This appears in a pre-2010 issue of Down in the Dirt magazine.
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Let me start with the night Layla Mir made her fateful decision. A decision made not out of love but desperation. Now, you may not know much about Layla and in fact you may decide you don’t even like her. Heck, I don’t like her at times either, but before I begin let me ask you, do you know what it’s like to be in love...desperately in love? Well Layla Mir did and it was this desperation that drove her to make that foolhardy decision one stormy evening.
It was almost midnight on a Thursday night and Layla Mir had found herself somewhere she should not be, sitting in the living room of a decrepit old hag staring into a face buried in loose skin and wrinkles. The old woman hunched forward, her back protruding slightly as she sat down to face Layla. The few scraps of hair that remained were pulled back into a bun exposing several bald patches on her scalp. Layla shuddered. The room was dimly lit and looking down upon her was the haunting gaze of saints she didn’t recognize. Why would she? She wasn’t anywhere near being Catholic. Thinking about what she was about to do, Layla felt a twinge of guilt. Nervously, she wound the silver chain of her Allah-pendant around her finger. This type of thing was at best frowned upon in her faith and Layla had, had a religious upbringing - but that didn’t mean it never happened. She looked again at the pendant that had been a gift from her Pakistani grandmother and took a deep breath. “I have to have him,” she said cheeks flushed eyes full of determination.
Layla closed her eyes for a brief second. She was soaked in every sense of the word. Her dark hair clung to her caramel colored skin. Yet, the smell of incense calmed her, soothed her like a warm blanket. Layla took another sip of her tea as she waited for the woman to answer. When the woman spoke her eyes reflected a fire not apparent in her dull appearance. Her voice came out in whispers, hoarse from years of smoking - and after all this time still revealing traces of her Armenian heritage.
“Did you bring the picture?”
“I did,” said Layla taking a photograph out from her purse.
“Are you sure you want to go through with it,” asked the woman letting each word fall slowly and purposefully.
“You could think about it... there’s still time.”
“I know what I want,” said Layla
There was a long pause before the woman answered, “He’s not your soul mate.”
“I don’t care,” hissed Layla.
Reluctantly, the old woman picked up the photograph and gazed at its image - as if penetrating a crystal ball.
At this point you may look at our girl and think ...a little extreme...maybe even a little clichÉ and what about the picture she brought?... An ordinary man with an ordinary smile. Well at least to the casual observer. But, if you looked a little closer your might notice that the smile though broad and friendly concealed an element of self-satisfaction; and the man’s posture, though firm and upright bore the confidence of one who’s used to getting what he wants; and his attire, though rugged and outdoorsy has been aged not by camping or hiking in the wild, but in the air conditioned factory of some of the world’s top designers. That is what the old woman saw that night and what Layla never did.
As Layla drove home in the middle of the night to an apartment full of bills and a roommate fast asleep on the couch, she thought about the time she had spent with Kamran Shaikh. In truth they had not known each other very long, perhaps a couple months at best but she saw in Kamran all that her life wasn’t. Like all romances the beginning was great, the middle was ripe and sickeningly sweet and now as her lover’s affection had begun to wane that ripeness had started to bear the faintest tinges of rot as Layla had begun to sense the aroma of his disinterest. Layla could feel him slipping like sand through her fingers - the tighter her grip the less she was able to contain. Maybe, if Layla had not felt so poor and so miserable and so outside of society’s expectations that she might not have been so desperate. In a clan full of social climbers her parents remedial occupations was something family and friends could never look beyond. As the daughter of a Pakistani cab driver Layla was used to people looking not at her but over her. They had written her off. She could hear it in their condescending tones, their proud demeanor not to mention the outrageous flattery they used when they suspected someone of being wealthy or well accomplished. Just watching them made Layla want to chew her eyes out. God she wanted to be rich! She wanted to be so rich that she would leave them seething with envy.
