Aamir Azhar

Vestigial

Excerpt

3

The big rock jetties line the Rockaway, each separating one beach from the next a block away. Ten or twenty people are lined up per jetty. The waves ring in my ears as I wait and the water sloshes under my feet.

O

I was a fussy child, often found in my mother’s arms. Anytime I fussed or felt anxious, or for no reason at all, she threw me—like it was our secret; she held me under my armpits, smiled at me as I looked from above, and threw me as high as she could. It always made me feel better.

I’ve since grown older and unthrowable, and she’s grown older too. Breast cancer found her at fifty-three, but she defeated it. Then it came back. Months before she died, she had a lucid dream. She woke me up in the night.

I dreamt you were in my arms again, she said, and nothing had changed. And I threw you as high as I could, like I did when I was younger. You were confused on your way up, like you always were. When you got to the top, terror found your eyes. She chuckled. Arjun, every time you fell, it was like you were falling for the first time. And in this dream, like before, I felt guilty—the way you looked at me in that moment, like I’d betrayed you. Then half a second passed, and you returned to my arms. You felt like joy and your body was warm. You shuddered and you smiled so loud, though you were still confused. And then I held you to my chest. And you fell into sleep.

Her eyes evaded me. She spoke softer. But this time, when you came back in my arms, it wasn’t you. What I held was cold and spongy, and it was writhing. And I looked around the room and you were gone, and I was in a hospital now, lying down. And I shouted for you and nothing came. All I wanted was to throw you one more time. The mass in my arms melted, then dissolved into my chest. My hands were empty, the room was dark, and I missed you. I’ll miss you, Arjun.

O

I reach the cold waves and fall the first few times on my board. Each time I get up, I feel something on my rib, pulling me up from under my arms. She guides me gently as I surf; I feel her under my board. My ammi, she always comes back, and I come back to her—she was never gone.

O

Rogue water grazes my skin like raindrops, the sun shines down on the sea. The water is infinite. I feel small again.

O

Up and down, the waves bounce my body, and I fall. Up and down, the water laps over, and I’m held. Up and down, my board lifts my body—and I fly. Up and down, my dearest Arjun, up and down.

I shed my tears in the sea. The waves return to shore.

O

4

The snow is smooth at the top of the roofs. When it fell this morning, it was silent; yet with each hour that passed, unknown and undetected, its weight had grown stronger and its foundation became weaker.

O

The head is clouded with a thousand or none thoughts. The pathways up and down the mind are frozen; like ice, if pressured, it will shatter. The brain desires its beginning, which is its end—to be bathed in warm water and new flesh that pulses with the texture of soil.

O

More snow. One inch. Two. The roof will cave in; the psyche will shatter. Then it will melt, fall wordlessly into the earth, and from there it can grow whole.

O

For now, it is frozen. It waits for its return.

O

To shatter.

O

5

In one day I had lost such integral, precious things.

• My father: the softest voice I’ve heard in a man, the way he’d watch over me on our hikes and at the supermarket—the quietness I felt with him, silence I’ve never felt alone.

• My mother: the look she gave me when I came home, her hugs that made me feel like a boy, chili chicken that filled my sinuses, stomach, heart—the only time that food tasted like love.

• My sister: the smell of trees when I sat next to her, a heavy head on my shoulder, her laugh that crawled into my ears and lit up my cortex—it’s all empty now.

• My legs: the feeling of crossing and shaking them, my runs which cleared my head and made me feel human; above all, the sensation of blood flowing in and out of them—something I cannot describe that I will never feel again.

O

I drove them home from a road trip to the mountains. It was almost midnight, and they were asleep; I fell asleep too. My eyes rolled into my head and a warm blanket graced my face: a car passed the intersection—my father died on impact—my sister passed in the ambulance—my mother departed in the hospital the next day.

I had caught the sight of bodies as they rolled us out from the car. Disfigured and inhuman. They looked like demons, and they came to me in my dreams. I did that to them. I did that and they never changed back. They never came back.

O

On the day of the funeral, something left their caskets. I could not see it nor hear it, but it was there. Something emanated, then left to the sky and I knew I couldn’t join it. I asked, I asked and begged, but it pushed me back—pungent, it was pungent, shouting—a tree reached over me, and I retreated into the shade.

They stood before being banished underground—caskets were raised and they faced me. I knew they were staring. I knew what they were thinking in the way they stood; the shade fell away, and I stood to answer for my crimes.

By God, when their bodies opened up from the caskets, and I saw for a moment—time standing still—their bodies in their majesty, I could see and smell nothing but the vestiges of their lives. My father’s face was blown open, my sister’s neck twisted with her skin peeling off, my mother’s arm dangling from its cavity—their bodies opening, God, their bodies were open and I saw into their souls. I wasn’t to look away, but their faces melted off their skeletons, their limbs motioned to me, they were calling—was I to join them? Oh, the way they opened; sweet submission; I walked to their embrace: Dad, I love you and I’m sorry; Mom, I wish you could hear my cries; dear sister, the smell of trees and the sound of laughter—the caskets closed. They eased into the earth. I was alone. I was sealed shut. The shade fell over me. I returned to my broken body.

About the Author

Aamir Azhar is a Malaysian and Pakistani writer from San Jose, California, based in NYC. He is an MFA candidate in Fiction in Columbia’s MFA in Writing Program, and works as a Software Engineer at Duolingo. Reach him at @aamirazh on most social media.