Abandon (standard:drama, 4826 words)
Author: Bobby Zaman	Added: Mar 30 2002	Views/Reads: 3590/2378	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Two childhood friends discover the pain of growing apart.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

she looked at me with a raised eyebrow. 

“Get used to it, darling?” she said.  “What is this, a job we’re talking
about?  Get used to it or quit?” 

“No...” 

“Then don’t offer ridiculous solutions, darling.  You’re a much smarter
man than that.” 

“I’m not that smart when it comes to parenting issues.” 

These were the very conversations I wanted to avoid with everyone,
especially women, no matter how well I knew them, because my foot would 
be in my mouth sooner than I could say “ah.”  Parenting, politics, 
religion, abortion: topics not of particular interest to me as a writer 
as much as a civilian, but kept nonetheless in the confines of my mind, 
with my opinions.  There was a longing, an urge in Shehreen that was 
hunting for an answer.  I knew this because ever since we were kids, 
she’d exhaust every problem, situation, and circumstance by prying like 
a crowbar for explanations.  And this was the most complicated one we’d 
ever face.  She put her head on my shoulder and wrapped both arms 
around mine. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“You don’t need to.  I know it’s coming.  You’re a man.” 

“Would you quit with that man crap already? It’s irritating.  You think
you know everything I think.  You don’t, so quit trying to pull that 
one every time.  Pisses me off.” 

“Is this what I get for coming to my best friend for advice?” She pulled
away and looked at me.  In college she was known as the Royal Bengal 
tigress because of her searing, in-your-face personality, vociferous 
enthusiasm or vehemence, and her fiery hazel eyes, in spite of the fact 
that both her parents’ were black. 

“Whatever I give you you throw back in my face,” I said. 

“I refuse to accept the fact that I can’t come to you for some
reasonable and sound advice in my time of need.” 

“What do you want me to say?” 

“What advice do you have for me?” 

I sighed, which triggered a coughing fit before I could speak again. 

“You have choices, you know,” I said, struggling to get the words out,
tears streaming down my face and my chest closed-up as if someone had 
jammed a metal rod right down my windpipe.  Shehreen rubbed my back and 
I got my breathing slowly back to normal. 

“I should get rid of it?” she said. 

“If you want to.  That has to be your and your decision only.” 

“Hah, easy for you to say, darling.  And then what? I get messed up,
maybe never be able to bear children ever again?” 

Foot in my mouth every time, never fails. 

“What does Robert have to say about all this?” I said. 

“Ah yes, Mr. Fucking Wonderful himself.” 

Shehreen and Robert had been dating on and off for three years.  More
off than on.  To my knowledge they met at a birthday party of one of 
her co-workers from Buca di Beppo, the Italian restaurant on Clark 
Street where Shehreen had been working since graduating college and 
deciding to do everything in life except using her degree in Psychology 
in any capacity toward making a living.  According to my friend’s first 
reports after meeting Robert, they hit it off instantly owing to mutual 
interests in the films of Quentin Tarantino, Italian food, football, 
and classical music.  Robert worked for the Department of Streets and 
Sanitation.  I’d met him a few times and we never spoke much besides 
the usual customary small talk about each other’s jobs, the Bears, bad 
weather, and the menial like. 

Many things came with the territory Shehreen and I inhabited together. 
Watching each other go through the pits and ecstasies of the heart, 
being a shoulder for catching tears, and standing as the friend that 
every potential partner had to survive were the bare minimum. 

“On one hand I want to break down his door and scream at the top of my
voice,” said Shehreen walking over to the window.  “On the other I want 
to have nothing to do with him.”  She looked out through the 
condensation-drenched pane and continued, “I just can’t seem to get him 
out of my heart.  And that’s the biggest, saddest bitch of the matter.” 
 She took a long and puff and turned to me, her eyes ablaze like 
torches.  “You sad bunch of Henry VIII’s.  Filling us with your 
putrescence and kicking us out.  You’d have us all beheaded as soon as 
you found out how your cods got you in trouble again.” 

A full moon hung low in the western sky.  The TV was the only source of
light in my living room, save for the streetlights spilling in and 
covering certain corners and cutting angular shadows on the walls. 
Shehreen stood by the window pregnant with a lot more than just a fetus 
inside her. 

