The World is on Fire

Did You Forget

March, 2017

I get home from the gym and throw my bag into the corner of my room.  Walking into my bathroom, I shed my sweat-soaked shirt and turn on the shower.  Once the water has warmed up, I hop in, scrubbing the sweat from my body.  I reach down to turn the water hotter before moving on to my hair.  By the time I get out, my chest, arms, back, and feet are bright red.

I like the hot water.  focusing on not jumping out of the spray distracts from the thoughts racing through my head.  Adiba always said that I think too much.  Adiba.  She is the reason my showers burn my skin.  Adi holds my mind hostage through even the most complicated of tasks.  I need a break from her sometimes.  The only way I can manage a few moments of peace is when I'm standing under the shower head, letting boiling smooth my hair straight and pour down my back.  

Not thinking about Adi is like not breathing.  I can't do it very long and I'm left gasping for air.  But when I can finally breathe in again, my lungs fill with water and I'm drowning all over again. If only I could get a moment to just breathe.

"Katherine, are you out of the shower?' my mother's voice carries up the stairs of our house.

"Yes, I'm good," I look around my room for pajamas, clutching the ends of my towel to my chest.  Adi's voice fills my head.  'You look so damn sexy when you get out of the shower.' I shake my head, attempting to shake her from my thoughts.  I can practically feel her kisses, soft and sweet, on my shoulders and collarbone, crawling up my neck.  I can almost smell her, a blend of her lemon shampoo and the spices that linger in the air of her house.  I close my eyes, savoring the memory.  'You are going to be the death of me, Adiba,' I would've said as she tugged lightly on the hem of my towel.  I open my eyes.  There is no Adi behind me.  I am alone, dripping, in front of the bathroom mirror.  

I sigh and get dressed.  Quickly, I towel off my hair and tug it up into a bun.  When Adi would sleep over, I would leave it down.  She loved to run her fingers through my hair, and it felt so wonderful that I never stopped her.  She had an obsession with my hair, Adi.  She was always braiding it or smoothing it.  It didn't matter whether I'd curled it or pulled it up into  slightly different style than normal, she always noticed.  She would've killed me had I cut it.  I kept it long for her.  It always reached at least halfway down my back.  Now, it barely brushes the tops of my shoulders.

Adi's own hair is always tucked away in a hijab.  It's long and black and curly because it's always twisted into braids and buns to keep it hidden.  Her favorite thing was finally taking off her scarf and letting me brush the braids out with my fingers.  

I wonder if she remembers me doing that.  I still feel her hands when my little sister insists on trying new styles out on my hair.  I remember everything, even though it's been months.  I remember her laugh, her smile, the way she holds herself.  I remember the way she touched me, like I was something to be treasured and protected, like I was the most valuable thing on the planet.  The echoes of her feather-light kisses still caress my cheeks and nose and neck.  The paths her fingertips traces still burn bright on my skin.

I want to ask her, to shake and say, "Did you forget?  I'm still here.  Did you forget everything that we said?  Everything we went through together?"  I can't do that.  I wonder if she regrets holding my hand, our bodies presses against each other in the dark, strands of hair mixed together on the pillowcase, lips close enough to kiss.

What happened to us?  We were perfect, Adi and I.  We were a star, a supernova, a spark.  But now the world is on fire, and I am going to burn.