Page 3 of Releasing the Djinn
Chapter 2
Having gotten only a few hours of sleep, Nadira stood next to her desk, gathering her books when she paused. Looking out her window, she could see the dark windows and rooftops of her neighborhood and imagined people snug in their beds, unconsciously waiting for their alarms to wake them for the day. That was what she should be doing instead of packing her backpack and getting ready for the day at four-thirty in the morning, but like most nights, sleep eluded her.
Walking with practiced stealth across her room, which was directly over her parents' room, she carefully grabbed her coat and bag and silently moved down the stairs. Depositing both bag and coat on the back of the couch, Nadira walked into the kitchen, knowing already what she expected to find. Two big piles of dishes sat precariously on both sides of the sink, waiting for her to clean and put them away. Glancing towards the kitchen table, she was actually surprised to find it wiped clean. Moving as silently as she could, Nadira picked up and moved the dirty pots and pans, giving her at least one empty side of the sink to work on.
Using only the dim yellow light above the kitchen sink, she worked alone in the silent house cleaning and drying the dishes. Hints of the morning sun lightened the dark sky until it was a soft sleepy grey by the time she stepped out to her car. Closing the heavy metal car door behind her, Nadira let out her habitual exhale in the quiet solitude of her car. Though it was old, the heater didn't work, and it squealed relentlessly as she drove, Nadira would never not appreciate the luxury her car indirectly provided her: complete autonomy. In here, she was master of her own actions and answered to no one. From the time she left the house until four in the evening each day Monday through Friday, she was free. No one criticized her or reminded her of her shortcomings, just pure, beautiful silence. Turning the ignition, she gave a wry smile at the loud squeal coming from somewhere in the engine and waited for the car to warm up a bit. Checking her rearview mirror, she didn't bother risking a glance to her face, already knowing that her insomnia last night aided the dark circles under her eyes.
With her windows down, Nadira turned her face further into the wind as she drove down interstate eighty towards Berkeley. Lost in her thoughts, she let her thumb run back and forth across the textured surface of the stone necklace as she easily maneuvered the car with her free hand. Half an hour later, she pulled into a spot in the student parking lot and stepped out of the car. Heading towards Kroeber Hall, where the bulk of her art history classes were located, she practically had the campus to herself. Pulling open the door to the library, she nodded in acknowledgment to the student attendant on duty. Unlike the main campus library, this library was smaller and only used for the students at Kroeber Hall, housing specialized books in anthropology, art history, archaeology, and art practice. Finding her favorite spot in the back near the windows, Nadira pulled out her seat and opened her bag for her Museum Studies textbook. Opening the book to where she left off last night, her hands paused on the slip of paper she used as a bookmark. One year, that was what was written on the yellow and white note. Just one more year and she would graduate with a degree in art history. One more year and she could study abroad and leave her house to finally live her own life.
As the morning progressed, the sun rose higher in the sky, casting the city in its customary sunny glow. Students began to trickle past her window and in and out of the library until she could hear the usual din of talking out in the halls every time the heavy library doors swung open and closed. Checking her watch, Nadira repacked her bag and exited the library. Students congregated outside of the classrooms, their conversations carefree and typical of young college students: what they did last weekend, things they just bought and shows they were watching, all conversations that were out of her league.
Slipping into the bathroom, Nadira stopped in front of the mirror and pulled out her brush from her bag. What did she do last weekend? She cleaned her grandmother's house and had dinner with her aunts and uncles. What new things had she bought recently? Nothing at all. Staring down at her clothes, she took stock of the simple boot cut jeans and light taupe sweater, all very plain and all very cheap. And recent shows she was binging? Well, that was easy, zero. There was only one TV in her house, and that was downstairs in the living room, sitting against the opposite side of the wall of her parents' bedroom. Watching anything she might be interested in was out of the question. She would no doubt be ridiculed about her choice of show or for waking up her light sleeper or parents. It simply wasn't worth it. Running the brush through her black wavy hair once more, she stuffed it back into her bag and frowned at her tired appearance. Just once she would like to get enough sleep so she didn’t have to look so exhausted. Underweight and always tired, she feared she was starting to look much older than twenty-four. Checking her watch again, she turned and walked to class.
**
Fiddling with the stone necklace, she sat later that morning in her World History class as the other students began to trail in. The class was located in an older building on the campus and was designed much like a regular high-school class with rows of metal desks, each with a mint-green hard plastic tabletop while the seat had a metal basket below for book storage. Picking her usual seat in the back near the long wall of windows, she watched as students made their way in at the front near the teacher's podium. Her fingers paused their rhythmic rubbing across the stone surface when she saw him. Besides her alone time in the morning and her peaceful commute to school, there was only one other consistent source of happiness, and that was getting to gaze upon Jordan Ivers.
