THE SIKH PATIENT---Chapter 9---TWO FUNERALS AND NO WEDDING

Me trying to meditate before I wake up

Asking God for clarity, wisdom, and truth…

TWO FUNERALS AND NO WEDDING

                I was thinking maybe I should have sex with Nick.  Maybe not, but maybe.  Clearly, I have no idea what I’m doing.  Nick is my boyfriend who I met, well it’s a boring story, but I met him and now I have to have sex with him.  Not because I love him and not because I need sex.  But because I’m twenty-one.  I don’t know, that means something to me.  And I kind of seriously like him.  Love isn’t like weight, you can’t step on a scale and find out how much.  There are no numbers here.  But, still, we measure.

            I love Nick in that companionship sort of way.  I don’t feel passionate about him.  I like that he feels passionate about me.  I’m boring even when I talk about him.  That’s really how I feel about him, bored.  Should you have sex with someone you’re bored with just to get the sex thing out of the way?

            When I think about it too much, I feel slutty.  

            We are lying on top of his navy blue bedspread.  He is stroking my stomach with his fingers on top of my black chiffon blouse.  Blouse.  I’m sorry, I forgot, I don’t wear “blouses” yet, I’m not middle-aged.  It was a top, alright.

            I’m waiting.  Not for Godot.  I’m waiting to feel that thing.  I have been in love before; it just wasn’t reciprocated.  And you know, unrequited love is different, it’s always kind of more intense and imaginary I think.  

            “Wait stop,” I sighed.

            “What?” he asked, looking as if he had woken up from a dream. 

            “I need you to shave,” I said and stared at the stubble that I found so very sexy and also so very painful. 

            “I thought you said you like the stubble?”  He turned on his back, I don’t know what was going on with his erection. I couldn’t look.

            “I know, but it’s just so rough, look my skin must be red.  Can I shave you?” I asked and bit his earlobe.

            “Now?” he grunted.

            “Well, I just don’t think we can go on like this.”  No, this is not an episode of Dynasty. 

            He sat on the bone-white toilet and it occurred to me that toilets and sex don’t mix.  Romance and rectal appliances are not exactly what I would call sexy.  I lathered shaving cream on his cheeks in circular swirls.  I sat on his lap and pressed the razor to his face.  Then as I looked deeply into his pores, it occurred to me that anything can be sexy, except us.  Sitting on his lap was making me a little wet and him a little hard, so we were getting somewhere.  “Aaah,” he moaned, but not out of pleasure, out of pain.  I cut him.  I swear I didn’t do it on purpose.  I swear.

            “Oh, baby I’m sorry.”  I’ve turned into one of those people who says baby.  I didn’t expect that that would happen to me.  It wasn’t in my four-year plan.

              I dabbed a Kleenex on his wound.  I’m not afraid of his blood because I made him get tested for HIV a few weeks ago.  That’s another oath I made to myself.  I made him show me the results.  He asked me why I didn’t trust him.  Because a lot of dead people were the trusting types.  I’m not.  

            After I was done shaving him I rinsed his face with water and then sat on his lap again and we started kissing.  “Is that better?” he asked and sucked on my neck.  “Let’s go in the shower,” he whispered.

            “What?” I sigh and pull back.  Oh no, me naked under fluorescent lighting.  I don’t think so.  Full frontal view, why don’t we just take a microscope in there?  “I don’t know.”  It doesn’t matter what I’m saying because he’s turned on the water and he’s taking off my shirt.  “Umm do you have any candles?”  Or how about I blindfold you and we call it a game?  I ran into the living room and picked up two long white candles from the mahogany table.  I came back in and shut off the fluorescent light and asked him to light the candles.  “I’m kind of afraid of fire.”  He laughed a little and took out a lighter from his back pocket and lit the candles and set them on the window sill.  “Isn’t that better?” I asked and whisked my hands through his hair.  His skin was radiating in the candlelight.  He looked pretty.

