The Patient Sikh: Part Nine--Street Chess
This an excerpt from a novel in progress and a work of fiction. What is there to say? I'm failing Statistics 101. Most likely because I'm not studying my statistics or doing the homework. It's just, I don't know it looks totally complicated. I was never a good math student, I was forced to take A.P. Calculus in high school. My parents forced me and my counselor forced me, I think because I'm Indian. All the other Indians in my high school were in advanced math. But I'm not a normal Indian, and I pretty much slept the through the Calculus A.P. exam.Sometimes I feel like I'm sleeping through my life. Is this life? What am I supposed to do in it? There should be a "How to Live for Dummies." Oh my god, I'm a dummy. I feel like I've just been existing. I mean I am existing pretty much every day, but am I living? I've been kind of depressed since Sonny and I stopped talking. I mean I understand, why would he want to talk to me? I've got nothing to say.The reality is I'm not good with reality. I've never really been a fan, I like my daydreams much better. The reality that failing a class scares me. I was forced to take a quantitative reasoning class, so that's why I'm in Statistics, to begin with. So I may or may not have told my academic advisor that the reason I'm failing is due to the trauma of my father's arrest and subsequent trial for murder. She felt bad for me but my professor did not and didn't let me drop the class.Let me explain. My dad was arrested, like the kind of arresting where they come to your house with handcuffs and read you your rights. I guess there's really no other kind of arresting, but anyways. I was a junior in high school when this happened. My father was arrested for drinking on the job, during surgery, he's a doctor. One of his patients died. He didn't end up going to jail but he lost his medical license.Now he just sits around the house watching CNN or he plays chess with men on the street behind the hospital he used to work for in Detroit.So, I decided instead of studying for my midterm exams I would go visit Dad in Detroit. It's a sunny fall afternoon. I can feel the sun beating on my back as I walk towards the park. There are men playing chess at different tables, they all look very serious. There are random people watching them. I finally find my dad. He's sitting under a tree with red leaves falling all around him.He usually wears a baseball cap instead of his turban when he hangs out outside of the hospital, in the park. He doesn't want people to recognize him. Sometimes I barely recognize him myself."Dad," I say and wave at him. I'm wearing a baseball cap as well because, why not? It's not really my style at all. I put on this new lipstick I got, Rasin Rage by Revlon. It's totally the right hue of brownish red. It really looks awesome on, or so I think. I look around and see a man with a checkered shirt watching my dad's chess game very intently."Hi there," another back man smoking a cigarette says to me. I look over at my dad who looks lost in his chess game."Hi," I say to the random guy. "Dad," I say a little bit louder.My dad finally looks up from the chess board. His eyes look tired It looks like he has more wrinkles on his face and his beard is messy. "What are you doing here?" he asks me, his voice sounds hoarse."I could ask you the same thing," I say. "Does Mom know you are here?""Your mother is not speaking to me right now," he says as the man sitting across from him claps."Checkmate baby!" the man says.My dad finally really looks at me. I wonder if he notices I am wearing a Tigers hat for him. He takes a swig from a flask. I hate that, I can smell the liquor from here. "Who is this?" the guy he is playing chess with asks."Yasmine," I say."Well my oh my! Well, it is an honor to meet the doctor's daughter.""Nice to meet you too," I mumble. I wasn't paying attention to anything but my dad's hands. They were shaking.I then looked over at the man, he was wearing a red striped sweater. I stared at my dad. Daddy, why do you prefer them over me? You never play chess with me anymore. I forgot how to play. Teach me. I don't know statistics and I don't know chess. Do I even know my dad? "Can I play?" I ask very quietly."No," my dad says without looking up. "No, you should not be here.""You should not be here," I said."Where should I be?" my dad asks. I want to cry. Where should any of us be?I should be studying for my Statistics midterm. I should be hanging out with my college friends. Instead, I borrowed Sarita's station wagon and drove from Ann Arbor to Detroit to find my drunk dad hanging out with hoodlums in the park. This is my life, the one I don't know how to live.This is his life. Why won't he play chess with me the way he did when I was a little girl? I'm still a little girl Daddy. When did you turn into such an old man? I don't think I'm a fan of life. What is it anyways? This can't be it. I'm in the wrong life. Daddy, whose life do you think you are living? You are not a dude on the street. You are a doctor.You are not cool.ninaIf you would like to read the beginning of this novel in progress, The Patient Sikh, visit the following links in chronological order:The Patient Sikh: Part OneThe Patient Sikh: Part Two–The Wonder YearsThe Patient Sikh: Part Three–SonnyThe Patient Sikh: Part Four–Song LyricsThe Patient Sikh: Part Five–Your SongThe Patient Sikh: Part Six–Coffee Talk