Haraval's Blog

Kamran was born in a time he can’t remember all that well. Sprinklers and chalk, however, come to mind. He was born in Autumn, when the leaves depart, to be seen again after the new year.

His little sister’s name is Yasmin. Along with sprinklers and chalk, he can recall years of her calling herself Jasmine and saying she would one day marry her beloved Aladdin. She’d angrily retort if he commented on it, calling him Iago on account of his bushy eyebrows. Kamran disliked talking about that movie for the longest time. He’d hear Aladdin, remember Jasmine, begin thinking of Yasmin, and the headaches would begin. He was reminded of every time she bothered him. Nowadays, during that rare conversation Aladdin is brought up, instead of genies and lamps, Yasmin again pops up in Kamran’s head, though a warmth replaces the irritation he once felt.

The funniest thing he had ever heard was said by Yasmin, who was speaking loudly about someone who had just used the bathroom. This person would dart away shamefully but would be tripped and blocked by a mob howling uncontrollably. What had occurred in that bathroom wasn’t what first came to mind, not even what second came to mind. After it all, Kamran was struck dumb, stuck in a block of ice, a strange sensation having washed over him.

To preface, this story involves his family’s apartment and some childhood friends.

They had all, at this point, grown up. After going through middle and high school in their respective school districts, they had changed, some characteristics from when they were children still present though almost hidden, a newfound demeanor having formed after beginning a life apart. Kamran and Yasmin were the only two to attend the same schools. He eventually began going to college and saw her less and less, but each time they did meet, there was always a new problem or some lingering issue that sparked an argument. They were angry, using words to exorcize the pain from themselves.

Since it was a long weekend, Kamran and his friends decided to meet up, and he suggested his family’s apartment. He had taken a train and bus after work, being the first to arrive. His parents were out. They had begun traveling, this time a few hours north, to view the waterfalls. They were planning to visit Morocco sometime, too. Kamran was excited for them. The house was missing some supplies, like toilet paper and milk, so he made a trip to the supermarket. He later greeted everyone as they arrived for the party, leading them to the living room for chips and dip. The last to arrive was Yasmin.

Kamran waited for her to catch up with everybody before approaching her. She had just finished making fun of someone for simply rinsing a dirty fork before eating with it (“You’re an idiot only a mother could love, Zeeshan.”) when he went up to her, smirking.

“So,” Kamran began, “are we going for a ‘dewy’ effect this time?”

Yasmin raised her eyebrows. “Surprised, I thought corporate America would teach you some manners.”

“I simply,” he started, frowning, though his eyes shining, “wanted to compliment you. Don’t you like it when people notice things?”

“No, because I know you were just being an ass.”

 “Aww, are you upset?”

And with that, Yasmin turned around. Kamran called her back to make amends, and she looked at him again, her resentment barely concealed. “What do you want? Really?”

He did a quick sweep of the apartment and thought of something. “Have you been to your room?”

“No.”

“You should go.”

“Yeah?” She replied with a sneer. “Will going in there magickly make me overcome with emotion, or, better yet, will it help me get through this conversation?”

It appeared she was not in a sentimental mood. Kamran wasn’t sure what mood she was in. After a long pause, with their eyes fixed on the others’, Kamran weakly said, “Well, uh… thanks for coming out.”

She walked away while he remained glued in place, a forced smile plastered on. He jumped into a random conversation to quickly forget what had happened. He didn’t know how to talk to her.

Kamran went to the bathroom, but before returning to the living room, he stopped by his room. His desk remained in the same spot it had been in, with the window to its immediate side. Out this window, almost straight down, was a tree planted on the sidewalk. It rested barren, as absent of leaves as people outside. This lack of leaves or, rather, this lack of nature in general, had Kamran wanting to leave not just his home but perhaps the life he had created as well, to go to a place where the blues surprised and shocked and the greens exhilarated all those around, a place where a superabundance of lushness existed. Home would, of course, be in his heart. He could never forget his home. At this vantage point, he would also appreciate more fully how his life had transpired. The journey until this point was erratic, like a chicken being chased by a bear.

“It’s as if you don’t even think before speaking to me.”

Yasmin stood in the doorframe. Kamran looked at her, and she quickly shifted her gaze to the floor. He followed suit. Kamran had just a few seconds to say something before he lost the chance to say anything at all, yet his mind rested foggily, as though protesting to think of something of weight, of substance, until he blurted out, “There was that DJ from a while ago. He passed away in ‘08, ‘09, maybe? He was in one of the Iron Man movies. Do you remember him?”

Too tired of him to come up with a retort, Yasmin just sighed.

Kamran continued. “This is a crude example, but bear with me.

