I woke up to the smell and sounds of my mom making aaloo paranthe, my favorite Indian brunch food. The sun peeked through my blinds and coated my pale blue bed with streaks of light. I stretched and kicked off the sheets before rolling over to grab my phone off the bedside table, taking it off the charger.
Scrolling through social media, I saw my “friends” posting their food, early vacations, family, and pets.
I rolled my eyes when I scrolled past the couples posting their anniversary pictures and sighed, closing my eyes as I mentally kicked myself for believing I had that not too long ago.
Our anniversary was November 10.
It had been a little over a month since I was released from the hospital. It had been only two weeks, however, since I became lucid, as Avery puts it. Two weeks ago, I became fully aware that I was a sixteen-year-old, that my name is Priya Agarwal, not Priya Ivanov, and that this life is my real life. While Avery called that being lucid, I liked to say I became “sober.” That was what I was calling my removal from that world––sobriety. It was me putting space between myself and the toxic drug that is my illness.
It was me putting space between myself and Dimitri.
My phone vibrated, and I opened my eyes and saw a banner hanging from the top of the screen with a text notification from Elli.
I opened the text to see a picture of a wrist with a hospital band on it.
Priya: Whose is that?
Elli: Mine lol.
My eyes widened at Elli’s response, and I sat up abruptly in bed, my head spinning slowly for a few seconds at the sudden movement. I called her immediately, and she answered on the first ring with her typical ringing laughter.
“Hey, babe—”
“What the fuck happened?” I whispered roughly into the phone. I eyed my door, thankful it was closed and I had regained those privileges back.
Elli sighed into the phone before responding, “Alcohol poisoning. I didn’t mean to worry you. I thought it was funny. Relax, baby girl, I’m stronger than that.” She laughed again, and I sighed into the phone.
Of course, I was worried about Elli. I couldn’t even fathom that a sixteen-year-old would have gotten so drunk she’d need to be hospitalized. A part of me wanted to believe that she had probably been egged on by upperclassmen or something. I couldn’t think of her being that irresponsible.
But lately, it was getting easier and easier to believe that Elli was that irresponsible.
“Alcohol poisoning? Jesus Christ, Elli. Did they call your parents? Do they know what happened?”
“Nope. Doctor–patient confidentiality and whatever.”
I groaned, cursing the fact that she was so relaxed about this.
“Elli, please, you told me you would be careful! This isn’t being careful!”
“Priya, will you relax? I’m not dead, am I? It’s going to take more than just alcohol to get me. Anyway, you can lecture me more in the car because I need a ride home.”
I groaned and rubbed my face with my hands. “Fine. Just… give me a few minutes to convince my mom to let me drive. Do you need clothes or anything?” I asked.
“Nope, I’ll just do the walk of shame,” she said with a chuckle, and I rolled my eyes.
I told her I’d be there soon, and after she texted me which hospital she was in, I got ready. I shoved my legs into a pair of Adidas joggers, knowing I would not be allowed to leave the house wearing pajama shorts, or any shorts for that matter, and put on a t-shirt.
I shuffled down the stairs and walked past the living room toward the open kitchen to see my mom creating the mixture for the paranthe. She was humming along to some 2000s song, and I amazed myself by knowing the name, Teri Ore.
“Morning, mama,” I said as I walked up beside her and leaned against the edge of the countertop she was using.
“Good morning,” she said melodically. She was very much a morning person and was always chipper in the morning. “Your didi is coming over for brunch and should be here soon,” she said with a smile. I nodded and leaned over to place my head on my hand.
“Okay,” I said, hesitating to bring up Elli and the car. After my episode, my mom was afraid that I might hallucinate while driving and hurt myself. Hopefully, now, she would feel better about me driving.
“Ummm, Elli wants to come over for brunch too. Is that okay?” I asked, making up a plan that would get me a “yes” from her.
My mom smiled. “Sure!” she said as she mixed up all the ingredients in a wide rimmed silver bowl that held potato filling. The smell of cumin and coriander filled my nose as I took a deep breath before continuing.
“She needs me to pick her up. Is it okay if I go get her?” My words were fast, and my mom’s mixing became slow until she came to a stop as she stared down at the bowl. She then looked at me, analyzing me and thinking over her decision. Her demeanor shifted from light and chipper to stern and critical, almost cold.
“How are you feeling?”
This wasn’t a question about my temperature or a cough. No, she meant how was I doing mentally. “I’m feeling at my best. Remember that breakthrough I had two weeks ago with Avery? Where I fully realized Dimitri isn’t real? I feel like I’m back to being my normal self. No hallucinations or delusions in sight either,” I said, my heart racing as I spoke. I felt like when I was younger and had to ask my mom if I could sleep over at a friend’s house while she was in a bad mood. Instead of her asking how I was feeling, she would have asked if I had all my chores, school homework, and extra Kumon homework done, and even if all of that was complete, she could, and probably would, still say no.
