thanning for in the first place.”

I had nothing to say, because I’d have been lying if I claimed she was wrong about the last thing. Ruskin had occupied my thoughts for the better part of the year, though I wouldn’t have admitted this to her even if faced with the guillotine. 

“This is the last time you’re going to buy that cream,” she said. “I’m telling Baba from now on that he’s not to let you. Don’t fancy yourself some dulhan, understand? You’ll be able to spend days and days dolling up when your wedding rolls around, and there’s a long time before that time comes. Quietly study there and come straight home.” 

“Ji, Ma.” I slinked away to my room before she could forbid me from going to Ruskin’s altogether. All things considered, I’d come away relatively unscathed. The fact that my parents even allowed me at a boy’s house was remarkable, though I knew it was only because he was a neighbor, because it was for schoolwork, and because his parents were nice.

Once upstairs, I eagerly unpacked the Jolen box and applied it per the instructions, thankful that my parents stayed downstairs throughout. I had a few hours to go before our study session and I wanted to get everything in order. I’d been looking forward to it all week, ever since Ruskin casually invited me as we got off the bus. We’d met that way, too, the bus, on the first day of middle school.

I ate lunch quickly, prawn palak curry with rice and dal, and I had a smaller portion than usual because I knew Ruskin’s mother would offer us snacks. Before leaving, I checked my reflection in the bathroom. 

I looked the same as always. But my hair was shinier since I’d washed it the night before. I had it pushed back from my forehead with a blue hairband and had on a dress of the same color with black leggings. My sleeves were slightly puffed and short, but not too short. Ma had told me a year earlier about how, now that I’d started menstruating, I couldn’t wear shorts or sleeveless tops anymore. I had on my favorite necklace, a beaded red heart-shaped pendant on a silver chain. I ruled out wearing lip gloss; I’d be in trouble if my mother noticed. Makeup was only for parties. I supposed I looked fine without it, but perhaps I could add something else, something that didn’t have to be visible. 

Light-footed, I stole into my parents’ bedroom and to my mother’s dressing table (technically “their” dressing table, but all the stuff on it was hers). I spotted my favorite of her perfumes and lightly spritzed it on each of my wrists the way I’d seen her do. I rubbed them against each other and then over my neck. Then I went back to grab my books from my room before calling to my parents that I was leaving, making sure I didn’t slow my step as I ran down the stairs and out the door. I didn’t want to give my mother the chance to smell her perfume on me. 

Ruskin’s house stood right opposite ours. We lived just at the mouth of the cul-de-sac, and there were trees and shrubbery behind all the houses adjoining it. Rabbits, squirrels, and deer inhabited those woods and so did the occasional black bear, the usual creatures most people love taking photos of so long as they stay out of their homes. My father even swore he saw a grizzly once. I rang the doorbell and waited, doing my best to refrain from shuffling around too much. The door swung open to reveal Mrs. Brooks standing by the threshold. I’d arrived promptly at three, as the mouse-eared wall-clock behind her displayed. 

“There she is!” she said brightly. Her voice always sounded singsong. “Come on in, Maham. Ruskin’s just in the bathroom, he’ll be out in a minute.” 

“Thank you,” I said, making sure to take off my shoes by the rack near the door before following her to the kitchen. Ma had taught me it wasn’t polite to sit down in someone else’s house before being invited to, but I’d been here enough times to feel Mrs. Brooks wouldn’t mind me making myself at home. I took a seat at the table as she rummaged in the cabinets. Sure enough, when she turned back around, her smile only warmed.

“Thanks again for coming over, hon,” she said. “I’ve been telling Russ for weeks to study for finals early. His friends just aren’t the best influences in that regard.” She let out a tinkling laugh. 

“It’s no trouble,” I said. “My parents want me to study, too.”

“You want anything to munch on while he finishes up, sweetie?”

“No thank you. I’ll just start on homework in the meantime.” I wanted to eat with Ruskin. I opened my books, took out my pen, and started working on integers.

