So yeah, it had been a goddamn fortnight and my brothers still had not made their decision about me. They said I had a final task to do, yeah, yeah, a “test”. So what if I had white skin instead of black? I was a true nigger from the heart. Being a member of marcellous’ gang – my bad, his brotherhood – was my dream since I was eight, when Marcellous found me, on the abandoned alley behind John and John’s drug store. I was raised by Marcellous who was one of the most dangerous men in our town, which automatically made me untouchable in everyone’s eyes. Nobody could even dream about fucking with me; yeah, that was tight.

No one except me knew what a lousy piece of shit Marcellous actually was. Hell, he used to strangle me once every year in order to make stronger. Yeah, my old man, had a weird sense of humor. So yeah, I was saying, since now it was my time to join the brotherhood, Marcellous’ brotherhood, I had to prove myself worthy. Marcellous was one of the most tight-assed people I had ever come across; so I was not surprised when one day he called me over and said in his deep voice, “Jay, you hafta prove yerself, even if yer my boy.”

“I ain’t trippin’ ova’ that,” I had replied.

Marcellous had the sickest sense of humor; because for my final so-called test, I had to rob Mr. John’s, yeah, that old geezer’s drug store, the drug store, behind the alley where I was once picked up by Marcellous as a boy of eight.

Even though I was born in Pakistan I was raised in America. My parents moved to the greener pastures of California, when, back in 1982, they won a lottery of 1 million rupees. Our relatives associated our good fortune with my birth, since my parent’s riches were brought about half a year old. I was supposedly my parent’s lucky charm.

My parents’ decision to move to America was not spur of the moment; it was a carefully thought out plan, which they made at odd hours during many sleepless nights in hushed voices so as not to wake up our other family members. Yes, my father still lived in his parent’s house. Hence, America was our medium of escape from the starving eyes of our family and relatives who wished my parents would share their newly acquired wealth with them.

My parents finally ran away from their house craftily, as if they were fugitives, and boarded the plane for California. In spite of not having a good command of the english language, my parent expertly handled the situation we were in. My father, due to his jovial attitude, made friends very easily. On the plane he made friends with Mr. Shah, who was a big shot in the business world. And, like everyone else, he, too, was intrigued by my father’s recent fortune. He and my father struck a deal and we attained a nice small apartment in Stockton. He invited us to his house initially while the paper work was being done. Since my father was a fast learner, he learned enough english to help get around easily. Mr. Shah, in turn, had made sure to find us a house in a locality where a couple of Pakistani and Indian families lived. These families helped my parents in increasing their knowledge bank. In a matter of 3 months, my father started working as a builder. Finally, when I started school, I was a source of knowledge for my father and mother and the tried to absorb all the new things that were being taught to me in school. I was their strength, as they usually reminded me. I disagreed though…

“Reem, beta, baba calling, you come downstairs, hurry!” my mother hollered from the kitchen.

“I’m, coming, mama, gimme’ a sec,” I hollered back, writing the last words in my journal. I had finally decided to start a journal, which I had begun an hour back by spilling everything about myself from the beginning.

I stood up and came downstairs where I found my mother completely absorbed in her cooking.

“Mama, you called?” I asked my mother.

“Oh yes, beta, your father want you to run to Mr. Jahn’s store and get new pliers. He is hard man to please, beta. He is very demanding cuz his new cupboard that he want to make.” she said, with a tinge of irritation in her voice.

‘She mocks me,’ I wandered. ‘Doesn’t she know it is hard for me to run?’

“Okay Mama, ” I said quietly.

As I walked towards the door, my mind was racing. When I was still a very young child, I had contracted Polio and subsequently, I got scoliosis. I eventually had to spend a year in a hospital to get myself treated. As a result, I had to spend an eternity – well, the rest of my life at least with a limp.

On top of that, I had been over weight for as long as I could remember, which did not help matters in school because I was the butt of everyone’s jokes. For them, I was “the lump with the limp” which was not something I like to remember. For one, it was not a very creative name; two, it didn’t make sense to me, and three if you really think about it… it actually wasn’t funny at all. So I was fat and had a limp but with time, I lost most of the weight. I guess my limp adored me way too much to leave me though, so yes limping was a constant companion for me. It was my sheer luck that it became comparatively less noticeable, but the constant pain which rose when I over exerted myself acted like a constant reminder.

“Can I pick Carol on the way?” I said, coming out of the whirlpool of thoughts that kept rumbling in my mind.

“Okay beta, bring also some gajar,” she said hastily, adding extra water to the steaming curry.

“Bless you, Mom,” I said with a smile its carrots, Mama, carrots.” With that, I sauntered out of my house, putting my jacket on; fortunately, my mind decided to take a break; perhaps it, too, starts limping with over exertion.

