Safiah's Smile (3 page)

“Um… Beth Walters, Mal.”
How could he
know?
she thought.
She hadn’t told a soul. She had promised
Beth that much, and she certainly wouldn’t lie about something so
important.

“What about Beth?” she innocently asked.
Who knows?
she asked herself.
Maybe it was something
else. It had to be something else
. She clung hopelessly to the
prospect that it was something else. Anything but the truth.

“Her mom, Malia. She died. Four days ago. On
September 11.” He paused to allow his weighty words to sink slowly
in Malia’s mind. “I assumed you knew.”

She relented. “I did know, Sam. I promised
Beth I wouldn’t tell anyone. It was the least I could do.”

Her brother looked pained – an expression
she had never before witnessed on his habitually youthful face. “I
just found out this morning.” He ran his fingers through his hair
in a frustrated manner. He fumbled his speech for several moments.
“Look, Malia. I… I’m really sorry. About before. I’m an idiot.
Remember all those years you called me an idiot? Well, it turns out
you were right.”

For the first time in days, Malia broke a
smile. “I was right, was I? I thought I’d never hear those words
come from your lips.”

He nearly returned the smile, yet suddenly
recalled the focus of their conversation. “How is she, I mean, how
is Beth doing? Have you spoken to her?” Malia quietly recalled all
those years she privately suspected that her brother harbored more
than friendly feelings towards her best friend. Now she was
certain.

“She’s getting by. She’s living with her
aunt in the city now. Her aunt’s cool, so I think she’s going to be
okay.”

Sam nodded approvingly. “That’s good. Are
you going to be okay, though? I know you and Beth… and her mom… you
guys were all really close, weren’t you?”

She locked her eyes to a budding rip in the
carpet by Sam’s feet. She hoped that one loose thread wouldn’t
shred the carpet to pieces. “Yeah,” she whispered. “We were.” She
sunk to her bed. After several minutes of contemplation, she met
her brother’s eyes and noticed his anxious stare. Another new
expression from her brother, whose only care in the world for
seventeen years remained solely basketball. “You know me, Sam. I
don’t let anything take me down. Don’t you worry.” She smiled,
sensing no need to extend her despair to immediate family
members.

“So, are you hanging out with Danny
today?”

He looked at her. “Nah. I mean not
today.”

Malia gaped, “Are you serious? This may be
the first Saturday in ten years that you haven’t spent with Danny.
Explain yourself.” She waited expectantly.

“I don’t know. It’s just… lately, all he
talks about is you.”

She froze. “I guess without Beth this year,
we’ve become friends in a way,” she responded casually.

“Friends,” he repeated slowly, emphasizing
each syllable. “You know, Malia, I don’t like sharing my friends
with my sister,” he chuckled. Another awkward silence. “Well, sis,
I won’t take anymore of your time.” He headed towards the hall.

“Oh,” he swirled to face her, “Dad wanted me
to remind you to edit each of your college essays at least fifteen
times. Microsoft can’t catch every mistake, you know.” She rolled
her eyes as she watched him sprint to his room and snatch his
basketball. His thin shadow floated across the wall opposite her
room and evaporated within seconds. She heard his basketball thud
rhythmically against the lobby’s hardwood floors.

“Sam, no bouncing basketballs in the house!”
she heard her mother reprimand from the kitchen. “I don’t know what
I’m going to do with that boy, Jack. I really don’t.”

He’ll be fine,
Malia thought. She
seized her car keys and headed to the driveway at ease, no longer
drowning in her secrets. While racing to her silver Corolla, Malia
stooped to inspect the mysterious envelope emblazoned with her name
lying lifelessly by the front door.

“What the…?” she curiously slid the packets
of papers from their package, each stamped with the names of
various prestigious colleges – Penn State, Brown, Washington
University, Princeton. “Mr. Matthews,” she thought quietly. She
secured the envelope under her arm and strode to the kitchen, her
father still merrily whistling while delicately knotting spongy
dough into butterscotch croissants.

“Dad, if you ever get tired of accounting,
you should definitely open your own bed and breakfast.”

He analyzed the array of creamy croissants,
strawberry muffins, and crispy waffles adorning the kitchen table.
“Oh, this? It’s just a hobby.”