Taking off my shoes I asked, “Do you have plans for dinner?” 

“Hell no.  How can I think about food?” 

“Well, it’ll be a good distraction.  Besides I’m starving.” 

“Darilng,” said my friend kissing my cheek again, her hair sliding down
and brushing my forehead, “you’re such a man.” 

I could hear the scuttle of her bare feet across the living room floor
while I showered and changed into clean clothes.  She played a few 
songs on my stereo none of which went past the second verse, an echo of 
Shehreen’s own restlessness.  Even a five-minute ballad was too 
demanding on her nerves, the best friend to which at the moment were 
the packs of Camel Lights she had stored in her purse.  Still having 
her around gave me a sense of security.  The way she’d freely lay claim 
to my place based on the fact that we’d known each other all our lives 
brought with it the sensation of belonging, an unspoken affection that 
was better left in a state undefined. 

We decided on Thai food and a late movie.  I needed the break and to get
out of the apartment, but it also meant no writing for the night.  It 
was barely eight-thirty when we stepped outside to catch a cab and 
already two police cars were parked in front of the building, the three 
pothead college kids that lived in the basement apartment, along with 
three or four others, lined up along the sides of the cruisers with 
cops patting their bodies up and down and digging into their pockets.  
Shehreen shook her head and in a tone morose and loathing said, “That’s 
what a child has to look forward to in this world, right?” I launched 
into another coughing fit. 

“Robert and I are like Stanley and Stella,” she said stuffing Pad Thai
in her mouth with chopsticks, “only if he ever raised a finger at me, 
I’d have his head served on a platter.” 

At the table next to ours was a young Middle Eastern couple, very much
in love, putting food into each other’s mouth with giggles and glances, 
and beaming with pride each time they looked at their new-born child 
sleeping soundly in its stroller.  The baby stirred and cooed.  The 
mother put down her fork and leaned over and lifted the wide-awake and 
energized baby, the tiny bowlegs dangling like limp spaghetti.  Seeing 
the baby Shehreen stopped eating and began waving and smiling at it.  
The baby chuckled and bared a toothless smile.  The mother looked over 
her shoulder at Shehreen. 

“Boy or girl?” asked Shehreen. 

“Girl.” 

“Is it all right if I...” Shehreen extended her arms.  The mother gladly
transferred the baby to my friend.  Shehreen hugged her and held her 
tight and the baby grabbed a tuft of Shehreen’s hair in her coin-sized 
fist.  I sipped my Singha beer and noticed a side of Shehreen I’d never 
seen before.  She’d begun a transformation.  It was as clear as the 
nose on my face.  She was more than just pregnant.  A living breathing 
soul was growing in her.  Humanity, in its ever-reviving phase of 
multiplication, the basic course of life and death, existence itself, 
the simplest and the profoundest entity taken for granted without a 
second thought, was beginning a new cycle in her womb.  A lover a 
tyrant philanthropist rebel poet leader healer vagabond prophet 
murderer victim – the multitudes of possibilities swimming closer to 
the inevitable revelation with each day.  I watched Shehreen coddle the 
baby and felt pride, wonder, and a distinct sense of my own being. 

“Hell with it,” said Shehreen lighting up and stretching out her arm to
flag a cab, “Let’s go dancing.  I’m sick of all this.” 

The line to get in was only about ten people long when our cab pulled up
by Excalibur.  I hadn’t been there since high school, using my older 
cousins ID as my fake.  Shehreen huddled up with me to stay warm while 
the beefy, greasy-haired bouncer took his time letting people in.  
Shehreen paid cover for us both and as soon as we walked in yanked my 
arm and made me follow her upstairs.  I’d been out of the club scene, 
voluntarily, for a while.  The same old bump, grind, prowl for play, 
ear-shattering techno, leather, stretch body suits, ten dollar watered 
down mixed drinks scene had played out its reservoir of fantasies.  
Nowadays I was happy with a hole in the wall neighborhood bar.  We made 
for the bar and got drinks.  Shehreen’s hips were already twitching 
with the thumping bass.  I quickly found a table and sat down before 
being dragged to the dance floor. 

“Darling, just for a little bit,” said Shehreen with her mouth pressed
to my ear. 

“My back’s killing me.” 

