Her deep brown twinkling eyes betray no pain. She stands holding the baby version of me, leaning against my father, in this tattered photograph which I clutch with my trembling hand. A wet tear drop hit’s the surface, and dissolves. My pain is meaningless to him, the only who is still alive. I erase him with my thumb, wanting so badly to rip him up and never remember…what he did to them, but I can’t. The memories are etched in the blood which runs through my veins, like poison. It’s been ten years, and still I can’t forget.
Unfortunately, death and rape is all to common in the part of India where I am from. My mother and elder sister, Norah, were raped and murdered by him when I was only five. Since I was only a young child, I was spared. All I remember seeing is blood, everywhere, and the now when I picture it, I see myself crying for hours hiding in the corner. Pity washes over me for my younger self, but I my shell has grown strong, hardened from years of not giving in.
But so badly do I want to give in. To sit, quite invisibly, in a corner and cry to myself, and pray, because every second I am doubting if God even exists. My faith in him has steadily washed away, like the waves which tumble towards the pink-streaked horizon. This, I can only see through the cracked and dirty window that I clean with no feeling.
So here I am, mom, still thinking of you and Norah. There is no way out of this life.
It is around midday. Although the seasons blend in to each other, separated only by the force of the breeze and length of the day, I know by the date from the calendar Arjun bought for me that it is summer, and as if to emphasize that, the sun burns through the exposed skin on the back of my neck. Arjun is smoking a cigarette and Vikash is drinking from a beer bottle, their eyes blotchy red and melancholy. They are sitting by the overhang, down the street from the orphanage. Here, it is possible to see the entire town, and what is beyond for miles and miles. It is really beautiful, but we know we will never escape our immediate surroundings.
Vikash understands this, and perhaps, for this reason, is usually in a sour mood. Often, he curses. Women are garbage to him, although he would never openly express this to an adult. That is what he has been taught, anyways, that is what he has seen. He is like my stupid father, I often think, and when are eyes meet, I can’t help but feel that I am at his mercy. I loathe him, and he loathes me, but we have a mutual friend in Arjun.
Arjun I have known for many years. He is like a brother to me. I don’t know why and how, but he is different. Some part of him understands right from wrong, and he is able to view me as his equal. With him, it is safe. But as I stand here now, by the overpass, where the raucous river bubbles beneath me, the boys scowl at me. Vikash taunts me, threatening to throw the bottle at me. I laugh at him. He won’t dare touch me while Arjun is here.
That is why I am surprised when he quickly leaps up and shoves me down so that I fall to my knees. Deep red blood seeps from a cut.
“Knock it off!” Arjun protests, pushing his buddy, his brown skin reddening.
“Why man? You care for that piece of shit?” Vikash’s furrowed brows round on me.
I step back. I don’t want to get involved, but the too boys are fighting, really getting into it. Vikash’s back is turned to me, and Arjun grapples with him, only several feet away from the cliff’s edge.
My heart is beating more than a thousand times in my chest. The reality is so unreal that I forget where I am, who I am, and what I am doing. The memories of the past swim around in my mind, so much like the present. Vikash is my father, but in a different form. The rage within me is so great. I know what Vikash is capable of.
Pam, my best friend went missing three months ago. She had been hanging out with Vikash a lot. I suspected that he was responsible for her death, but the orphanage director could hardly care what happened to strays like us. We are just numbers, floating in and out of that desolate and dirty space, extra mouths to feed.
My rage has been bottled inside of me at Vikash for these past three months, and at my father for most of my lifetime. But right now Arjun is in danger and needs my help. If only I could get Vikash’s attention, somehow. I take off my sandal and through it at him. Of course, he notices is, as drunk as he is. He chucks he beer bottle at me, which luckily falls short and only hits my legs. I am bleeding…too much. I can barely move because it is so painful. Arjun is enraged. The two boys are grappling. My trick has worked. Arjun was able to turn the tables, and Vikash is the one dangling over the edge, but something stops Arjun from pushing Vikash over the edge.
“Noo..man don’t do it,” Vikash is begging, his eyes tearing.
“Promise not to touch her or any other girl or woman or I’ll skin you alive!” Arjun says it and the look in his eyes is half-crazed. He is not kidding. However, it is too late. The drunk Vikash has lost his balance. He slips on a rock, and all we hear is a scream. We look down moments later and dead body surfaces to the top of the river, floating on by, forever forgotten. Arjun carries me back to the only home I know.
The next day, I am resting on the couch. No one questions, thank god, and everyone helps with my chores. The younger girls are crowded around the musty old television watching Cinderella. When I look up at Arjun, who sits by me, I somehow feel that he is my Prince Charming, but it is too soon to tell, and I cover my heart with my hand.
I’ve never told anyone the full story of my life, but that night I tell my only true friend, and his tears melt with mine. I have never seen a man cry before, but his tears are real. They make him all the more human, and this is something I have never experienced before.
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Within the next year, Arjun and I are adopted, finally, by two different well-off families, but have no way of contacted each other. Life goes on. I become educated and well-rounded under the guidance of my wonderful foster parents. The God I once doubted, glimmers above me. The promising horizon is touchable, tangible. It was waiting for me all along. While the memories are not forgotten, my present is greater than my past. I really wish the best for Arjun who I miss dearly, and often try to search for him through the internet and Face book, but I don‘t have a last name. I guess, I will have to accept never seeing his smiling face again.
The years go by. I can’t complain. I have more food than I ever had, more clothes than I will ever need, and most importantly more love and care than I could ever wish for, but there is still something missing. My foster parents will never know the full story. I simply cannot tell them. Although I have warmed up to them, and my foster sister, Bianca, there are painful layers they cannot peel away which cling to me like skin over bone. It’s my twentieth birthday. Making a wish I know will never come true, I blow out the candles.
A few days later, I am at the mall with Bianca. While she is chatting with another friend on the phone, I go over to Starbucks to buy a coffee. There is someone working behind the counter… someone I recognize. Yes, definitely a familiar face. What a miracle! Suddenly, I am rushing up the counter.
“Arjun!” I scream.
He stares at me, shocked, but then realizes it is me under the expensive clothing and permed hair.
“Tara..I didn’t know if I would ever see you again. It’s been..too long.” We cry and embrace and talk for hours. He lives a half and hour away from where I live. It’s funny how our paths never crossed until this moment when we were so close all along. He knows my past, my present, and I want him to know my future because he is that shining ray of hope in my life; the possibility I never dared to dream of.
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