Grey-eyed Adonis

Maha

I'm wide awake at seven-forty on a Wednesday morning and I ask myself why. I don't have a single class today and I should be sleeping until noon. If Mom would allow me that is. Her demonic flip side is... well, intimidating, to put it mildly. I screw my eyes shut, willing myself to fall through the portal to another dimension. I don't.

After cuddling my pillow for another minute, I shift upright, swing my legs off the bed and slip my feet into my flip-flops before deftly gathering my hair into the low bun which Tan's sister had helped me perfect over multiple sleepovers at their place. Before I mastered it I used to keep getting my fingers tangled with my hair. That was almost two years ago, by the way.

"Maha," Pop looks up from his half-eaten omelet as he hears me shuffle into the kitchen, "what made you decide to grace us with your presence this early?"

I wince as I watch Kaif sloppily buttering a slice of bread. It's not a sight I'm accustomed to, although I'm the one who told him he seriously needs to step out of his OCD.

"Something's going to happen. Something eventful. Momentous. Historic." That's what I'm going to chalk up my inability to sleep to.

"Like what?" Kaif asks with an air of vague interest. His eyes are transfixed on his phone as his thumb mechanically scrolls through whatever is displaying on its screen. Probably revision notes for a supposed pop quiz. Unless it's international news- something he likes to apprise himself with. He has social medias, quote 'only because that's another source of global news' unquote, but he's not an addict.

"I don't know. I'm waiting." I answer. I pour Cocoa Puffs into a bowl, deluge it with milk and plop myself up on a stool after fetching a spoon. I shove a spoonful of the cereal and glance around, only now realizing my mom's absence.

"Your mother is meeting with a friend." Pop answers my unspoken question. Then adds, "She assigned me to wake you up at nine. Thank you for saving me from that terrifying ordeal."

Wow. I have my great opportunity to sleep in but I can't. Fantastic.

"I don't know about historic events but your mom did leave you some things to do." Pop juts his chin towards the refrigerator where a blue Post-it has been stuck. I crumple my face at it.

Kaif crosses over to the sink and washes his hands. He dries them with a paper towel before hiking up his backpack from the floor. "I'm going."

"Fee Amanillah." Pop and I chorus.

Once the door shuts behind Kaif, my head snaps at Pop. "You're not planning to let me deal with whatever nightmare is listed on that innocent little paper by myself, are you?"

"I wouldn't have imagined if it had been the weekends." He places a hand over his heart for dramatic effect. He then forks the the remaining of his omelet into his mouth, downs his coffee and stands up. Shrugging on the coat of his suit, he then lands a peck on my forehead and leaves for work.

I tip my bowl and slurp milk. You'd think a twenty-two year old would have more grace. I can literally picture my mom's disapproving glare. I set down the bowl and glance at the Post-it and sigh resignedly. "There's still one other person I can turn to." Then pull out my phone from my PJ's pocket and fire a text to that person.

<>

The depiction of household chores may at first seem like Cinderella gently sweeping the floor while she sang songs of love and joy- not of back-pain. After taking numerous I-can't-do-this-anymore breaks and Tan pushing and dragging me around we are in a position to say we did a bang-up job. Most of the tasks in the list have been ticked off. I'm dumping the clothes from the laundry basket into the washing machine while Tan types away on her phone.

"All good?" she asks after I have set the timer. She shoves her phone into the back pocket of her jeans.

I fish out the note from my PJ's pocket. "All good." The last to be ticked off is grocery shopping, which I can handle myself. Hopefully.

"Great. My sister's making SOS calls. Says there's a lizard apocalypse in her room." Tan says, pushing off the wall she has been leaning against.

"Better hurry then." I say, chuckling. And then suddenly remembering, I call out, "By the way, Natalie wants to hangout tonight. You in?"

Tan raises her hand in a thumbs up as sees herself to the door. 

I resume to my room to change into clothes deemed proper for a quick shopping spree: a pair of casual black slacks and a full-sleeved, baggy, bottle-green flannel shirt. I pin on my regular black scarf, pocket my phone and purse and set off on my bike.

Ten minutes later, I park my bicycle in Target's lot. The double glass doors glide apart and I step into the cool temperature. I grab a cart and wheel it into the midst of the store. Shoppers are scattered around but there aren't many.

It's eleven twenty-three when I study the picture of the list in my phone where mom's printing handwriting had scribbled the items needed to be purchased, and am pleased to note that I've accomplished in picking them all out within half an hour.

As I listlessly navigate my way towards the cash counter my cart bumps into someone, and not for the first time. I don't know why I even bothered with a cart in lieu of a basket when there are only a handful of items.

"Ugh, sorry!" I reverse and look up, but the guy in the white Yankees cap and grey hoodie whom my cart I knocked into is already walking away, heedless to my apology. That's probably better than earning myself another scowl or irritated 'watch where you're going'. The guy fishes out his wallet from his back pocket and a ten-dollar bill accidentally falls out. 

I call out to him, "Hey, you dropped something!" I frown when he proceeds to walk off without a backward glance.

Picking up the note, I catch up with him and pluck his hoodie from behind. He freezes but doesn't turn around. I walk over to his front and I hold out his money. "I said you dropped something."

He averts his head swiftly and pulls his cap down, eclipsing his face. "You can keep it."

What the hell?

He makes to sidestep me but I block him. My temper flares. "Excuse me? Kindly give your charity to someone who needs it." I stuff the bill into his hoodie's pocket and return to my abandoned cart.

By the time the lady in the counter has bagged my groceries and gives me my change the sky has darkened significantly, indicating a downpour. Which isn't great news for me. I step out into the gloom, slip the plastic bag onto the handlebar of my bike, mount it and finally hit the pedal.

