Safiah's Smile (2 page)

Her head fell and the blood rushed to her
cheeks. Her fingers swiped her face, trying to distinguish her
tears from the rain. A soft jacket wrapped lightly around her arms
and shielded her from further wetness. A blast of thunder rang and
a spark of lightning that brightened her features momentarily
flashed. A thick wave of darkness enfolded them as they stood
silent in the center of the James Madison High School football
field.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” she
barely managed to whisper. He shook his head, his face donning a
tired smile. He reached in his pocket for his Red Sox cap and
placed it lightly in her fingers. She stared at it shortly and then
put it on without a word, her lashes finally free from the blinding
downpour. They headed to the nearest shelter – the football
equipment shed – and quietly waited for the unexpected wrath of
nature to pass as they both clinged desperately to the promise of
tomorrow.

A repetitive buzz reverberated in Malia’s
ears from under her quilted paisley bedcovers the following
morning. She restlessly wiped her groggy eyes and reached for her
cell phone. Its screen flashed “10:00 AM, September 11, 2001” on
its front. She moaned as she realized she had overslept.
A lot
happened yesterday
, she told herself,
Mr. Matthews will
understand.
Somehow, however, she knew that he would not
overlook this simple misdemeanor. She slowly flipped it open, and
mumbled an inaudible hello.

“Malia? Malia, is that you?”

After coughing wearily, she responded, “Yes.
Who is this?”

“It’s Danny.” He sounded confused. “After
everything that’s been going on this morning, I just got worried.
Because you weren’t in homeroom.”

“What has been going on? Danny, you don’t
sound so good.”

“You don’t know? Malia….” his voice trialed
off. He paused, but Malia dared not question him. “Look, Malia,
just turn on the news, alright?” She hung up and flipped on her
mini thirteen-inch black and white television set. After propping
its antennas, she watched in awe as piles of asphalt crumbled to
the ground thousands of feet below. The shouts of frantic
bystanders and victims soaring to their deaths caused her to
cringe.

She suddenly felt Danny by her side, holding
her steady as her legs heavied and she felt her body go feeble.

“What’s happened, Danny?” she whispered.

She eventually regained her stability but
still felt Danny firmly grasping her arms, as if grasping the edge
of a building to prevent falling to his demise.

“Nothing can ever be the same now,” he
whispered. He looked into her eyes, but somehow reached far deeper
than her pupils. They stood in silence as both wordlessly accepted
the untimely end to their short-lived youth. The outside world had
finally penetrated their bubble.

–
Chapter 2 –

Malia watched as her balding history
professor slowly removed his silver spectacles and stared heavily
at his class, preparing to discuss the horrors of the previous
day’s attacks. He began to discuss the the heroes of the New York
police and fire departments and the tragedy that just one day prior
plagued America’s most beloved metropolis – New York City.

New York. Malia had never travelled to New
York, but she had long aspired to visit the illustrious Statue of
Liberty in all of her glory and to ascend the world-renown World
Trade Center. The opportune moment had finally arrived at the end
of eighth grade – her teachers had arranged a class trip to the Big
Apple. Malia had unfortunately caught a cold – a condition her
frantic mother would not risk worsening by a cumbersome three-day
excursion. Each year since, Malia had pleaded with her mother to
attend the Phantom of the Opera on Broadway, but now the prospect
of hearing those melodious tunes and walking those scorched
sidewalks and riding those brutally dented taxis rather than
driving her glossy Toyota Corolla appeared tragically dim.

“And so here we are. Almost sixty years from
the conclusion of World War II – the most demoralizing
international debacle of the past one-hundred years – and almost
immediately the new poison that will ravage the twenty-first
century has arrived. Terrorism.” He briefly froze his speech as if
to allow this chilling revelation to settle in his students’
impressionable minds.

Jennifer, the ordinarily headstrong girl in
the front row who was notoriously labeled the class’s overachiever,
timidly raised her hand.

“Mr.… Mr. Collins?” she stumbled.

“Yes, Jen?”