She gave me a pouting glance and went off by herself.  The floor wasn’t
quite as crowded and I could still see her.  Every part of her loved 
music.  Dancing was as cathartic to her as it was to me alien.  She 
tried giving me few lessons, all of which was futile.  The lights 
flickered, swayed, and throbbed on Shehreen as all eyes began to be 
drawn to her serpentine, wavy creations to the music.  Moments later a 
throng of men gathered around her, drinks in hand, trying to find a way 
to join her in her ecstasy.  She danced on, oblivious, beautiful.  They 
gawked, hot-blooded animal eyes peering out of their faces like boils.  
She looked like a tongue of fire surrounded by a horde of hungry beasts 
waiting for the game to cook before mercilessly devouring it.  They had 
horns jutting out of their heads, grisly hair covering them head to 
toe, and feet cloven into hoofs, and Shehreen was the act of divinity 
that qualified their existence.  One of the beasts got closer and put 
an arm around her waist, his vapid breath grazing her face like a 
calamity. 

More bodies swarmed to the floor and I left the table and got closer. 
Out of the sea of undulating bodies sprang out a hand like an old-time 
turn signal and pulled me in by my shirt.  Caught off-guard I dove into 
the mass of people and up against Shehreen, her arms locked around my 
waist and trying to get me to produce some semblance of a dance 
movement.  Beast eyes scowled at me from all sides.  Bruised, insulted 
libidos and rabid yellow fangs drooled to rip me to shreds.  The lights 
rose to a shattering white and cracked up in strobes and colors 
immediately, the speakers beat with mad bass and screeched with ruinous 
treble.  Shehreen’s face dug into my chest, and the liquor dug into my 
blood. 

Somewhere from the midst of the rousing crawling pulsating stomping
rubbing grabbing ocean of weekend revelers something like a rock or a 
treacherous metal ball pounded me on the back of my head.  The sudden 
shot of pain mixed with the buzz stunned me and I stumbled forward.  
Shehreen’s head jerked up as she tried to catch us both from falling.  
I spun around, enraged, to face none but the band of beasts.  The 
“leader,” my assailant, was a tall, gaunt, bug-eyed guy with a 
hooknose, large ears, and thin arms and legs.  Our eyes met.  He was 
directly in the path of a throbbing strobe and each time the light 
flickered he had a changed look on his face as if he were gradually and 
fully transforming into an animal. 

I started at him and Shehreen held me back.  The rest of the Pack stood
around him like faithful bloodhounds.  The back of my skull felt as 
though there were a stone lodged in it.  I was dizzy from the pain and 
the liquor and wanted more than anything to crack the Beast across the 
face.  And I did. 

With Shehreen still holding on to one arm I flew at him with all my
strength and landed a clenched fist on his nose.  Cartilage crunched 
under my knuckles and the Beast howled and stumbled back.  The Pack 
rushed at me like bullets.  The Beast hurled back and slapped against a 
wall, blood dripping out of his nose like running paint.  At first no 
one knew what had happened and carried on with their business.  Chaos 
broke out when the Beast Pack drove into the mass and started pushing 
people out of the way to clear a path to me.  Obviously, some pushed 
back and that started scuffles and fights.  Intoxicated men hurled 
curses and shoves back and forth. Women screamed and bolted off the 
dance floor.  The Pack made it to me.  Fists came at my face like a 
shower of tennis balls, some I dodged, some that left marks that turned 
into purple bruises a week later.  Shehreen jumped in and scratched one 
of the Pack faces.  The music cut out like someone had pulled the plug 
on the sound system and the DJ’s frantic confused voice boomed over the 
speakers calling security.  Six Baywatch-reject looking bouncers rammed 
into the hurly-burly like bowling balls knocking the cluster of people 
down like pins.  It took them twenty minutes to buckle down on the 
drunken, horny, wild-blooded mob. 

Outside the temperature had dipped down a few more notches and all six
bouncers made sure the Pack and Shehreen and I were completely clear of 
the club for at least a two-block radius.  Shehreen was fuming and my 
head was throbbing.  We saw the Beast Pack get escorted out moments 
after us with the Beast holding a bag of ice to his nose. 

“Dickless bastards!” Shehreen yelled at them. 

“Hey, cool it!” barked a bouncer. 

The Beast Pack threw us one last look of contempt and disappeared around
the corner. 