Layla’s last chance to hang on to her dream was Sarah Jafry’s engagement party. In truth Layla had always resented Sarah, her perfect looks, her sweet demeanor, her father’s large wallet. But Layla was glad to attend knowing of course that Kamran would be there. Layla could think of nothing else. This was going to her night. She could feel it. She was envisioning her victory when she was startled by the voice of an intruder.
“You’ve been nursing that drink an awfully long time,” he said stepping into Layla’s line of vision. Layla jumped back spilling some of her punch on the hardwood floor. Standing before her was a man with shaggy hair wearing a nice sweater and scruffy jeans – leaning against the staircase. Layla gave him a cold look.
“Oh, I get it your meditating,” he continued. “That’s why you have that blissful out of the world look on your face. Well don’t let me interrupt you.”
“No, problem,” said Layla starting to walk away but he caught up with her.
“Hey, where are you going? Are you waiting for somebody?” he asked.
“Noo...not exactly.”
“Well in that case let me introduce myself. My name is Samir Saed.”
“So how did you know the happy couple?” asked Layla, wondering how to get rid of him.
“They’re relatives. Great relatives in fact, perfect for crashing at night, a hot meal or a captive audience.”
“Are you a bum?” she asked.
Samir just a grinned and said indulgently “No I’m a musician - mostly jazz and blues and a comedian. I guess you could say I’m a musical comic. I take my sax with me on stage at comedy clubs. You should see my act sometime.”
“Maybe I will,” said Layla, her icy façade starting to melt.
“Do you mean that?” asked Samir
“Well...sure, always willing to support a fellow creative,” she replied.
“I guessed you were a kindred sprit and what is it that you play?”
“I don’t play...I write,” said Layla. “Mainly advertising jingles for the suits that I work for but, at night I work on my own pieces.”
“I’m intrigued,” said Samir with an arch of an eyebrow, “tell me more.”
As Layla attempted to describe her pieces she found that simply talking about her interests with someone who really wanted to listen was almost enough to make her feel human again. She was even starting to become receptive to the man’s charming banter, so much so, that she did not see Kamran come in or the girl on his arm until it was too late. Layla gasped as she saw the two of them together. She was young, pretty, wearing all the ‘right stuff’ and looking up at Kamran adoringly. Layla could feel an unsettling feeling coming over her stomach like she was going to throw-up or commit a felony.
“You don’t look so good,” said Samir noticing the expression on her face. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said pulling her out the door. As they strolled around the neighborhood Samir kept on chatting not commenting on her sudden quietness. Before they stepped back into the party Samir looked at the expression on her face which resembled someone trying to pass a kidney stone and spoke in his gentle mocking way.
“Don’t be so mad – he’ not your soul mate,” and just like that the spell was broken. Layla despite her dread went back inside. The music felt too loud and the bright dÉcor hurt her eyes. Surreptitiously she would sneak glances at Kamran from across the room. How happy they looked, the charmed couple. They should get engaged, she thought. Samir was right, Kamran was not her soul mate. Sarah Jafry’s pretentious party was a lot of things but it wasn’t the right time for a confrontation. It was sheer will power that kept Layla at the other end of the gathering. Indeed, it was much later in the evening that Layla bumped into Kamran on her way to the dessert buffet. He had a drink in one hand and his cell in the other. His tie hung loose around his neck and his skin glistened as if he had just come off the dance floor.
“I’ve been trying to catch you all evening,” he said giving her his dream boat smile. Layla forced herself to look Kamran in the eye - even though in her heart she knew it was over. Layla, not winning Kamran back but in time, she did find release from the prison she had created for herself. As for Samir, he eventually moved out of his relative’s home and joined the peace corp., taking with him of course his sax and Layla’s phone number. Kamran on the other hand, went on to make a lot more money and date many more women.
Were you expecting something more dramatic? Let me assure you that drama is as over rated and tacky as last year’s prom dress. As for the old woman, the decrepit old woman - she chooses her spells wisely!