“Dad, this envelope, do you know who...” she
began to question the origins of her unanticipated envelope of
college applications when the doorbell obstructed her speech.

“Danny?” she opened the front door to
Danny’s smirking face. “Here to see my brother?”

“Nope. I just wanted to make sure you got my
gift,” he watched the enveloped crumple beneath her arm. “And I see
that you did,” he smiled.

She stumbled to find words. “You?”

“Yes. Me,” he said, his eyes unwaveringly
tied to hers.

“Why?” she challenged.

“I can’t let you throw all of your dreams
away. Just let me help you, Malia.” He searched her face for some
glimmer of agreement. “I heard about Beth. You can’t keep these
things inside.”

“You can’t even begin to understand,” she
whispered. She no longer attempted to vigorously prevent her tears
from streaming down her pale-white cheeks.
Why is she always
crying in front of him?
she pondered. “You don’t know how hard
it is to go on like nothing is changed,” she elevated her voice,
nearly screaming, “when everyone around you moves on like nothing
even happened.”

“Let me help you, Malia,” he took a step
towards her.

“I don’t need help,” she asserted. “I don’t.
I’m fine. Why don’t you believe me?” Her last words muffled with
her tears.

“You’ve always been so stubborn.” He slid
the envelope lightly from under her arm. “This is your future,
Malia.” He snatched a handful of Kleenex from the nearby
mantelpiece and offered it to her. She wiped the smudged mascara
from her lashes and lifted them to him. “Just let me help you.”

“Okay,” she surrendered.

–
Chapter 3 –

The fleeting days of September passed
painstakingly slowly, as Malia Sanders faced her senior year at
James Madison High School flustered and abandoned. Nonetheless, as
with all traumatic experiences, she gradually healed and discovered
that she would eventually return to her more carefree, youthful
self with time.

After snatching a cereal bar, Malia scanned
the morning newspaper for the latest headlines. Printed in block
letters on its front was the President’s declaration of war against
Afghanistan in response to the attacks Osama Bin Laden spearheaded
against the United States one month prior. She felt a bolt of
electricity blaze up her arms.
Finally
, Malia thought.
Maybe now Beth’s mom can rest in peace.

After skimming the lengthy article analyzing
the historical event, Malia crammed the newspaper into her shoulder
bag and drove peacefully to James Madison High, somewhat at
ease.

“Mr. Matthews!” she dashed into her guidance
councilor’s office with a chunky pamphlet of stamped and addressed
envelopes. “Here are those teacher recommendations you asked about
last week.” She slapped them onto his desk.

He analyzed them briefly, grinning and
nodding in approval. “Thank you, Malia. You know,” he rose from his
seat, “You’ve come a long way. I am so glad you’ve decided to apply
to college.” His brows furrowed, “I hope you don’t mind me asking,
but what is it that persuaded you to change your mind so
quickly?”

She bit her lip, contemplating the past
month. “I guess you could say I was… inspired.” She thought about
Beth and her strength in the face of such a massive loss.

After muttering a brief farewell, Malia
stumbled to homeroom in search of a familiar face. Her brother was
standing idly by his seat in the back row listening to music and
rhythmically snapping his fingers against the hardwood desk.

“Sam, guess who just handed in their
recommendations for college?”

“Huh?” He squinted, recognized someone was
speaking to him, and swiftly removed his ear buds. “Oh,” his lips
curved upward in a brief grin before he immediately returned to his
hard metal tunes. “I’m glad,” he robotically uttered.

“Speaking of college, where are you thinking
of going next year?” Though she adored her twin brother, she
privately yearned that they would attend separate universities the
following year. Essentially inseparable for seventeen years from
her brother, three minutes her elder, she needed to find her own
identity. She no longer wished to wear the label of
Sam’s little
twin sister
.

He flipped off his portable music device and
stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans. “Oh, well,” his eyes
perused the classroom, as if desperately searching for something.
“Malia, you know I’ve never been the best of students.”

She eyed him concernedly. “There are plenty
of schools out there. I’m sure you can find something that’s right
for you.”