“You can stick this greaseball place up your greasy assholes!” said
Shehreen to the bouncer.  Before he could respond, her middle finger 
sealed any further sentiments she had right to his face.  Blood rushed 
to his beefy face as he glared at Shehreen.  She put her arms around me 
and pulled me from the wall and supported me against her body. 

“I’d forgot why I hate this fucking place,” she said, “it’s nothing but
a den for these off-the-boat horny spineless desi greaseballs.  You all 
right, darling?” 

We walked across the street to the gas station and bought a bag of ice. 
I dozed off in the cab on the way back. 

I woke again to the familiar scent of Shehreen’s cigarette and R.E.M.’s
“Losing My Religion.”  We were in my living room and Shehreen was 
wrapping ice-cubes in a towel. 

“Hi darling,” she said helping me up and putting the ice towel in my
hand.  The back of my head felt as tender as a piece of raw meat.  I 
downed six Excedrins to kill the massive headache. 

“Darling, you shouldn’t sleep tonight,” said Shehreen and rubbed my
shoulders. 

“Why not?” 

“You’re supposed to stay up for twenty-four hours when you hurt your
head.” 

“I’m about to pass out just from drinking.”  She took the ice towel from
me and pressed it softly against my head.  The pain shot through my 
face, neck, and shoulders like currents of electricity. 

“You’ll be fine,” said Shehreen giving me a tight hug, “I’ll make sure. 
It’s not even that late.  And you’re a night owl, aren’t you.  Let’s 
watch a movie.”  She trotted over to the DVD shelf and pulled out a 
shared favorite, Immortal Beloved. 

Sleep was taking over me like a defiant fever, and every time I slipped
off Shehreen kissed my face and drew my attention to the TV.   
“Darling, please stay with me.  This movie’s no fun without you.” 

What had just happened? The weekend had barely started and an incident
already.  Go figure.  The very day I break my vow of never walking into 
another club again trouble sticks like a price tag to my footsteps.  
Bad reenactment of so many bad flashbacks.  I’d had a pack of my own 
once.  No  Let’s look at the bright side of life for a moment: maybe 
this head condition will prevail long enough to call in at the bank on 
Monday. 

“There’s only one way this is going to work,” I said getting up. 
“Coffee.” 

“And pizza.” added Shehreen.  She grabbed the phone from the charger
before I could answer. 

I stared at the coffee maker, watching the bubbles bob and pop in
liquid, all the time thinking, realizing how much I wanted Shehreen at 
that instant.  The feeling overwhelmed me, clutched me by the throat, 
and turned my bowels to ice.  Of all the things to invade my mind, this 
was the last one I needed. 

“You all right, darling?” 

I turned around.  Shehreen walked up to me and hugged me.  “Head still
hurting a lot?” 

“Not really.” 

Head reeling, from more than just the pain of being hit, and nothing
making sense, I placed a hand on Shehreen’s stomach.  She smiled and 
touched my hand. 

“How does it really feel?” I asked. 

“I don’t know, darling.  It’s all very confusing.” 

“I’m here for you.” 

“I love you, darling.  You’re my best friend and confidant.” 

“You still love him a lot?” 

“It’s hard to love a bastard, but I make my own fate and my own
mistakes, right?” 

A barrage of racking coughs shook me. 

“So, if he walked in right now, you’d just fling yourself at him and
forget everything?” I said, panting and pouring myself a glass of 
water. 

“I don’t know.” 

“What do you know? You don’t know if you love him – you don’t know if
you want his baby! What the fuck do you know?” 

Shehreen took a few steps back and pointed a finger at my face. 

“Don’t tell me what I don’t know,” she said waving the finger at me like
a wand, “I have enough shit going on without you ragging on me.” 

I stopped abruptly in the middle of drinking the water and a few drops
dribbled down my chin. 

“Ragging on you?” I said slamming the glass on the counter.  “All I do
is listen to you bitch and moan about how horrible your life is all the 
time! That’s all that ever comes out of your mouth anymore.  It’s old 
and it’s sickening.  It’s goddamn boring!” 

“You don’t mean that.” 

“Wanna bet?” 

“Go to hell you son-of-a-bitch!” she said, her voice trembling and
breaking apart with sobs choking her throat. 