            I hesitantly looked over at the water running as steam rose from the shower.  At least I threatened to never spend the night at his place if he didn’t hire a cleaning lady.  His lime green shower was immaculately clean; she removed every trace of mildew, even from the plastic shower curtain with rainbow-colored fish on it.  But she was hot, so I told him to fire her. 

            I stared at his red tube of Colgate, the toothpaste slightly leaking from the lid, and thought about my hair.  I mean I just straightened it and the water would make my waves come back and he didn’t have any moose so I would basically wake up tomorrow looking like I was electrocuted and he would think that this is what I really look like when I wake up in the morning.  Preparing for sex is like harder than making a movie.

            He picked me up and carried me into the bathtub.  I felt uncomfortable because now he sort of knew how much I weighed.  He asked me once and I almost broke up with him.  I mean I’m not fat, but I’m not thiiiin.  By the way, isn’t sex supposed to be like fun and erotic and perfect; this sucks.  Maybe if I wasn’t so goddamn self-conscious about everything, I could enjoy this.

            He couldn’t unhook my bra, because for some reason men can assemble a car from scratch but cannot for the life of them, unhook a woman’s bra.  He was so annoyed by this that I don’t think he noticed that I bought the emerald green velvet bra and panty set, on sale at Victoria’s Secret, especially for him.  “Is it locked?” he asked as he groped my back.

            “Yeah, there’s a secret password,” I mumbled and sucked on his bottom lip.

            “Do I have to guess?” he whispered.

            “Yeah,” I spoke coyly and suddenly felt very powerful.  I finally helped him with the bra because it looked like he was gonna rip it and I’m not one to sew.  A woman should never learn how to sew, and if she does, she should never admit it: The English Patient.   Kristen Scott Thomas posed nude in that scene.  I will never pose nude, god I’m such a prude.

            We stood under the hot water and I forgot about my hair frizzing and just got lost for moment in his black eyes.  He put his hands through my hair as it became slick under the water.  He began to massage my scalp and then he took some shampoo and whirled it slowly in my hair, I felt the sensations of his fingers, I felt like he was massaging my brain.  I realized as this was happening that this was one of those moments.  I think its called beauty.  Bathrooms, beauty, bellybuttons, oh my god my belly.   He always told me he loved how my belly was so round, he traced it with his fingers.  I will remember this, Nick.  I’ll think about this later, Nick, after I leave you.  Thank you, for this.

            Afterward, in the bedroom, I asked him, “Do you have a condom?”  We were lying on the bed, white terry cloth towels stolen from the Hilton wrapped around us.  I wonder if they charged him for these.  I was thinking about charging him.

            “Yeah, I have a collection actually.”  He looked elated, surprised.

            “Let me put in on you.”  My hands start to shake.  He handed me a pale pink condom from his bedside drawer, his mouth was hanging open a little, and I’d never seen him look so aroused. I looked down, wow, he’s never been this big either.  Is this gonna hurt?  Word on the street is: it hurts the first time.  As I begin to put the condom on, I’m nervous but not afraid…I know he won’t hurt me.  If Nick is anything, he’s a gentle man.  All of a sudden I wanted him inside me; I wanted it to hurt a little.  I wanted him to have to protect me from his body, from his own pleasure, from his love.  Now I was almost dripping as he lightly caressed me.  “Aaah,” I breathed hard.  Some people say sexual ecstasy is spiritual, some people say sex is a sin.  The latter don’t get how much more ecstatic it is when they remind me it’s sinful.

            As I lie on top of him and tease him with my breasts, letting him squeeze them together, I realize that I’m about to make love.  “Don’t ever use that phrase,” Sarita would always say, “I will throw up—aaah.”  “You’ll change, men will see it in the way you hold yourself, afterwards,” Mona once told me.  This is amazing, I finally get why people are dying for this.  As he is about to enter me, he begins to tease me, pretending like he’s going to come inside and then pulling away…making me want it more… than the gentleman that he is, he puts his fingers inside me to make sure I’m ready…as I am about to transform into a woman, the phone rings.

            It’s a sign.  I’m pretty sure god’s on the phone.  Nick lets it ring, he pretends he doesn’t hear anything and kisses me hard on the mouth.   But the ringing ruins my concentration.  It’s AT&T  “…speak to you regarding your account.”