He sunk his fist into the tabletop in
frustration. “That’s just it, Malia. I’m not so sure that college
is
right for me. At least not yet.” She waited, certain that
an explanation would follow.

He stumbled on his words. A sharp pang of
fear reached his eyes, and he swiped the sweat from his face. He
hastily removed his bulky denim jacket. “I think that I need to do
something different. Something I’m better at. I’m thinking of
joining the army, Malia.”

She stared. “Please, don’t tell Mom and Dad.
I’ll tell them when I’m ready. We both know how they’ll react when
they find out their oldest son doesn’t want to win the next Nobel
Peace Prize.”

She continued to stare. “Malia, can you
please say something?”

“I… I don’t,” she started just as Danny
miraculously appeared.

“Morning everyone.” Neither Malia nor Danny
acknowledged his presence. “Did I interrupt something?”

“I’m sorry. I have to go,” she slid past
Danny.

The mundane halls painted in shades of
creamy ivory and iron grey swirled dizzyingly before her eyes. She
leaned heavily against the wall and sunk to the ground, swimming in
colors of confusion. A teacher, possibly Mr. Foreman, inquired of
her wellbeing and then, struck by her lack of response, scurried to
the nurse’s office. The reverberation of the morning bell chimed
piercingly in her ears, yet all she heard was a deafening
silence.

“Mr. Matthews is looking for you,” she saw
Danny striding towards her. His form was hazy, almost ghost-like.
“Class just started.” She looked at his feet. Brown leather with
laces. Mesh holes dotted either of their sides. “Malia, did you
hear what I said?”

“I heard you, Danny.” Her eyes fixated on
the opposite wall. The crusty, lead-infested paint was already
starting to chip. Small brown gaps stained the previously hospital
white hallway. And yet, despite all of the wall’s insufficiencies,
Malia continued to stare.

“Sam told me about the whole army thing,” he
confessed. “Is that what’s bothering you?”

Her trance was suddenly broken. “
The
whole army thing
?” she mimicked. “He’s been your best friend
since kindergarten. You played little league together, you learned
how to throw a fast pitch together, you…. Danny, how can you let
him risk his life?” she challenged.

“For his country,” he intercepted. “For
something admirable.” He sat beside her, breaking his speech for
several minutes, simply contemplating. “I might go with him,
Malia.”

She looked at him, his face nearly an inch
from hers. “I guess you’ve made your choice then.”

He leaped bitterly from the ground in
irritation. “Why does this have to be a bad thing?”

“Because it is,” she retorted, “Why can’t you
see that?”

“You’ve suffered so much because of
terrorism. I thought you’d want me and your brother to fight
it.”

Her breathe quickened, and she shrunk deeper
into the ground. Her heart pounded, nearly escaping her chest.
Eventually, she steadily lifted herself from the checkered linoleum
floor. “I’m afraid,” she admitted.

His muscles grew tense. He fixed his gaze on
a copper penny lying flatly by Malia’s loafers. “So am I.” He
wrapped his fingers around her snowy hand and steered them towards
homeroom. In spite of everything, he worried that Mr. Matthews
might condemn them both to a week’s detention upon their
arrival.

The remainder of the afternoon was a blur.
In chemistry, Malia’s professor rebuked her for improperly
extracting DNA from a strawberry. In calculus, she plainly forgot
the formula for the derivative of the cosine function. In history,
she delivered an oral presentation in which she unintentionally
mistook the Jim Crow legislation for the black codes. Between
classes, she bundled herself in a quilted winter jacket, dragging
herself through the school’s maze-like hallways. Her bag sturdily
strapped around her shoulders, she tried to minimize speculation
from her curious classmates.

After finishing her two-hour shift at Pete’s
Pizzas later that evening, Malia slouched on the staircase leading
to her house’s family room. The scent of Swiss cheese and tomato
sauce lingered on her skin. She draped a furry blanket around her
arms to mask the odor, and began to pry into the conversation
taking place between her brother and her parents in the adjacent
room. Her brother, slouching casually on the sofa bed with a
backward baseball cap lying flimsily on his head, looked at both of
his parents expectantly. Malia’s mother and father sat tensely
opposite their son, their hands fidgeting wildly in their laps.