“Why do you even come over anymore?” an effulgence of meanness and
reproach thundered inside my inebriated brain.  “It’s the same routine, 
like clockwork.  ‘Robert fucked me and left me for dead.’  Put clamps 
around your legs then! Kick him out.  Do what you have to do and act 
like a fuckin’ grownup.  I have better things to do.  I’m a writer.  
Not a loan shark, not a fuckin’ relationship counselor, and not a 
father confessor.  I’m a fucking writer!  You all can die and perish 
for all I care!” 

“You don’t mean that.  You don’t know what you’re talking about, you’re
drunk.” 

“You don’t know what I think and feel, goddamnit! STOP SAYING THAT!” 

Shehreen’s face was drenched in tears, eyes wide with shock and
disappointment.  My whole body shook with anger, pain, and frustration. 
 The coffee maker bubbled on.  Beethoven’s Ode to Joy floated in from 
the TV in the living room.  It was our favorite part of the movie. 

“You don’t care a good goddamn about me,” said Shehreen and walked out. 
I followed her into the bathroom where she stood hunched over the sink. 
 Our altercation was echoing in my head like a recurring nightmare.    
Shehreen was splashing water on her face as if there were abominable 
messages and scars all over it.  I stood at the door watching her like 
a guilty child that had just upset his mother.  She looked in the 
mirror, her damp face a mess of mascara and flush, and an evolving 
distance in her eyes that moved farther by the seconds the more I tried 
to close the proximity with mine. 

“Why did you say those things to me?” Shehreen asked.  I mutely handed
her a towel.  I couldn’t tell if the question was even directed 
completely at me.  Her eyes were bloodshot and wandering all over the 
place as if they were searching for immediate answers in everything.  
“You’re   the one person that’s not supposed to talk to me like that.” 

“What am I supposed to do? Listen like an obedient dog?” 

“Why’re you talking this way?” 

Her lips had started trembling again.  I stopped them. 

We kissed ravenously, lips, eyes, ears, nose.  Her face felt cool and
soothing, and I’d wince every time she’d press the back of my head to 
press me in to her.  We were on the couch when the buzzer rang. 

“Pizza,” whispered Shehreen. 

“I don’t want any.” 

The buzzer kept on ringing, we heard the delivery guy calling out a few
times, then get in his car and drive away. 

“I’m sorry,” I said while Shehreen’s soft warm hands touched my hair and
moved up and down my back, “I’m really sorry.” 

She was gone when I woke up with a splitting headache and no clothes on
my body.  Four more Excedirns and an ice pack on my head, I dialed 
Shehreen’s number.  I called her continuously for four hours and left 
messages till her machine was full.  By the end of the day my head felt 
a lot better, and the rest of me was swimming in a vacuum.  I went out 
for a walk and went by Shehreen’s apartment, determined to have a talk 
with her.  Her place was on a corner and from the other end of the 
block I could the lights were on in her first floor living room.  I 
didn’t know what to say or how to start the conversation, it felt as 
though I was going to meet a blind date.  What had happened the night 
before was more than I’d encountered in the last year and a half.  A 
turbulent break up had left me stranded, depressed, and frazzled with 
confused emotions about everything.  Shehreed had listened to me for 
hours the first week, and I insisted on keeping the lights off so she 
wouldn’t see the wreckage crying had made of my face.  I’d been guilty 
of the same things of which I’d accused her.  I wanted to straighten 
everything out, hug her, take her out to dinner, pizza maybe, and watch 
our favorite movie, all the way through this time.  I battled with 
another coughing fit before ringing her buzzer. 

Shehreen opened the door, smiling, her face lit with enthusiasm.  There
were no indications that she’d cried her eyes out less than twenty-four 
hours ago.  I opened my mouth to speak, but a voice from inside her 
apartment made me stop.  Robert, owner of the voice, joined her at the 
door.  He slipped his arms around her waist and looked at me. 

“You remember my friend Nabeel, right?” Shehreen asked him.  He smiled
and nodded his head at me.  My head started hurting again, my tongue 
felt dry and numb. 

“Are you all right, darling?” 

“I – just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” 

“We’ve been out all day, but I got your messages.” 

“Yeah, okay.  Just wanted to make sure.” 

I left wanting nothing at all to do with Shehreen.  Shehreen, my
childhood friend, the closest human being to me.  Nothing at all. 


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