I'm back home faster than I've reached the store, perfectly dry. However, my relief to be indoors on time is only short lived as I discover, to my immense surprise, Pop and Kaif engaged in a heated conversation in the living room.

"I don't like having to explain myself all the time. I'm not a kid anymore who needs to consult his parents regarding every issue. You don't own my life! You can't control me!"

"As long as you live under this roof; as long as you spend my hard earned money- yes, as your father and lawful guardian, I can control your life. I'm not taking a call like that again. Have I made myself clear?"

Kaif's facial expression conveys he's on the verge of a snappy retort but stops in time when he notices me. Pop spins around to follow his gaze, allowing Kaif the opportunity to escape. When he turns back again to face Kaif, the latter is already flouncing up the stairs. He slams the door to his room shut causing Pop to heave a prolonged, stressful sigh.

I kick off my shoes, dispose the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and retreat to sit next to Pop on the three-person upholstered sofa, placing a hand on his back, which I note is pretty stiff.

"Teenagers in their mood swings?"

"Tell me about it." Pop rubs an enervated hand over his tired face, and I observe the telltale lines of worry on his forehead. His tense shoulders sag, and he leans back. I don't inquire what happened, but if it involved him needing to leave work and Kaif being sent home from school then it's enough to deduce it's something hellacious. And I trust Pop to not leave me in the dark if it's something I should know.

"Want me talk to him?" I ask, gently. Like Wissam whenever I'd be upset.

"Not sure if he'll listen." He closes his eyes. "I don't know what's going on with him."

"It's just this phase, you know? Even those who are a stickler for rules and good conduct can't get through high-school without getting tangled in trouble at some point." I rise. "I'm gonna go check on Kaif." Pop nods.

I rap on the door. Twice, thrice and a couple more consecutive times which were left unanswered. I twist the knob and it goes all 360 degrees allowing the door to swing open. He is reclined on the backrest, head propped, eyes shut and earphones plugged in, spinning around on his desk chair. Not wanting to barge in, I aim a pillow at him that I picked up from the floor among all the other stuffs he hasn't bothered picking up. Apparently, my throw was on point, thanks to basketball. Kaif's eyes fly open when the pillow lands on him. He unplugs one earphone.

"May I come in?" He shrugs, spinning around again so that now the backside of the chair is facing me. I navigate through his scattered belongings and plop down on his bed which is almost equally messy.

"If it's about what you saw earlier then- "

"I don't know what you're talking about. " I say innocently, "Here, I got you something." I toss the chocolate I grabbed from the fridge before coming here. He look warily from me to the Hershey's.

"Is it- "

"No." I roll my eyes, "It's not a prank and nobody's hiding in a corner secretly video-taping everything."

"You think I'll believe that you came all the way to give me that? I know you better."

"You make it sound like I'm a villain." I joke.

"Duh. It's you we're talking about."

"Hmm." I stare at him. "But it's you we should be talking about."

He plugs his earphone back in and shuts his eyes. "Get out."

"Hey, let's talk about it. You might feel better." I say gently, but Kaif doesn't response. I tug his earphones off and he glowers at me. "Didn't think you'd actually take me for my word when I told you to act your age."

It's completely unforeseen when, suddenly, his annoyance spikes and he springs up from his chair, sending it to collide with his desk. "I'm sixteen, does anybody remember? Practically seventeen in a few months! But you people treat me like the baby of the family. I face a problem and everyone takes a nosedive! Lemme grow up!" He chucks the chocolate across the bed and slams his palm on his desk, making me wince slightly. "And would it kill you act like you're twenty-two without subtracting ten years? As a big sister, you're such a disappointment. Quit pretending you know what you're doing. My life is not your game to play or anybody else's. I can do without everyone around me desperately trying to get involved."

Every word stings. I'm under no mistaken notion that I'm a shining example of an elder sibling, but being called pretentious by your own brother with ill-concealed subtlety cuts deep. Now that Kaif has spilled his guts, I know for a fact that I've failed miserably and pathetically in following Wissam's footsteps of being a cool and reliable elder sibling. So this is the momentous incident I had a feeling about this morning, I think wryly. Before I'm able to muster up a response, Kaif stomps out of the room and starts pounding downstairs.

"Kaif- " I croak, and am about to follow him when a Manila envelope sitting idly on his desk catches my eye. Who sends letters when you can email? Intrigued, I snatch it and upend it on the desk. I freeze and my eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets as I take in the scattered photos.

What...? How...?

Hastily thrusting the envelop along with its contents into the pocket of my slacks, I dash out of the room and barrel down the stairs. Jamming my feet into my shoes, I'm out the front door. I hear Pop calling my name but my mind is in such a whir I can't answer. I run a few blocks down the road but no luck. I've lost Kaif.

A swift flash of lightning, ensued by a piercing clap of thunder, immobilizes me. At once I clasp both hands over my ears and screw my eyes shut, dousing in fear. The weather I've thrown myself into didn't register in my mind until this moment. The coppery tang my tongue detects tells my I've drawn blood by biting into my lips. Within a minute, a drizzle commences and I can sense people darting past me, their heavy footfalls competing against the patter of rain, trying to get under cover while my feet is hot-glued to the pedestrian walkway. Nobody stops. Nobody knows my phobia.

In the middle of this crisis, someone gently pushes my hands away and replaces them with what feels like headphones. They compress against my ears, and it's as though the world has gone mute. I dare my eyes open upon sensing the presence and proximity of the person.

Dark-fringed, inquisitive grey eyes equivalent to the smoky color of the sky. Bedraggled hair flops is every direction. There is a completely disarming sincerity on his boyish face as a small practiced reassuring smile tugs at his lips. Boasting a dimple on his right cheek, the guy before me looks like Storm himself has incarnated to obliterate my fear.