She hummed and looked down at the mixing bowl, slowly mixing again, putting more force into mashing the potatoes, spices, and herbs together.
“I don’t know, chotu. I––”
“I promise I’ll be safe! No hallucinations, remember?” I pleaded, accidentally cutting her off in my haste to convince her. She looked at me with narrowed eyes before looking back down at the potatoes, letting out a sigh that caused her shoulders to rise and drop dramatically.
There was a long pause as she just mixed and mixed and mixed, until finally, she spoke.
“Okay. Just text me when you get to her house, text me when you leave, and send me your ETA,” my mom said, and my heart sped up even more.
“Okay. I’m picking her up from a friend’s house, but yes, I will. See you soon!” I said hurriedly as I ran out of the kitchen, grabbed my keys, and ran out the door before she could change her mind.
Priya: I’m on my way. You’re coming over for brunch too. Needed an excuse to pick you up. We’re eating those stuffed Indian tortilla things.
Elli: Oh fuck yeah! I’m so down.
I rolled my eyes and smiled at Elli’s response, but my expression quickly changed to one of concern and something I couldn’t quite name.
I reversed out of the driveway, and the GPS routed me to the hospital as Bollywood music played, my mom’s music choice for that morning influencing my mood. My mind wandered, and I thought about my relationship with Elli as Neha Kakkar sang to me.
Ever since we were kids, I had been protective of Elli. In kindergarten, someone called her ugly, and she came crying to me on the playground, bawling her eyes out. I immediately walked up to the little punk and yelled at him so much he started to cry and called one of the on-duty attendants to come over. We were kids, so none of us got in trouble. We just had to apologize to each other, and everything was fine.
In fifth grade, a rumor started around school that Elli was gay, and a few boys started to tease her. Once again, I remember her crying to me. Without hesitation, I put those kids in their place, scaring them enough that they told everyone they made up the rumor.
In seventh grade, Elli had her first boyfriend, and he was an asshole who cheated on her—in a way only a child could, true, like holding another girl’s hand; but he’d cheated, nonetheless. By that time, Elli had stopped crying over anything that upset her, but I could tell she was hurt and broken up over it. I didn’t confront the boy that time, as per Elli’s wish, but I supported her through it and made him pay in subtle ways like tripping him whenever I could.
When we entered high school, I watched as Elli’s skin thickened even more and she became increasingly more independent and fiercer, but also slightly destructive as the bullying stopped. Freshman year, she really blossomed, and all the boys who used to tease her in middle school began to want her. She had always been gorgeous, but with a new hairstyle, hair color, and a little bit of makeup, she looked like a model. The attention she received was an ego boost she greatly needed, but it led her down a path that didn’t ease my worry or protectiveness of her.
She began to get invites to parties, and one beer at one party turned into two at the next, then a few beers and a shot, until she was drinking a beer and taking two, three, sometimes four shots at parties.
I thought she was responsible. I thought she was capable of taking care of herself.
Obviously, she was not.
I pulled up in front of the hospital and texted my mom that I was at Elli’s friend’s house. Then I texted Elli that I was there.
As soon as the passenger door opened, I looked at Elli and saw her bare face, which she probably washed in the hospital. I saw her pale-yellow tank top and black, distressed shorts and could basically hear my mom in my ears screaming besharam, shameless, at me if I had worn the same clothes. She loved Elli, but I think even Elli wearing those would give her a heart attack.
“You are not gonna do the walk of shame in that in front of my mom. You’re going to change into my pajamas,” I said, sending my mom my estimated arrival time and driving off.
“Your mom loves me, however I look!” She said as she settled back into the seat and started playing our playlist on my Spotify. I rolled my eyes at her comment, turning the volume up on the music.
“She also loves modesty. I don’t want to hear her talking about your lack of it behind your back. Also, did you even shower at all?”
“Nah. They didn’t have shower slippers, but also, I don’t know why it seems more gross to shower then wear dirty clothes again instead of just wearing the dirty clothes on an already dirty body.” Elli shrugged and bobbed her head along to the song as she stared out the window and sang.
The car ride was quiet and tense except for the music, a stark contrast from our usual car rides. Usually we would be blasting music, singing along, and laughing together.
But I was not in a laughing mood. In fact, the longer I sat with my thoughts, the angrier I got. How could she be so reckless? She could have been seriously ill, and I wouldn’t have been there to save her. She could have died! This went beyond just typical teenage angsty rebellion or whatever you wanted to call her drinking habit. This was pure stupidity and a death wish.