            “You didn’t pay your phone bill?”  I ask as his tongue licks my chin.

            “Shut up,” he laughs.  “I spent all my money on these.”  He points to the pastel condoms. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks just as he is about to enter me. 

            If I would have said no, he would have stopped without any anger.  Why don’t I love you?

            All of a sudden I wonder if it’s because I’m a lesbian.  I mean how did I rule it out so quickly?  Women are attractive. They annoy me after a long time, I couldn’t marry one, but men enrage me.  I don’t know, what’s worse?  Then I looked at Nick’s chest, and that tingle was getting more and more intense, no woman could ever make me feel this good.  I was about to have sex for the first time and I was having a philosophical thought, I was pretty damn impressed with myself.  I’m an intellectual lover.  “’Lover’, don’t ever say that word,” Sarita screamed at me once. “ Now I’m actually gonna throw up.”

            The phone rings again.  “Damn it,” he sighs and kisses me.  The phone’s affecting him now.  “Nick, I need to speak to Yasmine,” a woman says like a newscaster.  It’s Mona. “It’s an emergency,” she says calmly.  I knew it.  I lunged for the phone and fell on the ground, hitting my breasts hard on the rough business carpet.  “Owe.”  I wanted to cry.  Nick stands up and hands me the phone, I’m lying underneath him.  The pink condom is slipping off.  I pick up the phone and stare at Nick’s dick.  Mona tells me to come now my father is in the hospital doing horribly, but now is over.  Nick’s erection is over and I get so tight it hurts and there’s not even anything inside me.  The condom the color of lipstick falls and touches my lips before it reaches the ground.  I can taste him as I rush to put on clothes. 

“Why do we live in a world where it would be obscene for me to just go naked, because I don’t have time to put on clothes?  I mean I would get arrested for going nude to the hospital just so I can see my father alive one last time,” I pant.  Nick is not good at talking.  Especially when it’s time to say something.  I put my jeans on without zipping them and put my bra on without hooking it.  Nick tries to help me with it but I just slap his hand.  You’re not smart enough to hook this or to help me.  That’s why I don’t love you.       

I will come, but not the way I had planned.

Nick’s hands shake as he turns the steering wheel as we drive towards the hospital to see my dying father.  I just want to know if he’s already dead.  It won’t change whether or not I rush, it might change my heart rate though.  We don’t speak.

            Someone’s dying…I’m about to do every possible thing I can, wrong, again.  I was walking towards the hospital when Ravi came towards me.  His head was shaking, his eyes were red with tears.  Ravi never cries.  I missed it again, didn’t I?  THIS IS NOT HAPPENING.

            All I noticed was the air.  Air was in front of me and for a second I could see it.  Death is simple, the absence of air.  When you don’t have any more, you are dead.  I thought I might stop breathing, I even tried, why don’t we all die right now, but the air wouldn’t let go of me.   

            I forget everything.  I have to remind myself that one foot goes in front of another.  I see a lot of faces, but their faces all of a sudden made no sense to me.  It makes no sense that people have faces.  Who are these people, and why are they touching me?  Don’t touch me I was just in the process of trying to catch a venereal disease.  I see Sarita and remember how she used to show me pictures of Gonorrhea, and some other diseases with names…she was trying to give me shock treatment.  How’d she know I’m secretly a slut?  That I could have died too, tonight, I should have died.  Nick should have AIDS in some latent form that is undetectable.  I deserve that.  I saw other people, Amar Uncle…and…I don’t think I can tell the difference between people…was that my little cousin or a girl I went to Kindergarten with?  Where’s my best friend Julie from Kindergarten, didn’t anyone call her?  I know we haven’t spoken in like sixteen or seventeen years, but I need her right now.  She’s the only one who can make me laugh when boys steal things from me.  A boy was trying to steal my virginity while another boy who got really old really fast stole himself, and now we can’t have him anymore.  Julie will share her father with me, ‘cause that’s what we learned together.  Or how about my imaginary friend, Jackie?  I know she’s here, somewhere.  Julie and Jackie didn’t get along, so I understand if one of them doesn’t show.  