“He was unhappy, it seemed, his whole life. His father smoked crack in the house, and eventually, this soon-to-be DJ started smoking to see what was so good about it. He was hooked, but once he started deejaying, he stopped completely. Got famous, going from small clubs in his town to huge ones in Hollywood, even deejaying for A-list celebrities at private parties. What had happened, though, was surprising: he went back to smoking crack after all those years, and they found him dead in his apartment.” Kamran paused. “Despite having everything, he went back to chasing that high, that feeling, and ultimately died. I don’t know why he did it. But he did, and now he’s gone, a life lived and a life gone, seen through to the end of a glass pipe.”

A silence ensued. Yasmin was just complaining about how he never thought before speaking to her, and here he was talking about drugs, deejaying, and death. She did, however, respond. “What about this story makes you want to tell it to me?”

“I’m not sure. Did you like it?”

“How could anyone like that? It ends miserably.”

“Some endings are like that. In this case, no matter what the DJ did, nothing could compare to the feeling crack produced. It’s a feeling that requires it. Why do you think he did it?”

She thought briefly, then replied, “Could I answer that with a question?”

“Sure.”

“I think what you’re getting at is: what makes a person content? Crack made the DJ content, then he replaced it with deejaying, but eventually had to relapse. With that said, what makes you content?”

“I’m not sure.”

“If I give an answer, that may help. May I?”

“Please.”

Still looking Kamran dead in the eye, she answered, “Remember that park a few blocks away from here, with walkways surrounding a small field? I forget its name. Although, maybe I never knew it. We used to go there whenever we were free, to play with whoever else was around, games like freeze tag or color tag or just regular tag, and at some point, as a break, we’d run over to a deli to buy snacks, maybe chocolate or something sour to share, finally coming back to the park, a cycle seemingly everlasting though only lasting a childhood. Not an exact instance but a memory nonetheless, a period I could say without a doubt I was happy. Those moments in the park are experiences I treasure. I wouldn’t replace them with anything.”

The fact she came up with that and Kamran came up with an overdose story almost made him proud, had he not had this overwhelming urge to die from the very fact that he came up with an overdose story. He asked her, “Can you achieve that feeling today, without just reliving the memories?”

“Well, like your story, this one ends sadly. Why did the DJ go back to smoking crack? What happens to the child-like, carefree happiness we used to have when we get older? You could say growing up ended that particular happiness, but that’s wrong. Time transformed this emotion, now making an individual like myself search for activities that make me feel the way I felt in the park, to feel as fulfilled as I had. For the DJ, no matter what activity he tried, nothing could replicate the feeling he needed to achieve.”

When had Kamran last experienced what Yasmin was talking about? He remembered this park, but didn’t feel as strongly about it as she did. He thought back to the lack of nature outside, to the superabundance of lushness he desired. Why is it that his desire is unachievable? It seems some feelings can only be experienced by doing a certain activity, others can be achieved anywhere, and a small portion are impossible to reach.

“Hey,” Kamran began, “I’m sorry for how I was acting earlier. I’m not sure what came over me. I’m, uh,” and suddenly, becoming very sheepish, concluded in a small voice, “glad we’re talking.”

He got up, motioning her towards the door. She glared at him for a while before saying, “Alright, fine, but you really are an ass. You pretty much forced me to fix this.”

As they were walking down the hall, the door to the bathroom opened, blocking Yasmin, and the guy who had rinsed a dirty fork earlier, Zeeshan, stepped out. They both made eye contact. He was going to say something to her, but a little squeal came out instead, so he turned and walked briskly away. Yasmin bent her way around the door and glanced into the bathroom.

Kamran didn’t realize what was happening then, but he could see Yasmin moving quicker, breathing louder. She slammed the door shut and was holding a bright yellow container of disinfectant wipes. He followed her, barely keeping up as she was gliding like some otherworldly being, and when they reached the living room, she yelled, “GUYS! I have an ANNOUNCEMENT!”

The chatter died abruptly, and Zeeshan, who was lounging on the sofa, looked at the container with alarm. Yasmin addressed the room. “Zeeshan, who just ran water over a dirty fork before eating with it… disinfected himself!”

She raised the container as high as possible and then turned her attention to the culprit. “Rinsing a fork with just water was enough for you, yet you disinfected your asshole!?”

The room exploded. People were falling over. Zeeshan made a dash for the exit, pure fear on his face, but was blocked; a barrier of people appeared, tearing from laughter, and launched him back. Kamran saw Yasmin looking around at everybody, a wide smile stretching across her face.

This was when Kamran froze. He was feeling something unique that he knew would disappear soon. Sound, smile, and motion all around. Genuine laughter ringing in his ears. It was as if no time had passed, just a group of adults shrieking like the kids they once were in a park.  

Looking at everybody and taking in the noise, Kamran suddenly realized his mistake: he had forgotten to buy toilet paper.