sort of teenager whose interests were cute but useless. She loved me, fiercely, but she also had very little tolerance for people who couldn’t sack up and get their shit together, and my occasional lapses into deep, emotional holes made her think I was still uncooked. She was always waiting for me to grow up.
She’d been getting ready to leave for work this morning when, as she was saying goodbye, she caught a glimpse of my outfit. She shook her head and said, “Ey khoda. Een chiyeh digeh?” Oh God. What is this?
I was wearing a newly altered, totally revamped military-style jacket with epaulets and brass buttons, and I’d embroidered the back, by hand; it read, in a loose script, people are strange. It was not only an homage to one of my favorite songs by the Doors—but it was a statement that deeply resonated with me. The whole thing had taken hours of work. I thought it was amazing.
My mom cringed and said, in Farsi, “Is this really what you’re going to wear?” She craned her neck to read the back of my jacket. “Yanni chi people are strange?” And I didn’t even have a chance to defend my outfit before she sighed, patted me on the shoulder, and said, “Negaran nabash.” Don’t worry. “I’m sure you’ll grow out of it.”
“Hey,” I said, “I wasn’t worried—” But she was already walking out the door. “Hey, seriously,” I said, “I actually like what I’m wearing—”
“Don’t do anything stupid today,” she said, and waved goodbye.
But I was about to do something stupid.
I mean, I thought it was stupid, anyway. Navid thought this talent show was awesome. It was apparently a big deal that we even got to perform; some committee had whittled down a stack of submissions and chosen, of the many, only ten acts to be onstage today.
We were up fourth.
I hadn’t realized how serious this was until Navid explained it to me. Still, there were, like, a couple thousand kids at our school, and they’d all be sitting in the audience, watching us—and nine other performances—and I didn’t understand how this could turn out to be a good thing. I thought it was dumb. But I reminded myself that I was doing it for Navid.
We were waiting in the wings with the other performers—mostly singers; a couple of bands; there was even a girl who’d be performing a solo on the saxophone—and for the first time, I was the only one in our group who appeared to have retained any level of chill. We’d changed into matching silver windbreakers, gray sweatpants, and gray Puma suedes—and I thought we looked good. I thought we were ready. But Jacobi, Carlos, Bijan, and Navid seemed super nervous, and it was weird to see them like this. They were normally so cool; totally unflappable. I realized then that the only reason I didn’t share their nerves was because I genuinely didn’t care about the outcome.
I felt deflated. Kind of bored.
The guys, on the other hand, wouldn’t stop pacing. They talked to each other; they talked to themselves. Jacobi would start saying, “So, like we all walk— Yeah, we all walk out at the same—” and then he’d stop, count something out on his fingers, and then nod, only to himself. “Okay,” he’d say. “Yeah.”
And every time a new act went up, I felt them tense. We listened to the thuds and squeaks that meant they were prepping the stage for a new performance; we heard the slightly muted cheers following the introduction; and then we sat, very quietly, and listened to our competitors. Carlos was always wondering aloud whether or not the other performers were any good. Bijan would assure him that they sucked. Jacobi would disagree. Carlos would agonize. Navid would look up at me and ask, on five different occasions, whether I’d gotten the right music to the AV tech.
“Yeah, but, remember—we changed the mix at the last minute,” he said. “Are you sure you got him the new one?”
“Yes,” I said, trying not to roll my eyes.
“You’re sure? It was the CD that said Mix Number Four on it.”
“Oh,” I said, feigning surprise. “Was it mix number four? Are you su—”
“Oh my God Shirin don’t mess with me right now—”
“Calm down,” I said, and laughed. “It’s going to be fine. We’ve done this a thousand times.”
But he wouldn’t sit still.
In the end, I was wrong.
The show wasn’t dumb at all. Actually, the whole thing was kind of awesome. We’d done