Elli reached forward for the volume, but instead of turning it up like I expected, she turned it to the left, turning the music down. “Alright, I know you want to lecture me. Go for it. Get it out,” she said and I sighed.
“Elli, I don’t even know what to say. I’m so mad. I can’t even begin to think of how you got so drunk, how you were so irresponsible. But I’m also, like, hoping someone pressured you and that this wasn’t your own sole fault. You don’t have to say yes to these parties to be cool. But also, is that why you’re going? Is it to be cool? Because, Elli, you know I support you in most things, if not everything, but this is one thing I will not support––you drinking to a point of no return,” I said and let out a breath as we pulled into my neighborhood.
“I just want to have fun, Priya. I just… like to be at parties. I like to drink. I like the feeling of being carefree and being carefree with friends. It’s not about being cool; it’s just… I want to enjoy my youth,” she said and shrugged, dragging her fingers through her wavy hair and forcefully detangling some knots.
I sighed and pulled my car into my driveway, to the left of my sister’s. “We’re a weird duo. I don’t know how to enjoy my youth, and you enjoy it too much,” I said with a shake of my head, and Elli laughed, carefully opening her door so she didn’t hit Jasmine’s car.
“We’re the perfect duo. We balance each other out splendidly,” she said, using a British accent for the word splendidly before coming around the car to my side. “I love you, baby girl. Thank you for your concern, but you gotta lighten up.”
I opened the front door and stepped in, letting Elli come in behind me before closing the door.
“Hi, mom!” she called out before heading up the stairs as I walked toward the kitchen and saw Jasmine leaning against the counter talking to our mom.
“Hi, Elli!” my mom called out, looking up and smiling at me.
“She’s going to go shower; then she’ll be down,” I told her before heading over to give Jasmine a hug. “Hi, didi.”
“Hu-llo. How was driving again?” she asked, wrapping her strong arms around me tightly and doing a little happy dance, which she did every time she hugged me. It always made me roll my eyes with a laugh as I hugged her five-foot-two-inch frame.
When we released each other, I moved around the counter to sit on one of the barstools and thought about the drive. Despite the stressful conversation Elli and I had, I felt stress free.
“It was good. Driving is still my stress reliever and happy place. I missed it during this past month,” I said, and my mom clicked her tongue.
“You’ve driven in the last month.”
“Not alone, and definitely not stress free! You don’t let me play music because you think it distracts me. You’re constantly critiquing me, and you’re always gripping the pull-down handle thing as if thirty-seven in a thirty-five zone is so fast!” I said, and she looked at me with a “that’s enough” glare before she shook her head, not able to hide the small, amused smile that was forming on her face. When she placed the first parantha on the pan, I heard the crackles and sizzles of the dough being fried by the oil, smelled the spices and onions, and my mouth started to water immediately.
“You had to relearn the safe way,” my mom said, using her fingers to move around the flattened disk. How her fingers weren’t burned off, I had no idea.
“Anyway, anyway, when is school over? Should we do a family trip this summer?” Jasmine asked, and I smiled fondly. Our family trips were always my favorite parts of the summer. We usually traveled to parts of Asia or Europe. My favorite trip was our trip to Hong Kong two years before, where we took a family cooking class. I couldn’t remember anything about those recipes, but the food tasted amazing, especially the pan fried fish we had.
“Jasmine, the plane tickets will be so expensive now! You spend too much money!” My mom immediately launched into a lecture about Jasmine’s spending habits, and I smirked, knowing this was how things always turned out. No day with my mom was complete without a couple of Mama Agarwal’s lectures.
“Hmm, it smells so good, Ms. Agarwal,” Elli said as she entered the kitchen wearing a pair of my cotton shorts, which were longer than her denim ones, and a t-shirt I hadn’t worn in years.
“Thank you, Elli. I hope you like them.” My mom sounded chipper again, and Elli came around the corner to sit next to me.
Conversations flowed easily between my mom, Jasmine, and Elli. They asked her about school, life, and her parents, and Elli replied as the social butterfly she was. She fit so well into the family—she might as well have been my mom’s third daughter.
By the time I dropped Elli off at her house after brunch and got back home, it was almost four. My mom and Jasmine were watching an older Bollywood film, Lagaan, and were swooning over Aamir Khan, with good reason. That man was gorgeous when he was younger. My mom thought he was gorgeous still.
“Hey, come watch with us. We just started,” my mom said when I closed the front door behind me. I began to move toward them, but paused by the stairs, thinking.
For some reason, Dr. Worblack’s words about exercising rang in my ears, and I felt an odd calling to run. Maybe it was my pent-up anger over Elli’s alcohol abuse, but I had a lot of energy that needed to be used.
