The Patient Sikh: Part Thirteen-- Me
This an excerpt from a novel in progress and a work of fiction. I guess I should have asked myself this question a long time ago, who am I in the midst of all of this? I know who I'm not. I'm not the girl that Sonny chose. I'm not Kiran. I'm not the woman that he loves. I don't know for sure if he loves Kiran, but I just think to myself, how could he?She seems so superficial with her short skirts and perfect hair. She knows how pretty she is. I mean I know I'm pretty but do I really know I'm pretty? Do I see it? I look closely at myself in the mirror. Same greenish eyes, they look war-torn at the moment. Same olive complexion. The tears falling down my cheeks have no color.I'm just me, that's all I can offer him. I'm not even the smartest or the most interesting person that I know. I want to be more of a desirable person. How do you do that anyways?I want to be that amazing, perfect, beautiful woman that can capture Sonny's heart. I want all his friends to be jealous because he has me. But life isn't like that, is it? It's not like you get what you want or anything. Life can be such bullshit.I can't talk about this. I think I should stop talking. Maya Angelou stopped talking for years when she was a child because she was raped. I mean I know this is not as bad as rape. But does anybody really understand heartbreak? I mean the true seething cruelty of it? The bleak darkness? I should write poetry, I really should. This would be a great time for a poem.Fuck poetry. I don't want this to become beautiful. This is insane. Pain in the heart is unbearable. It's like The Unbearable Lightness of Being, one of my favorite books. But again, this should not be something like a piece of art. Life is ridiculous, it's not a song or a poem or a novel. It's an unbearable reckless mess.I feel like life is cold and like I can't break free of it. How do I even live this life? I don't want this one. I want a new one. Someone else please be me.So I'm sitting in the cafeteria with Sarita and the two Muslim girls who live down the hall. I don't know what to tell them, why I am so sad. But they know. But am I overreacting or something? Was I really in love with Sonny? How do you know if you were in love? What is the test?Sarita tells a joke and I don't laugh, I don't even pay attention to the joke. She gives me the eye, the I'm going to kill you if you don't snap out of it, eye. "I'm sorry," I muster playing around with my pasta with a metal fork. I can't even eat, and I can always eat."You need a distraction," Sarita proclaims and takes a swig of her lemon water."Distract me, please," I say and look away at a flagpole outside the window."How's this for distraction. I will poke out my eye sockets with this here fork if I hear his name one more time," she says, not smiling."I don't know how to think of anything else," I say and stare into space again."How about we play a game? A game where there is a universe where he does not exist anymore. I will not let him do this to you," Sarita sighs and takes a bite of pasta."He's not doing anything to me. That's the problem. I'm doing this to myself. He could care less about me," I say while swishing some lemonade in my mouth. "I keep thinking about calling him," I continue."Don't, I repeat, don't call him," Sarita says while shaking her head.Of course when I get to my room, and the door is closed, and the lights are dim, I pick up the phone. First I just stare at it for a moment. This ugly yellow/cream colored phone with a long curly chord is my lifeline right now. I could hear his voice if I just dialed the numbers.What will I say? All of a sudden I forget words. What are words? Who the hell invented words anyways? What do they really mean? What I do with words besides say them? Do they even make sense? We make these noises that stand for thoughts and ideas and things. But all if it seems really weird right now.I pick up the phone and dial the area code and then suddenly put it back on the receiver. No, I'm not going to do this, I think to myself. No, I cannot do this. I'm standing underneath the phone that is hanging on the wall. That phone means everything to me right now. There is nothing in this world but that phone.I'm here, I think. I'm standing underneath a phone thinking of calling a man I think is the love of my life.So I pick up the phone, I dial his entire number. It rings...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
The Patient Sikh: Part Eight--Kiss And TellThe Patient Sikh: Part Nine--Street ChessThe Patient Sikh: Part Ten--RaviThe Patient Sikh: Part Eleven--UnderstandingThe Patient Sikh: Part Twelve--Hey Jealousy