Fifteen Lanes (15 page)

She gave me another hug and for an instant I allowed myself to picture a life totally different from my own. But it wasn’t my life.

As I stepped out into the heat and bustle of the swarming masses and joined a sweaty crush of people shoving each other for space on a bus, I was already planning which hospital we’d go to the next time Shami needed drugs.

I was not a maverick.

Whatever VJ thought, no amount of telling me it was good to be different could change nearly sixteen years of wanting to fit in. Alone in my bedroom that night I couldn’t get Todd’s comment out of my head. As much as I didn’t like being called a slut, being called a loser was so much worse.
Slut
only described my recent behavior; it didn’t define me.
Loser
was something else again. A loser was a person who couldn’t make friends. Losers screwed up all the time and hurt those around them.

Until Todd said it, I’d never realized that, as insecure as I was, I didn’t think of myself that way. I knew I was shy and had trouble making friends, was lousy at sports and was just an average student. But lots of kids are like that. Even my recent debacle had seemed like poor judgment, not a defining moment. I’d already taken steps to make sure I didn’t screw up like that again.

So why was the word
loser
going around and around in my head? My nerves jangled as I stood up and walked to the window. I stared at the world below without seeing it. Was that what everyone thought of me? It had the ring of truth. I was the main reason my parents had stopped moving around. Kyle flourished no matter where we went. It was my social isolation they worried about.

I sat down on my bed and pulled up my leg to look at the word I’d carved into it the day before. I remembered the peace I’d felt when the task was finished. Though the wound still hurt, the word itself had lost a lot of its power. It didn’t change Mom’s disappointment in me, or my disappointment in myself, but it did make me feel more in control. I didn’t want to do it again though—that would be crazy. Nevertheless my body vibrated with the effort of keeping still.

I pulled up my legs and wrapped my arms tightly around them, willing myself to calm down. Suddenly my phone beeped. I tried to ignore it. It had to be another hater. There was nothing to be gained from reading another cruel message but not reading it only made me dwell on it even more.

Finally, curiosity got the best of me. I got up to fetch my phone, hoping that at the very least, it would take my mind off cutting. I flipped to the message as I walked back to the bed.

U been quiet lately. Everything ok?

It was my brother.

I sat back down. Why was he texting me now? Had Dad told Kyle what I did?

U there grace?

Dad said you were having friend problems.

I knew it! I seethed.

Bosco stood up on the bed madly wagging his tail.

“How did you know it was Kyle?” I demanded. “I know you miss him but you’re going to have to get used to the fact that it’s just you and me now. He deserted us.” It was an unfair thing to say. I felt guilty when Bosco sat down and cocked his head like he’d actually understood.

“I’m sure he’s missing you too, Bosco,” I said, scratching his ear before turning my attention back to the phone.

Im fine
, I texted.
Was asleep. Will call u tomorrow
.

Would I call him tomorrow? And say what? If I told him about what was happening to me, I’d have to tell him what I’d done to provoke it. There was no way I could tell him that.

Ok, call anytime. Luv u sis.

I furiously wiped away the tears that had started streaming down my face. I’d managed not to cry today, up till now. I knew Kyle was just trying to be supportive, but reminding me how much I missed him wasn’t helpful. If he’d been here maybe I would have found the courage to tell him everything. Though if he’d been here, probably none of this would have happened. I might have had a lot of years of feeling lonely and different but I’d never been bullied before, because no one would have dared mess with Kyle McClaren’s little sister. Who knew how many kids over the years had wanted to tell me I was a loser but had only been deterred because of my perfect brother? Even VJ had said he was only being my friend to pay back Kyle’s kindness. If it wasn’t for Kyle, I would have been labeled a loser years ago. Kyle had been the only thing standing between me and the truth. I really was a loser.

I got up and went down the hall to the kitchen. Vanita was there doing the dishes. She eyed me curiously when I went
straight to the cutlery drawer and pulled out the sharpest knife I could find.

“What are you looking for?” She came and stood next to me. “Do you want me to cut some fruit for you?”

“No, thanks.” I liked Vanita but, like everyone, she treated me as if I were helpless. “I’m just working on a school project.”

I returned to my bedroom and closed the door behind me. Bosco was sitting up on my bed giving me “the stare.” It usually meant he wanted food, but if I didn’t know better I’d have sworn he knew what I was planning.

“You can stare all you want but you’re not going to stop me,” I told him firmly. “I have to do this, Bosco. I promise it will be the last time.”

He looked at the knife.

“I know what I’m doing. It will make me feel better.”

The minute I sat on the bed and crossed my legs he leaped into my lap.

“Stop it, Bosco!”

I pushed him off and lined the knife up neatly under the first word. Bosco knocked the knife out of my hand as he clambered into my lap again.

“NO! Bad dog! I could have hurt you.”

I got off the bed and fetched the knife from the floor. Dropping down to sit there, I was for once grateful that Bosco was too cowardly to jump down from the bed by himself. I felt the same sense of relief when I made the first cut. I owned the word now. It didn’t own me.

When I was finished, I lay down on the bed and pulled Bosco into my arms, closing my eyes. Like meditative chanting, my leg
throbbed with every beat of my heart. I fell asleep to the steady pulse of my own blood.

The next morning, I arrived at school to find a fresh coat of paint on my locker. Where
SLUT
had been the day before was a bright orange Post-it note telling me to go to Mr. Donleavy’s room. I sighed as I pulled off the note and shoved it in my jeans pocket. I liked Mr. Donleavy, and I did want a chance to redeem myself, but I was the school loser. Did he really think I could provide any guidance to a younger girl?