“Actually, is it okay if I go for a run?”
My mom and sister looked at me at the same time with the same confused expression.
“You? Running? What are you doing, joining the cross-country team?” my sister asked, and I flushed, shrugging.
“Dr. Worblack said I need to exercise more, and I feel like I’m finally at, like, a place to do so without… I don’t know, getting lost in my head or something.” I trailed off questioningly, but my mom’s and sister’s faces softened.
My mom nodded and smiled. “I think that’s a good idea. Just take your phone and share your location with me so I know where you are. How long will you be gone for? Do you want my phone holder for your arm?”
“Probably less than an hour, and yes, please.”
My mom nodded, telling me where her phone carrier was, and turned back to the screen as I headed up the stairs to change.
I stared down the road that led out of my neighborhood and felt a flutter of excitement fill my stomach. There was a cool breeze in the air, and I felt my body rev up for the workout.
I broke into a quick sprint, thinking I was going to run at full speed the whole way to the park that I made my destination. However, not even two minutes into my run, I got a cramp in my side, felt nauseous, and wanted to just walk home.
Jeez, this exercising thing is gonna be the death of me. How is running supposed to help?
But, if I had to admit it, I did feel that pent-up anger ebb away. I checked the map to see how far the park was and pushed myself to at least jog until I reached it, even if it was the slowest jog on the planet. Then I would let myself rest on a bench.
The jog was painful, but as I neared the bench I had in mind, I felt a sense of accomplishment that I had achieved a small victory.
Avery had told me a week prior that we would be starting to focus on small victories I can accomplish that would motivate me. Maybe if I ran enough, I could join the cross-country team in the fall, like Jasmine said, and the track-and-field team in the spring. I needed an extracurricular for college anyway, so this would look good.
Maybe running is like kale––it sucks, but it’s good for you.
I gave myself a few more minutes on the bench, looking for any sales on activewear.
I was going to commit to this. I was going to commit to being healthy again, and lucid or sober forever because, if I was being honest, I still struggled with staying lucid. There was always a temptation to go back, to get off my medication because I knew there was a possibility I could see Dimitri again. It was true that I didn’t believe that world with him is real, or ever was real, but a part of me knew that if I ever wanted it to be real badly enough, I could just stop taking the medication and maybe, just maybe, go back to the way things were.
But no, I was not going to let that happen. I was going to eat this disgusting, metaphorical kale and feel good after because, damn it, I deserved that, and I owed that to myself.
After my rest, I slowly started to get back into a jog, and this time, the running was not as bad. The cramps were more tolerable, and before I knew it, I was home.
“Oh, wow, you made it!” My sister said as I entered the house, huffing.
Another small victory. Thank you, kale.
I exited the shower and wiped away some excess steam from the mirror. In my reflection, I saw how my long hair fell to my lower back and felt how it dripped on and around me. I unconsciously picked up some pieces at the ends and stared at them. The piece I held looked like a thick, felt brush with excess black ink in it. While I knew my hair was a dark, dark brown, it was easier to say it was black. Even in the sunlight it was black.
From the corner of my eye, I thought I saw movement, as if someone were raising their arm to touch me, and I flinched, gasping and looking around the bathroom and seeing nothing. However, I couldn’t let go of the feeling I wasn’t alone, and it triggered an onslaught of emotions and temptation.
Memories of when Dimitri would play with my hair filled my head and warmed me more than my shower could have. Images of us on the couch, lying together in bed, or just relaxing as he distractedly picked up pieces of my hair and admired it played in my mind on repeat.
“I want to cut my hair,” I said one day, early in our relationship, as Dimitri’s hand was in my hair, brushing his finger through it. His hand faltered mid brush before pulling through entirely.
“But I love your long hair,” Dimitri said in a way that made me never want to cut my hair.
I stood there in front of the mirror, looking at my hair as I held up the pieces. When the memory faded, I felt a sort of phantom brushing at the top of my head. It was too light to be a hallucination, or maybe this was an ordinary hallucination? Maybe ordinary people had hallucinations, too, that weren’t cause for concern. Either way, this was probably just my brain replaying the memory of Dimitri’s hand on my head at such a fierce strength that it permeated out of my head and was being reexperienced. Like when you go on a roller coaster and still feel like you’re on one hours later.
I dropped the pieces from my hand and wrapped all of my hair into my towel, not wanting to see it in that moment. I reminded myself of the commitment to kale, being healthy, and buying activewear. I reminded myself of my commitment to refrain from Dimitri and my determination to make a change. I was determined to accomplish small victories, and one day big victories, and work with Avery to make sure all of them happened.
Things were falling into place, and I couldn’t help the feeling that my life would be better now.