How do you say goodbye to the first night
when the walls of Sharav lost their chill because a dimpled girl, also in a
purple top, wanted a dark, blurry mirror selfie? A night that led to 5 years of
answering the question “What do I do with him Anu? What do I do?”.
How do you get through another day when
your hair is sitting too flat without thinking about the eye roll that
accompanied years of reminders that that isn’t a real thing, “Your hair being
too flat isn’t a problem Anukripae! Stop putting drama now!”. Her eye roll that
makes yours feel mild.
How do you look into the empty half of the
sand clock when so many plans of movies and ice cream remain guilty promises
that she made when you gave her a hard time for never leaving her usual suspects?
Promises that you never chased because you had all the time in the world
together.
How can you squint to remember the minutes
of disappointment and hurt that passed between you when the waxing from
insecure children to nervous women was filled with evenings of considering
motherhood and comparing tummy flab? Evenings all scored by Ms. Swift.
How do you nod without crying when she
repeatedly reminds you to invite her to your wedding 6 months in advance? A
wedding that has notes, strokes and sketches in her handwriting all over its blueprint.
How can you step forward into a world of
scary people without the protection of that hug on the corridor when you
finally show up to class after a rough week, that hand squeeze when you’re battling
an adult bully together, that knowing nod when you step out of that staff room
in tears?
How can you help the nightmares of her
slipping away when you piled every squabble and struggle of the past 10 months
at her door? A door that was quickly decked with celebrations of her moving
from next door to you to across the world from you.
No one taught me how.
No one told me to ask myself these questions a
moment before that Saturday morning when I said “Seri ma. I’ll see you.” and
her big eyes turned wide with tears.
So how do you say goodbye to that girl who
fought dragons with you? You clutch onto her like a terrified child, as she shakily
climbs into the cab waiting to drive her off to Washington and cry standing at
a busy intersection, as she turns around to wave goodbye out of a fast
disappearing window.