Mr. Donleavy was standing at his whiteboard writing his quote for the day. He was that kind of teacher. You could tell he didn’t teach because it was the only thing he could do. He really believed he was inspiring the world’s future leaders.

Today his quote was: “Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.” He added the author’s name, Leo Tolstoy.

“Did you choose that one just for me, Mr. Donleavy?”

“Grace!” He gave me a huge smile. “Trust me, there are plenty of people who need to remember Tolstoy’s wisdom, myself included. Have a seat and let’s go over our plan for today.”

I was pretty sure
our
plan meant
his
plan, but I was in no position to claim that I didn’t need help in the planning department. The desks in Mr. Donleavy’s classroom were arranged in a semicircle. I sat where I always did, nearest the door. Mr. Donleavy came over and perched on a desk nearby.

“I’ve made arrangements for us to go to the NGO this afternoon.”

My heart started to pound. “That fast?”

“We’re already almost four weeks into the term, Grace, and you still haven’t earned any community service hours.”

Fair point.

“Your parents have agreed that I’ll take you today after school. I’ve had another student volunteer so you’ll have some company. You need to be in the east parking lot by three forty-five.”

There wasn’t much left to say so I headed to class wondering who else had been roped into volunteering.

The rest of the day was relatively uneventful. I had only a few new hate messages on my phone, no doubt because I’d blocked virtually everyone. Unfortunately, it was a small school, and Madison was in most of my classes. I kept a low profile, something I used to be good at. Once, I accidentally caught her eye when I was leaving a class. She gave me a contemptuous look and whispered something to the girl next to her, but I kept walking as their laughter followed me.

In English, our teacher told us to get into groups to discuss a novel. As desks were shuffled and groups formed I found myself facing closed circles. It wasn’t the first time I’d been left out that year, but it was the first time it felt deliberate. The teacher, perhaps because she knew about my problems with Madison and Kelsey, directed me to join three boys. This occasioned a round of “slut” coughing. I’m not sure which one of us was most embarrassed. In any case, the boys ignored me and I stared out the window. I spent some time wondering how everyone would react if they came to school the next day to discover I’d killed myself. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t imagine anyone would care.

VJ turned up at my locker at the beginning of the lunch period. He was definitely committed to the ruse that we were a couple, though he spent the next forty minutes talking about Luca D’Silva, the hottest boy in school if you took VJ out of the
running. I must have repeated one hundred times that I didn’t think Luca was gay but, as VJ pointed out, I would have said the same thing about him not so long ago.

As the end of the day approached I felt more and more apprehensive. I wasn’t good with new people at the best of times. The idea of going into the red-light district of Mumbai and trying to make friends with kids whose life experiences were beyond my imagination was terrifying. The fact that our only common link was that their mothers took their shirts off for money and I did it because I was spectacularly stupid seemed like a tenuous basis for a friendship. By the time I’d loaded my books into my locker, I’d concocted so many reasons why this was a bad idea that I actually felt ill.

I dragged myself to the back of the school, walking as slowly as I possibly could. I didn’t think Mr. Donleavy would leave without me but it was worth a try. When I reached the parking lot he was waiting for me. I was only mildly surprised by the person he was with.

“Gracie,” VJ called out, “what kept you?”

I didn’t like to admit to myself how relieved I was to see him. I smiled.

“The stars must be aligned.” VJ beamed back warmly. “She’s smiling!”

“All right, troops, let’s saddle up,” said Mr. Donleavy.

“I’m sorry, Mr. D.,” said VJ, mock-serious, “this just isn’t going to work if you’re going to impose your imperialist American culture. We are not conquering the Wild West but the Wild East!”

“VJ, don’t make me regret letting you tag along.”

“Not a chance, sir. I’m the only one who speaks Hindi and
Marathi, not to mention a bit of Kannada and Gujarati. You people would be lost without me. And I have an armed guard …”

“Who we agreed will follow in his own car.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. When the tires get slashed on this heap, we’re going to need my ride.”

Mr. Donleavy climbed into the front of the van, next to the driver, while VJ and I sat behind. The drive took close to an hour but VJ had no trouble keeping us entertained the entire trip with Bollywood gossip.

I wouldn’t have noticed when we left the wide streets behind and entered the narrow laneways of Kamathipura except that we had to slow down to a crawl. There were so many motorcycles, beat-up old cars, snack carts, bullock carts, various huge wooden wagons, and such an assortment of cows, goats and the ubiquitous stray dogs and cats—not to mention people—filling every inch of space that we had to force them aside with our vehicle. At times we were defeated and we were the ones standing still, waiting for some room to inch into. Finally, the driver decided he’d driven us as close as we were going to get and pulled off to one side. In any other part of the city people would have honked at him. Where I lived the van might even have been towed. But in that neighborhood it was now just one more obstacle in a lane that was full of them.

The first thing that assaulted me on stepping out of the car was the awful smell. Though the source wasn’t immediately clear, an open sewage canal on one side of the road could certainly have been part of it. Equally possible was the garbage strewed everywhere, and the occasional piles of goat and cow dung. We hadn’t been walking two minutes before I noticed a child squatting at the side of the road relieving himself.

Mr. Donleavy must have caught the look on my face. “A lot of these people are homeless. They have no access to running water, electricity or toilets. Some of the girls you meet today will sleep on the street tonight.”

“It’s so congested. Why’s it more crowded than the rest of Mumbai?”

“Kamathipura’s a draw for the most impoverished. Migrant workers, beggars, thieves, drug addicts, gamblers, sex workers all make a home here and are accepted in a way they might not be in other parts of the city.”