– 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 a
fter 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.
“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 challe
nged.
“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.