            Everyone looked the same.  They all looked alive.  Then they all looked imaginary.  Am I imagining this?

            Where’s the dead man?  I know; you people are acting like there is a dead person somewhere around here.    

            My sister, she was spinning.  Or was my head spinning?  She was saying something in that teenage tone of hers.  Say something about sex, Sonia.  Because mom and dad had sex by mistake one day and I was born. 

            Why do they try to hold me?  I still don’t know how to breathe.  They think it’s contagious, hereditary, the need to stop breathing.  Maybe it runs in the family.  Maybe I should run.   

            I do run.  I run to the room.  I think I hear something, it’s them.  Slow down. I can’t look at you, wrapping your bodies around each other, like snakes.  I am their body right now, as I run. They want to run too.  As an excuse they run after me.  But really, they wanted this.  Now we’re all running after me.  Instead of runners’ high, we are low.

            Wait, before I get to the room.  Does anyone know where God is?  Is he on call tonight?  Someone page Him because we need to chat.  What exactly do You think You’re doing?  I don’t care about other people’s fathers.  Go right ahead, kill them.  Kill small children in the desert for no reason.  Guess what, I don’t care.  I don’t care about anyone right now but that man, who might be dead.  No, no, no, don’t tell me.  I don’t want to know.  I’m gonna go home now and just not find out either way.  Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.

            Sick people are staring at me, in walkers, in wheelchairs, wearing bandages.  People who are in love with sick people are trying not to look at me, because I am them.  I bump into a doctor wearing light blue scrubs and he tries to grab my arms.  He tells me to watch out.  Why?  If someone gets hurt, well this is the perfect place to hurt someone.  I want to punch him but he can heal himself, so it wouldn’t be worth it. 

I stare at the door.  It is closed.  It is metal and yellowish-gray.  That’s a stupid color for a door of a dead man. 

My father is lying under a white cotton sheet.  They couldn’t do better than that?  Cover him in flowers at least, or silk.  There are no flowers in this room, this happened too fast we couldn’t grow a garden in time.  But, dad, I know you loved red carnations, even though I think they’re cheesy.  And yellow sunflowers, which I am ambivalent about.  The light green drapes are better than this sheet.  I want to grab them and pull them down and throw them on top of you.  That’s all he’s given?  A sheet?  Does Martha Stewart have a line out now for sheets especially designed to put on top of people who just died?  What’s the thread count?  And does that mean you got it at Kmart, ‘cause that place only sells crap?  I know that for a fact dad because you told me you bought me from Kmart for 99 cents.

And wait, are we all Muslim because this reminds me of Burkha.  They walk around while they are alive covering their bodies for respect.  How come he only gets respect because he’s dead?  He should have covered his face when his eyes turned yellow.  I couldn’t look at his face then. 

How about yellow carnations?  They’re even uglier than the red ones.

Does he have any rights?  Do dead people have rights?  When I’m dead I’m not putting up with this.

Am I crying?  Because my face feels wet.  Oh my god, my vagina was wet when you died.  Daddy it was crying for you. 

I’m dirty.  I’m sick.  I’ll take a sheet.

There are no paintings in here.  If you’re gonna put paintings anywhere, don’t you think they should be around people who are dying?  Where are all the pretty things?  Is there somewhere more important, a more important event going on that deserves paintings; that I should know about?

  I want to see if I can be as still as my father for a moment.  Why am I moving?  I try to stand still, but then I blink.  I can’t do this. I don’t know how to be dead.  Maybe we should be practicing.  I mean it is the only thing that we are sure is gonna happen.  And here I am, practicing words from foreign languages when I have no intention to go to those countries.  I know for sure I’m going to dead people’s land.  Dad, what do they talk about there?  What language do they speak?  I’ll learn that.  There are people walking around this country learning how to speak Latin and no one even speaks that.  There is absolutely no point in anything that we do because we are all going to die…to be continued…

By

Nina Kaur