“Good girl. Y’know, it’s no wonder Ruskin understands math way better when you explain it. He always scores well on tests when you study together. I’m glad you’re his friend.”

I flushed, trying not to let it show as I kept my head down over my workbook. Mrs. Brooks always treated me like an honored guest. She had a way of making me feel so welcomed. Which made a lot of sense to me, since she was the reason Ruskin and I became friends in the first place. She’d been with him as he got on the bus that first day of school. While his eyes scanned the bus for a seat, she spotted me sitting alone near the back as she peeked in behind him, a very tall woman the likes of which I’d rarely seen. 

“Look, that little girl’s sitting alone,” she said, pointing at me. “Why don’t you sit next to her.” Then, in a louder voice, “He can sit with you, right?” I nodded at once, terrified, and she’d smiled. Ruskin ambled towards me after she handed him whatever he’d forgotten. I thought of how my mother would feel if she knew I’d somehow managed to sit next to a boy on the very first day of the term, but Ruskin asked me something a few seconds later, and from then on, we’d talk on the bus until we became friends. 

Now and then, I looked up as Mrs. Brooks continued bustling around the kitchen. She was wearing a maroon floor-length skirt and a cutoff white blouse with long earrings that went clack-clack-clack. They were wooden, and I didn’t recognize them at the time, but they might have been whale tails. Her hair was in a high ponytail, a very short one so that it stuck out like a fountain. She had a nose stud too, which my mother didn’t approve of girls getting. I never understood that, because most of my aunts and married cousins in India had them. I’d seen them on every bride whose picture was forwarded to Ma in emails, big, hooplike nose-rings which spanned almost a third of their faces too. Some of them even had little baubles hanging from them which put Mrs. Brooks’s stud to shame. Perhaps nose piercings meant different things depending on where they were done. 

“How’re your parents doing?” she asked. 

“They’re very well, thank you,” I said. “They send their regards.”

She laughed again. “I’ve been thinking of inviting them for dinner one of these days,” she said. “Maybe after summer holidays start. All three of you, of course.”

“Oh, that would be nice,” I exclaimed, just before realizing how awkward I’d feel having my parents in the same room as me and Ruskin for hours. I tried to backtrack subtly. “I mean, I’d have to ask them. We might have travel plans, but I’m sure we’d like to.”

She turned and grinned at me, and I felt a bit relieved. I liked to think that she knew, Mrs. Brooks did, about how I felt towards her son. She was just kind enough not to embarrass me by making it obvious. I’d occasionally played around with the idea of calling her “Aunty,” like I did for desi parents. I felt sure she wouldn’t have minded.

Just then, Ruskin bounded down the stairs and into the kitchen, books in hand. “Hey,” he said, a little breathless. “Sorry. It took forever to find my new pens.”

“She had to start without you,” Mrs. Brooks chided. “She’s always on time and you’re always making her wait.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Isn’t dad home yet?”

As if on cue, the backdoor swung open and Mr. Brooks walked in. I must have missed the sound of the garage door opening and closing to let his car in because my heart was doing the thing it usually did upon first seeing Ruskin. 

“Hey, it’s Maham,” he said, winking at me as he set down his keys. He strode over to his wife and pecked her on the cheek. “You just get here, kiddo?”

“Yes, a few minutes ago,” I replied. I did my best not to stare as she returned his kiss, this time on the lips. They were so nonchalant about it. My parents never kissed. They never even held hands in public. Was it normal to be this open when showing affection to your spouse? The movies I watched in theaters said yes, but the ones that played at home told me no. Ma did massage his head in her lap whenever it ached, and I’d definitely seen his arm over her in bed a few times in the morning, but somehow, kissing in the kitchen like they were seemed so much more romantic. I was painfully aware of Ruskin hovering not four feet away from me. 

As the two of us exited the kitchen to the living room, his mother called, “I’ll bring some snacks in a bit, guys. Oh, and Maham! I’m counting on you to make sure he doesn’t slack off. Ruskin, Maham’s the boss, you got it?” 