Walking in behind some other boys, Jordan stood a head above the rest. Dark brown skin, tall, charming, and unbelievably attractive, Jordan was the guy every girl on campus stopped in her tracks to stare at when he walked by. Walking down the row to his seat, Nadira watched him turn and pause as he responded to another student's question. With his book and notebook clasped in one hand and his backpack casually hanging off just one shoulder, Nadira couldn't stop her eyes from following the outline of the sinewy muscles in his forearm. She was so transfixed in the subtle movements of his flexing muscles she didn't even notice he had moved closer until she heard her name.
"Hey Nadira," now standing at his seat, which was two rows over and diagonal to hers, Jordan was turned to her flashing her that brilliant white smile.
Nadira's heart completely stopped. With no control over her own response, her eyes widened in stunned shock as she smiled back like a woman who had just been informed, she won a million dollars.
"Hi," she managed to stammer out.
"Unbelievable," a dark voice murmured.
The smile dropped from her face as she turned around in her seat. She expected to see someone standing behind her, a male presumably judging by the depth of the voice, but there was no one. Looking all around her, Nadira could only see two other guys in the back of the classroom, and both were engaged with a video on their phone, and both were way too far away. Replaying the memory of that voice in her head, she realized her heart was still pounding. It had felt as if for that briefest second, the noises around her had muted while only the rumbling depth of that deep voice existed.
Still uneasy, Nadira straightened in her seat and looked to the front as professor Sanders walked in and got started.
**
Dragging herself up the stairs, Nadira slowly walked into her bedroom. Tonight, might just be the night she actually got a full night of sleep. Taking off her jeans and shirt, Nadira closed her eyes and let herself just stand still for a moment. Muted noises of talking and television sounds drifted up from downstairs as her parents sat in the living room with both of her uncles and their wives. Tonight, was another family dinner filled with mountains of dishes, subtle digs of criticism, plastered smiles, and concocted plans from her aunts and mother on how to solve the biggest dilemma yet—who could they find to marry Nadira. As soon as she stepped through the door that evening, her time was not her own. Only when the meals were cooked, and the table was cleared was she allowed to excuse herself from their continued conversations. Opening her eyes, she caught the green cover of her textbook and let out a tired laugh. If it was a choice between working on schoolwork and much-needed sleep, then it was no contest.
Belting her robe around her waist she grabbed her shower caddy and walked out of her room into the bathroom down the hall. Only a month ago, she shared this bathroom with her sister. Setting the caddy onto the clean counter, Nadira reminded herself she no longer had to fight for space with all of Nazma's products and that if she wanted, she could very well leave her things in the bathroom and not use the caddy.
"Old habits die hard, I guess," she mumbled to herself.
Reaching down and turning on the faucet, Nadira waited for the shower water to warm. Removing her robe, she stepped into the lukewarm spray. Closing her eyes, she began to wash her hair, wishing she was using hot water instead of nearly tepid. Ever since she could remember, not one repair had been done in this house before an item was completely considered inoperable. For a year now, the water heater has been on its last dying leg, but her father refused to fix it. Saving money was that man's obsession. She often heard her parents arguing at night, their voices piercing through the thin floors into her room with her mother yelling at him about his frugality. She wanted to live like her sisters, in a nice new house in a better neighborhood. Living in a rundown dated townhouse in El Cerrito, California was not the lifestyle her mother envisioned for herself.
Stepping out of the shower, Nadira didn't bother with a towel. Standing in front of the mirror, she waited for the bathroom fan above to remove most of the steam and the mirror to clear as she rubbed a little bit of oil through her wet hair. Dabbing on a few drops of moisturizer into her hands, she finally could see her reflection in the mirror and noticed at the same time she forgot to remove the necklace before she showered. Reaching for the necklace, she lifted it to see that the stone and the brass frame keeping it in place seemed fine, even the tightly braided cord necklace seemed ok, a little damp but still strong and un-frayed. Dropping the stone to lay back on her breasts, Nadira scooped a handful of lotion into her hand.
A deep sound rumbled around her, causing her to freeze.
Her pulse spiked as she stood completely still waiting in the silence for another noise, but nothing came. Her mind replayed the sound over and over again, but it could not make sense of it. It sounded like a deep sound of appreciation, the same sound one would make when a plate of delicious food was sat in front of them. Or maybe it was just the pipes.
Exhaling the breath, she had been holding, she looked at herself in the mirror and noted her anxious expression.
Rubbing her temples, she tilted her head down in a groan. "Great, now I am hearing things," she murmured. Applying the lotion before pulling on her robe, she synched the belt tight around her waist. "I wish…"
A warmth spread throughout her body as if waiting for her next words.
"I wish I could have a normal night of sleep," she confessed slowly, each word coming out a bit slower than the last as exhaustion crept over her.
Going back to her room, Nadira didn't even bother taking off her robe and putting on her nightshirt. Laying on top of the comforter, she pressed her face into the cool pillow and fell asleep instantly.
**
