The Patient Sikh: Part Thirty-Six—Who Are My Real Friends?

(The Patient Sikh is a prequel to my novel The Sikh Patient. This excerpt follows Yasmeen during her university years, as friendship, jealousy, identity, and reinvention begin to blur together.)

If you’d like to read earlier excerpts from the series, I’ve linked them below.

All I know is this: Sarita told me she saw Mona and Sonny walking with his arm around her at night. Mona has denied that such an event ever happened.

I’ve known Sarita since I was twelve. Mona and I have only been hanging out for a couple of months. I’m not going to take some new friend’s word over my best friend’s

Mona is lying.

I know this, so why do I still want to be friends with her? There is something magical about Mona; when she brings you into her world, it’s like another dimension. I feel ‘cool’ around her. She hangs out with hot guys; they orbit around her naturally, and she knows how to actually talk to them.

She knows what to drink and how to drink. She makes me go to the bar and get out of my shell.

But she’s also a liar.

What is friendship after all if there is no trust? I think as I sit in Java Hutt, the coffee shop we frequent. I can hear the coffee grinder going, and I can smell the deep aroma of fresh ground coffee.

I’m waiting for Mona. I’m doing a stupid thing, aren’t I? I think as I stare at my hot chocolate with the whipped cream dissolving into the milk. I can see my lipstick stain on the cup. I wore a burgundy color, one that Mona suggested looks good on Indian skin color.

Sometimes I think I want to be Mona. Maybe that’s what’s really going on. I want to own her, be her. Maybe it’s sick and twisted.

But the real reason I’ve decided to meet with her is that I don’t want a stupid boy to come between us. The question is, do I want this stupid girl to get between me and a boy? I mean, the real question is, is Sonny more important to me or is Mona?

When in doubt, I pick Sarita. I will always pick Sarita over and over again. She is not a big fan of Mona or Sonny. The thing is, since I’ve met both of them, my life has become spicier. More fun.

*Mona walks in, wearing a tight black leather jacket with matching boots. Why is she so cool? I look down at my jeans and pink sweater, god I’m such a loser. That’s the problem right there.*

“Hey,” I say and smile at Mona. “Hey there,” she replies and heads for the coffee counter. Her long hair is so straight; she only blows it dry, but sometimes it looks like she’s stepped out of a salon.

She sits down across from me with a coffee and a croissant. The sun is setting behind her in downtown Ann Arbor, and for a moment, it feels like we are in a chic city, like France. I want to hold this scene in my mind: this beautiful woman and the serene sky and the smell of fresh ground coffee. I could sit like this forever, I think for a moment.

“So what’s goin’ on Yasmeen?” Mona asks and takes a sip of coffee. I look her straight in the eyes, and in that moment, I decide I will forgive her for taking a walk with Sonny. I mean, I don’t own him.

“I’m trying out for a play, the part is that of a real bitch…” I laugh and trail off.

“Well, if you need any pointers…” Mona smiles really big. She’s aware, isn’t she, that many people think she’s a bitch. And she doesn’t care. It’s who she is. I wish I could own any part of myself the way she owns her catty personality.

“I mean, I can be a bitch,” I say, smiling back at her. “But are you an expert?” she asks and takes a bite of her croissant. I can smell it and want to take a bite myself. “Do you want some?” she asks, reading my mind. I must be drooling. “No, that’s okay,” I say sipping hard on my hot chocolate.

I don’t know how to respond to her. Part of me wanted to defend her. Another part wanted to dissect her. “You’ve never thought of acting?” I ask her. “I mean, you have what many would call stage presence.”

“Thank you,” she says, looking at me slyly. “If I weren’t so good at math and physics, I probably would act, but you know I’m secretly a nerd.” She wasn’t kidding. She didn’t study for calculus; she somehow would derive the answers on the tests. It was odd and infuriating how she was so smart and so pretty and so cool.

So she was a liar. Aren’t we all? I know what I’m justifying. And I can’t help it. Isn’t acting lying? I watched as the light faded outside, and it was purely dusk, the air glowing. “What are you doing this weekend?” she asked. “Are you busy on Friday? There’s a party at this friend of mine’s that I went to high school with.”

I looked down at my sad brown shoes. I wanted to say I had nothing to wear. I wanted to say that if I were going to walk into a party with her, I needed a new wardrobe. “Sounds cool,” I said instead.

Months later, she would start dressing me in her clothes, we were basically the same size, and people started saying we looked like twins. And god did she have a wardrobe. She told me to borrow clothes, and she gave me clothes.

Was I her project? Maybe just a little. She sat me down a few months later and said to me very directly, “I know everyone thinks you’re funny, but you are so much more than that.” And I wanted to believe her, really believe her.

*I knew she was right, I was a meaningful bitch, and I wasn’t a bitch at all. But I wanted to play her on TV. Sarita told me I was changing. And I was.*

I don’t know if I was becoming more interesting or less like myself. I hadn’t heard from Sonny in months. I called him a few times, and he never called back. I could get a message. I didn’t like it, and I was still harboring some resentment that he probably liked Mona better than me.

Did I like this new version of me?

nina

If you would like to read the beginning of this novel in progress, The Patient Sikh, visit the following links in chronological order:

The Patient Sikh: Part One

The Patient Sikh: Part Two–The Wonder Years

The Patient Sikh: Part Three–Sonny

The Patient Sikh: Part Four–Song Lyrics

The Patient Sikh: Part Five–Your Song

The Patient Sikh: Part Six–Coffee Talk

The Patient Sikh: Part Seven–Chocolate Covered Love

The Patient Sikh: Part Eight–Kiss And Tell

The Patient Sikh: Part Nine–Street Chess