Ruskin made a tchh noise, and I giggled. Mrs. Brooks pronounced my name wrong—she’d say the ma like the way it sounded in marry, but I didn’t mind. We set up our things in the living room and got started. There was a table and chairs we could have used, but we always worked on the floor in front of the couch. Ruskin lay on his stomach with a cushion supporting his ribs while I knelt before my workbooks. They were propped up on cushions too, so I didn’t have to bend forward too much. Occasionally, I’d sit up and rest my back against the couch, and Ruskin would follow suit so he could stretch. 

There weren’t many decorations in the house, save for some curios and one of those “COEXIST” signs that had been popular at the time. Adorning the walls and coffee tables were family photos. I hadn’t committed all of them to memory, but the one of his parents holding him as a baby, in a yellow striped onesie, still sticks out the most. He couldn’t have been more than a month old, the top of his head resembling a downy peach, his eyes sea-blue rather than the brown they were now. 

I supposed he didn’t look much like his parents because neither of them had red hair. Ruskin told me kids used to make fun of him because of it, but I didn’t really get why. It wasn’t like he looked much different from most people at school. Besides, his hair didn’t look nearly as orange as his baby photos purported, it was darker now, almost auburn. Glancing over as we worked, I noticed for the first time that it looked like he’d gelled it—was that why he’d been in the bathroom so long?

“Wait, that’s wrong,” I said, spotting the answer to a problem he’d just written down. “This is how you’re supposed to do it.” He sat up against the couch so I could lean over. He watched carefully as I worked it out and explained it.

“I think I get it now. Thanks,” he said, rubbing his eye. “How are you so smart.” 

The compliment was delivered somewhat offhandedly, but I still had to duck my head to try and display modesty. “I just study, a lot,” I said. “It’s not like I don’t find stuff hard, too. If you studied more, you’d know these answers without my help.”

Ruskin scoffed. “Well, there’s just better stuff to do. I can’t be bothered to study all the time. Wanna take a break? We’ve been working for almost two hours.”

I watched, panicked, as he reached for the remote and turned the TV on. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I asked. He was already getting up to switch on the PlayStation below the TV. 

“Sure. We can get back to it later.” He sat back next to me with the controllers he’d retrieved from the shelf. “Here.” He put one in my hand. I swallowed hard. On the one hand, my heart was speeding up—he’d handed me the controller as naturally as if I’d been Alex or Miguel, whom he always ate lunch and played basketball with. On the other…the half-finished plate of mini-pizzas and tater tots Mrs. Brooks had brought us earlier lay on the end table right next to him, reminding me of what she’d charged me with. I couldn’t not see it. 

“You like fighting games? I’ve got Mortal Kombat in here but I can switch it out,” Ruskin was saying. 

I sighed, tearing my eyes away from the food and back at him. “We can’t. I promised your mom we’d keep studying.”

“We did study. My parents went upstairs, it’s not like they’ll know if we only play for a little while.”

“I’m not playing. We need to get back to work.” It was so hard to say, but I knew both our mothers would have been proud of me. 

Ruskin made an urrgh noise, turned off the TV and tossed the remote onto the couch behind him. He let his head fall back. “Seriously, Maham? You never wanna do anything fun.”

“That’s not true,” I said, stung. “It’s just that we have finals coming up.”

“Then how come we never just hang out at my house like normal? C’mon. You didn’t even want to play catch last time.”

I swallowed again, hoping the action would trap any tears inside as well. At least, if he was saying this, it meant he had no idea how badly I actually wanted to do all those things with him. I’d done a better job of hiding it than I thought. 

“It’s not that we can’t. We just can’t now. Exams are coming up, we mustn’t waste time.” My voice grew quieter with every word till I was almost whispering. Then, a second later, this question occurred to me for the first time of many: Why did I have to be the responsible one even when I didn’t want to?

“So when can we, then? School’s almost over.” 

An earlier conversation suddenly flowed back into my head. “In the summer. When your parents invite us over for dinner. And then after that, I could come and play again.” 