“What’s going to happen now?” For once, the
girl with all of the answers intricately preprogrammed into her
brain was left bewildered, and the teacher who never once paused
while delivering his countless, interminable lectures appeared
speechless.

“I don’t really know.” He paused, locked his
eyes to the white linoleum floor, and gradually raised his glance
to his students who desperately placed their trust in his words.
“All I know is that now, more than ever, all of us must have faith
in our country. We must remain unified in the face of tragedy and
not permit external threats and attempts to divide our nation to
succeed.”

He began to pace the room, clearly engulfed
in his dialogue and barely addressing his class any longer. “This
is the true test of the fortitude and survival of our nation. For
years, we have faced intimidation and animosity from others because
of our principles and because of our liberal beliefs, freedoms, and
tolerance.” He finally perceived the twenty-five expectant students
whose aghast stare remained locked on his.

“You all might consider tomorrow’s chemistry
exam the test of your lives right now. But, years from this day,
you’ll look back and realize that the true test was the test of
courage. What you each individually take from this calamity and how
you interpret it will carry you through for the rest of your
lives.”

The bell signaling the end of the school day
pierced the students’ ears, but each remained locked to his or her
seat, hardly flinching a muscle.

“Go on. You all can leave. Just… just
remember what I said. If you need to speak to me about anything or
would like to share your thoughts, my office is always open.” He
slumped slowly at his desk and watched his students automatically
return to their trivial high school anxieties.

“You know what I don’t get?” Malia heard her
brother teasingly ask a group of seniors standing idly by the
locker bay, “I don’t get why we’ve still got school this week.
After watching the news yesterday, I actually got hopeful.” Malia
sighed at her brother’s inability to allow this historical disaster
to spoil his cheery mood.

“Sam, you really shouldn’t say things like
that at a time like this,” she intercepted. “Even for you. I
thought you were better than that.”

He widened his eyes. “Sis, I’m just trying
to lighten up a dim situation. I’m sure everyone else appreciates
it. Am I right guys?” He glanced expectantly at the crowd of
zombies who hastily agreed.

“See, Malia? Not everyone sees this as the
end of the world. Life goes on.” Nearly the entire senior class
observed her flushed face with sympathy, each inwardly sharing her
glum disposition.

She quickly spun around, weary of her
brother’s adolescent games. Crowds of chattering teenagers in
vibrant plaids and shimmering accessories passed her through the
halls, yet she only saw dull shades of grey.

“Malia,” Danny trailed from behind. “Don’t
listen to Sam, you know he has a tough time dealing with difficult
situations.”

“I know. He
is
my brother, Danny.”

He quickened his pace to hold open the glass
doors leading to the splintered pavement of the school’s parking
lot. “But, just know that everyone agrees with you. Sam was way out
of line.”

“I never thought the day would come when you
would side against my brother.” She noticed his face slightly
redden.

Several moments of thick silence passed.
“Malia, you seem upset. Is something wrong?” he whispered. He
appeared sincerely concerned, never once removing his eyes from
hers.

She looked up at his alarmed stare and
sighed. “It’s nothing. I’ve just been really stressed lately.
That’s all.” Turning her glance towards the grey clouds dotting the
sky, she sensed his heavy stare on her face.

“Is this about next year? Are you worried
about college?” he inquired.

“No. I haven’t applied to any schools yet.
I’m not even sure what I want to do next year,” she confessed.

“But you’ve been dreaming about going to
college you’re entire life,” he exclaimed. “I still distinctly
remember that time in first grade when our teacher went around the
room asking everyone what they want to do when they grow up, and
you said that you wanted to go to Harvard.”

Malia smiled, revealing a set of dimples and
pearly white teeth. “I had completely forgotten that. Thanks for
reminding me.” She paused. “But that was a long time ago. Things
change, Danny.” She opened the front-door seat to her 1996 Corolla
and ignited the engine.

“Yes, things definitely change.” He watched
Malia quietly exit the parking lot of James Madison High School. He
shook his head with a smile and laughed at the various times he
found himself deserted by Malia Sanders, his best friend’s sister –
the girl everyone considered a symbol of perfection, yet he was
starting to see more than the varsity jocks and popular wannabes
perceived of her at a mere first glance.