“Yo homie, where are my smokes at,” I said, acting nonchalant. I love that word ‘nonchalant’, it kicks ass. Marcellus heard that word from some dude and man; he could not stop showing it off. You know, in many ways I ain’t different from him. I use this word like hell; makes the ladies think twice before they ditch me as someone who’s all balls and no brain. So ye, the cigarette was to pass time. Damn, I shouldn’t be shitting you, I was a sweating over this robbery thing, I had to get my act together, and I guess smoking helps.

I didn’t really think robbing off from Mr. John was a good idea. The old fart never did nothing to me. I told Jack this; he thought it was my white trashy chicken butt talking. I kicked him in the nuts for that. He kept shut after that. “Yer sweating dawg,” said Jack with a smug face and continued, “I ain’t got no smokes dawg.” There was a shitload of sarcasm in his voice, something that I didn’t appreciate.

“Shut up, you dumb ass,” I said. With that, I walked out of my red beat up Pontiac, my mind racing.

As I opened the trunk of the car and dug in, I checked around and my hands touched the plain cool surface of my gun. I sighed. ‘Yeah, I’ll show you what balls are,” I thought to myself while I hid the fully loaded gun, a High Power 9mm Browning, in the back of my jeans.

“Chirs is going down, girl,” Carol said, between giggles. “He’s one hundred percent in love with you,” she continued, beaming at me. Carol was my best friend in the entire world and she was one person who gave me strength, instead of taking it away. Her flawless ebony skin glowed in the sun while she whisked her long lashes at me. “You should so totally date him, he’s eye candy, have you seen the way his muscles flex under his white shirt when he is playing basket…”

“I’ll pass,” I cut in, amusingly, and said “But you sound as if you checked him out real close fer me, why don’t you…”

Carol looked up and spared me a dead cold glance, while she filed her perfectly manicured nails; she enhanced that glance into fuming red hot glare.

I laughed feebly then, thinking that now would be the right time to throw the bombshell at her. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot. Been thinking about it anyway. Wud’ja hand me my bottle of water?” I said casually, hiding my smile.

She gaped at me, open mouthed, searching for words. She decided against it, fumbled around for the water bottle and handed it over to me giving me her “Oh-My-God” kind of smile and said, “Wow, you really must have been thinkin’ about this, that’s the quickest we’ve resolved our arguments. Yer what, twenty four, and you’ve not dated a single being in this entire big ass planet. You needed to loosen up and seriously, girl, this pep talk of mine was getting old.”

I laughed, a full throated, tummy-tickling laugh, I had laughed like this after a long time and I felt Carol stiffening ever so slightly in her seat. She knew how difficult it was for me to come of my inhibitions and inferiority complexes. She didn’t want to show me that she was pleasantly surprised; she understood me well enough to give me her silent “I understand” treatment.

Today, before i had started writing my journal I decided that I was going to try and stop feeling sorry for myself because of my limp and my looks. So I burnt up all the fat pictures, crazy scrapbooks that I made about high school jocks in which I pasted my pictures along side them as if I was their girlfriend; I burnt up all the cards that I had written over the years to cute guys which went undelivered; I burnt up everything which made me feel like a loser. I wasn’t a loser anymore.

“Huggy time,” I said, my eyes brimming with tears.

“God girl!” Carol exclaimed, “You do know how to make this tough-as-nails friend of yours cry,” she said, pointing at herself and then dabbing her eyes with a Kleenex.

We smiled at each other, which gradually progressed into a hearty laughter; like the way rain decends on earth as a slight drizzle, and then, within minutes grows into a huge bulky storm. We hugged, laughing and crying together. Rejoicing.

I felt as I was in a cocoon of peace. I felt layer after layer of calm settling onto me, around me. And my skin ravenously devoured all of it, gulping it in. I hadn’t felt so peaceful in years. I could almost smell the damp fragrance of rain. I felt sleepy and I thought I could sleep for ages in Carol’s arms, my friend, my sister, and my savior.

As we drove off, after what seemed like an eternity I thought to myself, ‘My life is good. Real good.’

I kept thinking. Jesus Christ. It was so messed up. It was hilarious. I was scared shitless. I couldn’t even laugh. My stomach felt like a bag of wet cotton. I felt like it was the first day of high school where I was the only white ass who had dreadlocks. Bullshit. I’m driving like an idiot. Even the first time I drove was better than this. I am so screwed. My car screeched to a halt just outside the tainted glass windows of the drugstore. “The fucker is going d…d…own…own,man,” I said, both my words and my nerve staggering.
(I saw a red Pontiac pull up right where I was going to park.It was exasperating how people got away with stealing.Yes,yes,even taking my parking space was theft.” He should go to jail,” I said pointing at a guy who jumped out of the driver’s seat of that car.Carol just laughed.
The only parking space that i could find was at the end of the parking lot. I drove cautiously and parked in between two cars.Parallel parking was still a challenge for me, a challenge that I didn’t want to take up today.This wasn’t the safest place to be in stockton. It was actually rumored to be very dangerous in the late hours. I checked my watch. It was 5.35.”Let’s go,” I said to carol, killing the engine and hopping out of the car.”Why don’t you stay the night at my place?” I asked her.