Ruskin’s eyes grew wide. “You’ll come over this summer. For real?” His tone still sounded skeptical, but I could detect a hint of hopefulness edging in. 

“Yes. Just as long as we study now. Then in the holidays, we can play video games and catch, and anything else. We won’t do school stuff at all.” It felt like I wasn’t even the one speaking. Whatever had possessed me to answer his last question, it was in charge now. 

Ruskin grinned. “Alright, then. But you promised, okay? Don’t forget!”

I felt my face grow warm. Unable to speak, I nodded, still reeling over what I’d just committed to.

Still smiling, he picked his book back up and shifted slightly, straightening his back against the couch. His arm brushed mine. A jolt of something like an electric current spasmed through my entire right side. I inched away, praying that the contact had been brief enough so he didn’t feel the hair on my arm. It grew denser below where he’d touched, so maybe I was safe. 

 Then without warning, Ruskin closed the gap between us again. I looked up, taken aback. He was watching me. The look on his face made me think he’d felt that electricity, too. Our arms were pressed together. And I didn’t have it in me to break away this time. He was close, closer than he’d ever been. I could smell mint mingled faintly on his breath, even though we’d eaten not too long ago. Had he brushed his teeth before I got here? The eyelashes at the corner of his left eye were a bit longer than the ones on his right. They even curved upward. I’d never noticed that before. They were catching sunlight, sunlight streaming in from the skylight in the ceiling, painting them bronze. 

He was frowning, but not like he was mad. He seemed to be trying to decide something. I became filled with dread. I thought I knew what was happening here. What was I thinking? He wasn’t Muslim, my parents would never let me marry him. I had to put a stop to this. My mother wasn’t like his. She distrusted everyone; she accepted no one but her own. But then Ruskin took his bottom lip into his mouth, as though wetting it, and I wondered, what if his parents talked to mine over dinner and won their approval, maybe they’d be okay with it then, this was America after all, and Americans did and married whatever and whomever they pleased. I was one. I didn’t have to worry about anything obstructing what I wanted, not in this house. We were so close. Tremulously, I closed my eyes.

Ruskin’s lips descended on mine. We did nothing with our hands. I could feel some crumbs he hadn’t wiped away at the corners of his mouth. I wondered if I had any too. Neither of our lips moved much, they were just mushed together for the whole minute, so close that it felt like my teeth would cut through them. I hoped they weren’t hurting him, because by God I didn’t care whether or not they were hurting me.

When we pulled away, it was with a noise that sounded like the kind a plastic bottle made after I drank it whole without stopping. We refused to meet eyes, each looking in the opposite direction. Both my head and heart were racing. I felt so breathless, I could pass out, and at the same time it hadn’t felt long enough.

“Are you mad?” His voice sounded husky. Chancing a glance at him, I saw that the back of his neck was pink, the tips of his ears, too. It grew redder by the second, tiny pinpricks of color staining through the pale and creeping towards each other, a connected web of threadlike vessels. I wanted to touch and see if it was as warm as I felt. 

“No.” My voice came out strangled. 

“Ok.”

I realized that if we stayed this way any longer, I’d want to do it again, and I couldn’t let that happen without making sure I could last longer this time. And what if he wanted to keep his eyes open? “I have to go to the bathroom,” I blurted out.

I could hear him swallowing. “Okay,” he said carefully. “Don’t —” he coughed, and stopped. He turned his head the tiniest bit so the corner of his eye peeked out, those curved lashes casting a shadow on his cheek. I looked away at once. “Will you be long?”

“Just five minutes,” I whispered. I could feel him looking at me. I jumped to my feet and rushed to the stairs. I cleared two steps at a time, each one making me feel closer to Heaven. I could’ve burst. We kissed, and I hadn’t even hoped it would happen. I could hardly believe it. I never even had to hide my feelings, because Ruskin had liked me the whole time! He liked me. I never even tried to make him, but he did anyway. Ma had been wrong all along. I wanted to sing. 

I reached the top of the stairs and raced to the bathroom. Thank goodness I’d used the Jolen cream earlier. All I’d need to do was straighten my hair band and wash my mouth out, maybe my whole face. Sudden, piercing laughter startled me, and I stopped. 