The following weekend, Malia woke to the
blare of her alarm clock, accidentally set to sound at seven-thirty
on that crisp Saturday morning. After showering and dressing in
comfortable autumn attire – light denim Levi jeans, a white
Abercrombie and Fitch hoodie, and brown suede boots – Malia
scurried down the stairway to consume a light breakfast before
enjoying her first free weekend in months.

“Hey, Dad.” She entered the kitchen,
clacking the soles of her shoes on the black and white checkered
tiles.

“Hey, Mal. You hungry?” he revealed a frying
pan of freshly scrambled eggs and plates of homemade waffles and
blueberry pancakes. She inhaled hungrily and nodded.

“It’s nice to not eat Cocoa Puffs for a
change. Not that I don’t thoroughly enjoy cereal that tastes like
chocolate, but may I ask what the occasion is?” She sat at the
table and began meticulously dissecting a blueberry pancake.

“Nothing much. I just thought I’d give you
some fuel for the day. So you can, you know, work on some college
applications.”

Malia instantly froze. “Dad… I don’t
know….”

“Look, Malia, I know things have been tough
ever since your best friend moved away.”
Does he even know the
definition of the word?
she thought. “But you’ve been working
hard for a long time now. I just don’t want to see you throw all of
your dreams away.”
No one from school had even kept in touch
with Beth ever since her mom relocated her family – essentially
Beth – to New York for her new job after she got laid off,
she
thought.
No one even knew.

Since nursery school, Malia and Beth Walters
had been nearly inseparable. Together they had conquered first
grade math, ninth grade biology, the PSAT, and ultimately their
high school’s social pyramid. When Beth departed for New York, she
left Malia stranded, solitarily responsible for their countless
cronies. Now, none of it seemed to matter.

“Speaking of Beth, have you talked to her
lately? How’s she doing?”

Malia blinked, “I don’t know Dad… I haven’t
spoken to her in awhile,” she replied. In fact, she had spoken to
Beth merely two days prior from a payphone at the local ShopMart in
an urgent attempt to inquire of Beth’s mother’s wellbeing. When not
trapped in her tedious home or in the classroom, Malia could
frequently be found at Beth’s apartment for the past ten years.
Mrs. Walters almost felt like a second mother to Malia, or at least
an adult she perceived as a role model and sought much guidance
from in troubled times. Memories of Beth and her mother blazed
instantaneously in Malia’s mind, as if she was hurriedly perusing
through a painfully nostalgic photo album unopened for
centuries.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I have to go.” She felt
suddenly weak and feeble.

Her father appeared abruptly nervous. “Are
you okay? Should I call the doctor?”

“No, no, I’m fine.” She faked a smile. “I
think I might get started on those applications you were talking
about a few minutes ago,” she lied. Not for the first time.

After slamming the door to her room, her
body trembled and she scavenged for her cell phone in her purse.
Her eyes scanned the list of contacts – Chelsea, Rebecca, Ally,
Jake, Jordan. The list appeared infinite. She slammed her phone in
frustration and let it slide from her fingers to the hardwood
floor.

She heard a light knocking on her door.
“Malia, can I come in?” Her brother.

After quickly wiping her eyes, she replied,
“Sure, Sam.”

He turned the knob and entered her
overwhelmingly purple room – lavender wallpaper, dark purple
bedcovers, and even a violet lampshade. “Is everything okay? I
heard some noise coming from your room. And… were you crying?” he
stared at the blotches of water on her cheeks and the red puffs
marking her eyes.

“I wasn’t crying. What would make you think
that?”

He strode from his position by the doorway
to her nightstand and slipped a handheld mirror into her grasp.

“Oh.” She blushed. “Okay, I was crying.
You’re right. Is that all, Sam? Because I really should be heading
out.” She hopped from the bed, one hand desperately clutching the
doorknob.

“No, Malia, that’s not all. Look, I know.
Everyone does.”

“About what?” The beating of her pulsating
heart quickened and a fresh layer of sweat enveloped her forehead,
nearly dampening the hair she so meticulously blow dried that
morning.