“I’d love to,”she beamed.”I so totally lurrve yer mum’s cooking.”)

“Get down on the fucking floor, every GODDAMN one, down, DIDN’T YOU HEAR ME, fucker,down on the floor,” I screamed pointing my browning at the old fart, Mr.John, while I glared at the few people who were in the drugstore.”DON’T DARE USE YER CELL PHONES, I will blow your fucking brains out,”I bellowed, my face turning hot while i saw tiny beads of spit escape with every other word I uttered.” Hurry up homie, get the dough in the bags,” I called out to Jack, while I snatched away cell phones and wallets from the people, occasionally kicking anyone who protested.
“Let’s ROLL,JAY,WE’RE DONE HERE,”Jack hollered from the cashier’s desk.
I smiled smugly and thought,’Piece o’ cake.’-

(“Let’s roll, Jay, we’re done here,” said a male’s voice as I entered Mr.John’s store.What met my eyes was the last scene I would ever remember.I saw people sprawled on the floor; one of them had a bloody nose.All eyes looked up a me.I froze.The scene that followed next was seen by my mind’s eye in slow motion.I looked outside and watched Carol walking slowly towards the door.I took a step towards the door.I took a step backwards towards the door, and motioned to Carol, shaking my head , silently hoping that she wouldn’t enter the shop.I only had time to utter,” Carol…Don’t,” before I heard a gunshot behind me.The searing pain of flesh tearing came just seconds later.I wobbled forward, looking at her through the tainted glass door, while I fell to the ground.I saw her breaking into a run towards me.)

Jack stared at me with his mouth wide open, giving me a look of disbelief, and almost screamed,” Jay, man, you fucked it up, this wasn’t part of the plan.” I just stared right back at him, looking at my hands in disorientation. He looked at me, and I saw judgment
in his eyes, “You fucking killed her, man, let’s run homies; we need to get out before we get our asses busted.” I looked around at the people who were scattered around like discarded condoms on th floor.They were trying their best to make themselves flat enough to actually disappear in the ground. I felt like going to each one of them and screaming in their ears, “I didn’t do it”. Jostling them around. My mind had gone haywire. I think I could’ve cried. Jack pulled at my jacket, dragging me out of the store. I was stunned. This was not what I thought would happen.

(I could only hear a static numb silence ringing in my ears. I tentatively touched my stomach and my fingers came away with blood. I groaned loudly and saw the robbers run out of the store. A few minutes later, I saw Carol peering down at me, tears streaming down her face, while she settled my head in her lap. She kept on trying to say something to me, hysterically, while she ran her fingers through my hair, but I couldn’t hear her.”Shit I am dying,” I groaned, blood spurting out of my mouth. I think talking drained me of all energy because I passed out then. The next time I woke up it was from a savage pain in my stomach. Someone was carrying me out. “Carol,” I whispered hoarsely, my eyes searching for Carol frantically, while my vision blurred with the emergence of a thin film of tears.

“It smells like rain,” I whispered as a tiny tear escaped from my eyes, knowing nobody would hear me, knowing that the last words on the day that I died went unheard.

Now, sometimes when I watch my parents crying in muffled voices outside my room or in it, I can’t help but think that life was pretty messed up for me. Spirits aren’t penalized for swear words, so it’s all good. All my life I tried my utmost to fit in, to be remembered as Reem Hayat Khan rather than the “Lump with the Limp” but I guess people don’t always get what they want. As I look back now I can’t help but feel sorry for myself; I was a pretty sorry existence. I never achieved anything. Never did something that made me go, “Whoa, that was fun.”

Later on I got to know who killed me. God told me. It was this 19-year-old kid who had to rob Mr. John’s store to get into a gang. And I was like, “Sure, no really, what was the real reason?” He, the kid, was a confused soul and just for the record, I don’t blame him for killing me. He did what he had to do. The only thought that makes me feel satisfied is that everyone, including the kid, struggled in his or her life. And not all struggles are fruitful; trust me my entire life was pretty much fruitless. Because when I think about my insomnia ridden nights followed by mute tears, valentine-less years or, better yet, the fact that I never had a prominent academic life makes me feel that I don’t have any real accomplishments to show to or boast about in heaven; yeah, I don’t know how I landed here. Spirits can ramble on for decades, you know, and our thoughts usually have no actual point. Well, what I am trying to say is that life sucked for me because I remained a failure and died chasing the dream of not wanting to be one anymore. Yeah, it is ironic when I decided that I would turn my life around it came to be a dead-end altogether. If you really think about it, the whole idea of life seems pretty pointless to me; since, I can’t help and think, ‘What a waste.’)