Fifteen Lanes - S.J. Laidlaw Page 0,42

trying to regain control. A million lies flooded my brain. I could have told any one of them.

“From the day he was born.”

We talked for a long time after that. I told her everything, or most things, anyway. I didn’t tell her about Parvati, or my dream of becoming a doctor myself, or being a Devadasi. But I told her what Ma did. She asked many questions about Shami’s birth. I said only that it was a home birth but I did my best to remember every illness he’d had since then and gave a faithful account. I told her we didn’t have any place to cook proper meals. I was grateful when she accepted that and didn’t ask for details. I told her Shami slept on the floor and let her figure out the significance of that. I’m not sure she could have imagined it, even if I’d explained. I didn’t tell her we slept on the street, wherever I could find a place. I think she knew. Her raven eyes glistened with unshed tears. She seemed shocked by what I told her, as if she didn’t live in Mumbai and drive by people living under bridges every day and see others digging through garbage to survive. She was like the people who took guided tours through our neighborhood, capturing our images with their cameras while failing to actually see us. We were no more real than a Bollywood film. Still, I was amazed by how stupid smart people could be.

Finally, she asked if she could test Shami’s blood. I knew what she wanted to test it for. I told her what I’d told all the previous doctors: I had no money for the test, and it wouldn’t matter anyway because we couldn’t afford the drugs. She said there were ways to cover the cost if Shami was registered with an NGO. I’d heard about these NGOs that took children like Shami away from their families. They shoved all the sick children in big homes together, separated from everyone who loved them. How was that a better life for my brother? I agreed to talk it over with my mother. It was yet another lie.

I was on the point of leaving when a male doctor poked his head in the door. It startled me, not just because of the intrusion. I had the unsettling feeling that I knew him. I kept my back to him and crossed my arms over my chest so he couldn’t see the school crest on my shirt. Was it possible I’d taken Shami to him in the past?

“Are you just about done here, Karuna? Our meeting has started.”

“I’ll be along shortly. You’re on the board of Mercy House, aren’t you? Do you know if there’s any space for a new admission?”

I felt the doctor’s eyes on my back but didn’t turn.

“How old is he?” There was a pause. The question was directed at me.

“Almost two and a half,” said the lady doctor.

“I’ll look into it.”

They were discussing putting Shami away as if it were as routine as prescribing a pill. The male doctor left, but a yawning gorge had opened inside me. The lady doctor and I were not on the same side.

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.

Grace

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