Counting Down with You(95)
After I come home from school, Ace dropping me off with a kiss to the side of my head, I knock on Samir’s door.
Wednesday is one of the rare days my brother doesn’t have an after-school activity or work at the deli, so he opens the door a second later.
“Can I talk to you?” I say, trying to push down the nerves. I can be brave. I can do this. “It’s kind of important.”
Samir furrows his brows but opens his door wider for me to come inside.
I make a face at the dirty wrappers, empty bottles, and clothes tossed around. “Astaghfirullah.” I seek forgiveness in Allah. Throwing the word around callously is probably bad, but I think only a prayer can help Samir fix this mess.
My brother rolls his eyes. “You’re the one who came to my room.”
“Right, right, sorry.” I take a seat on the one clean part of his bed. Jane Eyre sits beside me, and I run my finger along the edge nervously. “I wanted to talk about what happened the other night. With Ma and Baba.”
Samir looks at me with wide eyes. “I already said I was sorry. I helped you the other night. I thought we were good.”
“We are,” I say, licking my lips nervously. “I’m not mad at you. I just want to talk about it.”
“What about it?” Samir asks, scratching his arm as he sits down at his desk.
“I...have you noticed how differently Ma and Baba treat us?”
He blinks at me. “Just because of one time?”
“It’s not just one time.” I don’t know how he could have failed to notice it over the years. It feels so obvious to me. “It’s all the time. Part of it is because you’re a boy. They let you have all the unchecked freedom you want but don’t—won’t do the same for me. The other part is because you’re...perfect. You love math and science. You want to be an electrical engineer and go into robotics. You’re charismatic and good around others. They constantly brag about you. They always put you first. No matter what it is, they always take your side.”
Samir looks shocked. “That’s not true, Myra Apu.”
“It is,” I say, looking down and fiddling with a loose string from my pajama pants. “I’m the odd one out. I love books and reading. I care about things outside their realm of understanding. I’m shy and don’t talk to anyone I don’t already know. I constantly disappoint them. If they could have two of you, they would do it in a heartbeat. They’re so hard on me because of that. Sometimes, I can’t even breathe around them, because I’m worried they’ll tell me I’m doing it wrong.”
“Since when?” Samir asks, biting his lip. “How come I’ve never noticed?”
“Because you never had to,” I say, trying not to let my bitterness taint the words. It’s not his fault our parents treat us differently. “I know they’re not doing it to be cruel. They just don’t...understand me. You fit perfectly into all their boxes. I don’t. I always have to watch myself for missteps, because everything I do wrong gets scrutinized. If you do something wrong, they’ll move on within five minutes. It’s just how it is.”
Samir sits there for a long moment, grappling with the information. I wait it out even as my hands start shaking. I shove them underneath my thighs to keep Samir from seeing them.
“How can you live like that?” Samir finally asks. He makes a move as if to reach for me before seeming to think better of it. “Why don’t you say something to them?”
“What good would it do? They’re not going to change because of me. At this point, all I can do is try to meet their expectations. Maybe one day they’ll be proud of me. I’ll wait until then.” Even as I’m saying the words, they sound desolate. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.
My stomach is tied into painful knots, but Samir is reacting better than I hoped. I expected more denial. Maybe a little ignorance. But he’s listening to me.
It’s a relief, even if I’m nauseated enough that I feel like running to the bathroom.
Samir shakes his head, his expression growing tight. “But that’s horrible. You’re not a puppet. You shouldn’t have to worry about every single thing you do. I’m sure Ma and Baba would understand if you told them the truth. I know they’re proud of you. Remember when you cooked biryani for the first time? Ma bragged about it to all the aunties. And every time you get straight As, Baba prints out your report card and puts it on the fridge.”
I smile weakly. “It’s nothing compared to the way they treat you. You’re blinded by their love for you.”
“Myra Apu...” Samir frowns. “How long have you felt like this?”
I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, considering how honest to be. “My whole life, Samir,” I say finally. This conversation isn’t the place to lie. “It’s nothing new. I’m sorry I never talked to you about it before. I wasn’t... I wasn’t brave enough.” I swallow roughly. “But I’m trying now.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Samir says sharply. I look up with wide eyes, worried I mistook his tone of voice earlier, but then he says, “Dude, you silently lived through that without ever complaining. That’s mad brave. How could you ever think otherwise?”
My throat closes up. Those were the last words I expected from him. “I don’t quite know about that.”