The noise had come from the master bedroom, which I had to pass to reach the guest bathroom. The door was closed almost all the way, so I could probably walk by without being noticed. Just before I could, the words “But no, you’re right, it is a good thing. Maham’s the reason he’s more focused this year,” froze me in place. 

Curiosity bested me. I lingered. Ruskin’s father was the one who’d spoken, and Mrs. Brooks replied, “Yup. That’s why I say, don’t call it meddling! Girls are better influences. Plus, every time I’ve introduced him to someone has always been for the better. You know it has.”

In the sliver of the cracked open doorway, I could make out two pairs of legs sprawled together on a bed. One of them was wearing sweatpants and socks, while the other was clad in the same maroon skirt I’d seen downstairs. 

“Sure. I mean, Donovan and Miguel are some of his closest friends now. I didn’t have that growing up in the sticks.”

 “I know.” Mrs. Brooks’s voice was serious. “I’ve always said he should be around more diversity. It’ll enrich him. I feel like it’s natural to him at this point. It’s a good thing she was alone that day, I’m sure he would’ve sat next to her himself if I hadn’t told him to. There weren’t any others on the bus.”

I’d heard the word “diversity” before, and I was sure I knew what it meant. I just hadn’t heard it used in many sentences. And there weren’t any other what? The bus had plenty of kids.

“Either way, I’m glad he did,” Mr. Brooks was saying. “She’s smart as hell. I don’t know what it is with them, but it’s probably genetic. IT field’ll be packed with just them in a few years, I’m calling it now.”

  “I dunno, I think it’s more cultural. They’re really strict with their upbringing. And diet could play a factor. Same with Asians. Like, Chinese eat a lot of soy and seafood.”

Out of nowhere, my skin felt like it was crawling. Or it might have been my pores opening up all at once to release the newly built-up sweat. My instincts roused, telling me to step away now, but my body stayed rooted in place.

“I don’t think it’s diet in her case. Let’s hope not, at least. Their food smells like ass. My neighbors in college were a bunch of Indian dudes and I shit you not, the stink that came out of their apartment at lunchtime—”

Mrs. Brook’s shrill laughter sounded exactly the same as the one that had stopped me on my way before. My breathing became too heavy; I placed a hand to my mouth. Bile rose to my throat. A drop of sweat slid into my eye, making me blink. 

“I swear that’s why some of them smell that way, it gets into their clothes and shit,” Mr. Brooks’s voice was getting louder, bolstered by his wife’s amusement. “The Qadris aren’t like that though, thank God.”

“Shh, Ian. Yeah, they don’t smell, well, Maham definitely doesn’t. I’m glad they’re friends. How great would it be if their kids were friends twenty years from now? Assuming no one moves.”

“We’d never have to worry about our grandkids’ grades. That’s for sure.”

Ma’s perfume was wafting into my nostrils until I felt surrounded by a cloud of it. I’ll never forget how sickeningly sweet it smelled. Like it evoked her presence, rebuking my unguardedness, mocking my naivete. A sob my hand couldn’t stifle escaped me. 

Someone shifted on the bed. “That you, Russ?”

 I staggered back. Not wasting a second, I cleared the stairs faster than every other time that day. I ran past the kitchen and out the back door which led into the patio. I thought I heard someone call out. I didn’t stop. I ran into the woods beyond it, the woods that bordered the cul-de-sac and harbored the animals. Once there, I didn’t stop running. I ran until I couldn’t.

There’s always a new reason why I come back to this day. It was the first day I’d heard things that are said behind closed doors. The last day I bought Jolen hair bleach. The day I’d made the only promise I didn’t keep. The day I decided no one could ever be fully right about anyone. But if I had to pick just one reason, I think I’d say this: ten, fifteen, twenty years later, there are still moments when I wonder if I ever left those woods, that place that was neither my home nor Ruskin’s. Moments when I wonder if, in fact, I’d been there all along.