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“I think it’s kinda fun,” she laments thoughtfully. “My dad tried to woo my mom with his painting skills. We have canvases that he painted over two decades ago all over our house.”
Maryam talks a lot about her parents. Her words are always filled with so much longing and melancholy. She sounds like she has a better relationship with her parents than the rest of us.
“Ohhh, your nails!” Steffy gushes, bringing our attention to where she’s standing. She holds Olivia’s hand in hers, inspecting the yellow, flowery nails closely. “What the heck, they look so pretty and professionally done.”
“I did them myself,” Olivia, says proudly. “I have the DIY kit in my room. I can do yours.”
“It’s giving me spring vibes, I love it!” Maryam adds. “The pastel color is so pretty.”
“I can do yours too, if you want. I have more pastel colors, what do you like? I can do pink or purple,” Olivia suggests, but Maryam is already shaking her head.
“I can’t put on nail polish right now, I have to pray later.” Steffy and Olivia give her understanding looks, and she elaborates, “But maybe next week? If you don’t mind. I’ll be on my period.”
“Cool, I can do it next week.”
Maryam smiles in appreciation. After grabbing our canvases and supplies, we walk outside to the garden to find the painting spot Dr. Bailey has reserved for us. We find six easels placed in a circle, and we each pick one before getting set-up.
The spring breeze caresses my skin, bringing me a small amount of warmth. I used to like this season. A new beginning, I would think.
I used to think that spring is a slowly overflowing bottle of bubbling joy. It banishes the cold claws of winter and brings us the warm caress of summer. With buds blossoming, trees thawing and grasses turning greener. Healthier. Livelier.
Spring brings life — the season of fragrance.
I liked that.
But now spring is cold and lonely — a painful melancholy, with dreadful memories and empty solitude.
My gaze lingers over my blank canvas. “What’s your greatest regret?” I ask Maryam, who picked the easel beside me. While the six of us have gotten close, we’ve somehow put ourselves into pairs of friendship.
Steffy and Eun-Jung.
Olivia and Millie.
Maryam and me…
I guess it works. Maryam and I have a good understanding of each other, and I think the reason why we have gotten closer is because we share the same bleeding wound.
We’ve both brought shame to our families…
Maryam is quiet for a second, before she finally answers, “Moving to live on campus.”
“What do you mean?”
“My mother was adamantly against it,” she explains quietly. “I got into Yale, my dream university, but the commuting was too long, two hours there and two hours back. I thought it would have been exhausting. My father agreed that I could live on campus. He has never refused me anything. He used to call me his Malika. I was his little princess and his pride. So he let me go, even though my mother was against it. And now, I wish I had listened to her.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I defend vengefully.
Maryam shakes her head. “Do you blame yourself for what happened?”
When I don’t respond, she smiles despondently. “When I arrived there, I instantly got along with my two housemates. They seemed to have respect my boundaries, or I thought they did. When they would bring their friends and guys over, I’d just stay in my room. But sometimes, they would ask me to join, and I’d feel bad to always refuse. So I would join them, sitting in a corner and watching them get shit-drunk. I hated the smell of alcohol and weed. I didn’t realize they were spiking my drinks and food.”
She pauses and then shakes her head, letting out a small humorless laugh.
“Wait, no that’s a lie. In the back of my head, I knew something was off. Something was wrong. But my exams were coming up, and I was so stressed. I was taking sleeping pills, because I was struggling with insomnia. So, at first, I assumed it was the side effects of the sleeping pills. The mental confusion, the drowsiness and everything that came with it. It took me three weeks before realizing what was really happening. But you know what the worst part is? Three weeks was enough to get me addicted. That’s crazy, right? I mean, that’s how fast it can become an addiction? Saying that out loud is crazy enough, I still can’t wrap my head around it sometimes. So, yeah, I regret going to live on campus. I regret not listening to my mother. I regret being so naive and stupid, and trusting the wrong people.”
Maryam dips her paintbrush into yellow paint and then spreads it across the canvas. “But do you know what’s worse, Riley?”
I stare down at my palette of colorful paint, trying to figure out where to start. I can’t pick a color; I don’t even know what to paint.
