Everything Was Good-Bye by Gurjinder Basran Page A

were about to draw the sword on us, as if he were going to engage in battle. “Our children are lost. Vaheguru. They have no time for family. Vaheguru. They drink and smoke. Vaheguru.
    They disobey their parents. Vaheguru. We must save them. Gurbani says: “Why O son, do you quarrel with your father? It is a sin to quarrel with him who begot you and brought you up.” The aunties nodded in a silent but evangelical way. “Vaheguruji.”
    Tej and I muffled our laughter behind our chunnies. Masi had told us that she’d heard this giani had been caught in the act with his brother’s wife; I couldn’t help but wonder if he fucked with his turban on or off. When I asked Tej what she thought, she smacked me for being so crude.
    I fidgeted, uncrossed my legs and crossed them again. Half of my ass was asleep and I was attempting to wake it up slowly. When my mother saw me rubbing my buttocks she slapped my hand, and I dropped my head in false obedience, I didn’t want to upset her any more than I already had this morning when we’d argued about Liam. One of the aunties on our street had called to tell her that she’d seen us together. When my mother asked me about it, I turned my stereo up, pretending I couldn’t hear her. The more she asked me, the louder the music got. “Michael Jackson is ruin-ing you!” she yelled, pulling the needle offDepeche Mode’s new album. The record screeched to a halt. “It’s not Michael Jackson!” I pulled it off the turntable, examining the scratch that would render it useless. “Fuck!” I threw the record on the floor. “I don’t even like Michael Jackson! Harj liked Michael Jackson. I fucking hate that shit. I hate this shit!” I ran out of the house, slamming the door so hard that the windows shook.
    When I saw Liam he could tell I was upset so we skipped first period and took the SkyTrain into the city. At the first tunnel he told me to scream. I nudged him away, telling him he was crazy.
    “Come on, it’s as close to a primal scream as you can get. People say it feels like being born. On a count of three. One… Two… Three!” We stared into each other and screamed with our eyes open, laughing, oblivious to those around us. We got offthe train still smiling hard, ribbing each other with private jokes that reduced the world to the two of us. I stared into his eyes. His pupils, dilating in the light, held me.
    “Nothing, it’s nothing,” I said, searching for myself in his eyes.
    As I scratched his name into the gurdwara carpet, I wondered how he saw me.
    “Satnam Vaheguruji,” the giani concluded. The aunties began singing their tuneless warbling like a chorus of injured cats. “Vaheguru. Vaheguru.” I ran my fingers across carpet, adding my name to Liam’s, trying out hearts and arrows. My mother glanced my way. I straightened up, pressing my shoulder blades together, and looked up at the glass dome in the ceiling that was covered in bird shit, then down at our names, and with the haste of the unenlightened I brushed his name away.
    After the prayers, we waited in line at the langar hall with our empty steel trays. The bibis jostled to get to the front, cutting offthe young women and children who had no choice but to yield their hunger to them. By the time I bit into my food, the subzi was cold, the daal was swampy and the rotis were dry and brittle. I pushed my food around while my mother scraped her tin compartments clean.
    “Spicy,” my mother said, motioning to the kitchen helpers to bring her another glass of water, spit and daal collecting in the corners of her mouth. “Are you finished?” she asked, wiping the spittle with her hand. She reached into her cardigan sleeve and pulled out a crumpled tissue, wiped the daal from her fingers, and then tucked the dirty tissue back into her sleeve. I nodded and she scolded me for wasting so much food. She took the tray from me and poured the remains into her tray, shovelling spoon-fuls of food into her mouth. An