“What the fuck is the problem?” I say at last.
Her head jerks back. Her eyes gape.
She looks like a perfectly normal girl. The kind who finishes the social-sciences program with good grades, buys clothes at Forever 21 and Urban Outfitters. In another life, I’m sure she and I could have been friends.
“Nothing,” she says, hiding her face with one hand. “It’s nothing.”
Then she rattles the keys and looks generally stressed out. As the lock clicks, I lie flat on the bed with my mouth stuffed with Daim and Coke.
I open the book and it doesn’t take long before I’m hooked. Finally, I can escape myself for a while. A whole different world opens in my mind and I throw myself headlong into it. I never want to come out again, never come back to this fucking cell.
I can’t even smell it when I’m reading.
* * *
The next morning, Shirine returns to my room.
“I finished it.”
I toss the book on the bed, but from Shirine’s face you’d think it landed on her toes.
“Already?”
I shrug.
“What happened? Did you like it?”
“It was fucking depressing.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
Shirine’s face is heavy with guilt.
I don’t know why I don’t tell the truth, that I loved the book, that it made me furious and sad, but that I have nothing against feeling furious and sad. I need those emotions. I would never forgive Shirine if she brought me a book full of sunshine.
“Can you get me more books?” I ask.
Her smile travels from eye to eye.
“Of course I’ll get you more books.”
“Great.”
She is about to sit down next to me when the tears well up. I can’t explain why. Maybe a thought happened to brush against something that burns. I press my palms to my face, which aches and stings. And I think about Esther in the book, and that mental hospital.
“Are you okay?” Shirine asks, her voice gentle.
I can’t answer her question. No matter what I say, it will sound petty, probably incomprehensible. Presumably egotistical. My life is ruined. Chris is dead and I have made a mess of everything. How will I ever be able to look Mom and Dad in the eyes again? There’s no solution now, only escape.
“I want you to leave now,” I say to Shirine.
All I deserve is darkness.
47
Amina and I have always been told we’re an odd pair. She’s so levelheaded and reserved and rule abiding. And I’m constantly taking up space and being loud, always finding some ridiculous rule to break.
But behind these fa?ades, we’re a lot alike. I’ve always seen myself reflected in Amina. Inside, we’re the same flesh and blood. We just choose to show different things to the outside world. That’s how it works. We all have our secrets, depths and darkness few others are allowed to see. If you only dig a little deeper, it’s easy to find some scary shit in every single person. Amina is no exception.
I truly wish she had been there at confirmation camp. I honestly believe things would have turned out differently. Not just camp—everything.
The butterfly effect, it’s called. A single beat of a butterfly’s wings can have enormous consequences and affect everything that happens.
But Amina didn’t even dare to ask her parents if she could come. I’m sure her mom would have been fine with it, but her dad is Muslim. Not that I’ve ever seen him do anything related to Islam. Rather the opposite. Dino loves beer and would never get it into his head to fast or kneel facing Mecca. Plus, Allah would definitely have an opinion about the four-letter words Dino would bellow at our handball games.
But it didn’t matter; Amina wasn’t going to ask if she could come to camp. She was Muslim and it was important to say that you were Muslim even though no one really cared. Shit, at home they even ate hot dogs and ribs, but at school she always got her food “pork free.”
I’m sure Amina would have stopped me. If only she had been there, at that camp by the little lake. She would have told me what a dumb fucking idea it was. She would have shaken some sense into me, would have been all big-sistery and convinced me to stay in our room and play cards with the other confirmands.
I wouldn’t have gone with Robin if Amina had been there.
Maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here now.
Butterfly effect.
* * *
On summer vacation between seventh and eighth grades, we traveled to some Danish backwater town for a handball championship. As usual we brought home the gold and I was the top scorer. We slept on air mattresses in a sweaty, snore-filled classroom, and on two of the nights there were dances in a tent in the schoolyard.