"Yea, that’s me the PK" by Joy Rajan

I sat still, my eyes glued onto the podium. I learnt a long time back that if you weren’t listening you could easily produce the illusion that you were. O the joys of the being the PK - pastor’s kid. My father went on with his sermon, I wasn’t sure if he knew that I wasn't listening.  He probably did. Yet despite the lectures he gave on obedience and the importance of listening I still cannot help but be distracted. This time it was the pianist who I was distracted by I can’t understand why I keep staring at her.

            She was young, not much older than I was. She was new new to our church and from what I heard she was even new to Canada. I wanted to find out more about her. But my mother got in the way as usual. She always intimidated me. She would always flock to new visitors and I’d be left standing awkwardly trying my hardest to remain invisible.

            My dad’s sermon finally drew to a close. I watched, dumfounded as and awestruck when she came up to play. I realised then I didn’t even know her name. As she began to play, I felt my eyes drawn to her soft face. Her hands danced on the keys. I smiled when I saw she didn’t have those fake nails that a lot of women I knew had.  As I watched her, her skin began to glow, and she smiled as she played.  I watched her in awe completely ignorant of my mother’s gaze that had fallen on me. She would ask every Sunday why I stared at the new pianist; I’d simply say I admired how well she played and it made me want to learn. It was a lie. I hated the piano. It made me recall my awful piano lessons with Mrs Brown. She was such an evil woman. Just two lessons with her and my career as a pianist came to a screeching halt before it even began.

            I thought today would be different. Perhaps today I could go up and talk to her. No. Jeremy did. I sighed. Why did I even bother?

            I used to love Sundays. Growing up I looked forward to Sundays. Now I found everything so empty and if anything, depressing. Each time I’d go it was the same cycle and every week in addition to work I’d have to come home and work on the power point. All these sermons on peace, love, forgiveness, oh and of course homosexuality drew me to one conclusion: I need to get out. I couldn’t even bring up any of the topics at home with them without being bombarded with questions. I felt I was a soldier that went a-wall. I felt invisible, insignificant and worse yet unloved.

            “Is everything okay?” My dad asked. Same question he asked over and over again. I could feel my parents’ eyes gazing over my shoulder every moment  -even in my own room. I felt caged. It was the only time either of my parents would pay any attention to me. I couldn’t take it any longer. After lunch I grabbed my bag and left I left. I made my way to my usual bookstore around the corner from house to get away from family.

            I found my usual seat in the corner and began writing:

            I stood in awe of her face as she immersed herself in the piece. I could see her caressing the keys of her piano like a dewdrop on a leaf.  My eyes followed her every move. I could feel her passion and her drive run through me as though we were connected. What is going on? All I could feel was her taking control of my thoughts and all my senses, even my sight. It was though I was blind to everything else around me. I felt fear but in a good way. Perhaps this was wrong, but why did it feel right? It is love that I was feeling? For her? When she smiled, I smiled. When she laughed my heart leapt with joy. With all that I only wanted to ask one question: What is your name?

            “Hi. Are you Meena, Pastor Saran’s daughter?” I looked up. It was Her. “Hi. Yes I am.” Said I trying to staying calm. She was even more beautiful up close. “Nice to meet you I’m Samira, Samira Bakst. I’m the new pianist at Church.” “O yes. You play beautifully. We’ve been looking for someone to brighten up sanctuary with music.” “O good. Can I join you?” “Sure.” “Great. I am new here. I am here from Israel studying. Truth be told my parents sent me here to see if we can start a new life.” “O? Are they back in Israel?” “Yes.” “Random question: are you really bad drivers?” She laughed and nodded. I blushed.

            “Sorry, I was trying to make you laugh. I know my dad can be a bit of a bore. I didn’t want you think his daughter was the same.” “It’s okay. Thank you though. It’s good to laugh. And you’re dad is a bit of a bore. His head is too much into liturgy and philosophy.” “Yes! I am so glad someone agrees with me.”  “Why do you say that?” “No one believes me. They only see the one side of him. He’s a wonderful man I love him a lot but somehow he is so-“ “Uptight? Narrow-minded?” “No. I was going to say locked.” “Ah. And your mama?” “Worse.” I said laughing. She smiled. “My parents are so open. They go to synagogue, worship, keep the holidays but at the same time they enjoy life.” “ That's great. I wish my parents were like that.” She said nothing but smiled softly. “How long have you been in Canada?” “I’ve been in Canada for a year now.” “How do you like it?” “It’s beautiful. Really green very different from Israel.” “Can you tell me more about Israel?” I asked. I failed to realise that both my elbows were in the table and my head resting in my hands like a child. She simply smiled and said  “sure.” I listened genuinely fascinated by what she had to say.

            “…We also have the tallest building in Israel, Moshe Aviv Tower. In Tel Aviv, where I am from, we have 400,000 people. There are the two rivers Yarkon and Bnei. We’re also big on soccer, or football as we call it. And yea…that’s literally the Wikipedia. What else can I say? I think that pretty much sums it up.” She laughed. I looked at her completely amazed. I laughed. “In my honest opinion, you have to come to Tel Aviv and see for yourself.” She said looking at me. Her eyes sparkled. “Maybe I will.” I said completely lost in her eyes. “Maybe? I think you should. Two weeks come on. I’m going back home to see my family. Please come?” “My dad?” “Your dad will thank me for taking me to the Holy Land.” “True. When do you go?” “O not for awhile.” “I’d love to come!” I screamed with delight. She laughed again.  

            “Anyway, you have a lot of time to think about it. Well tell me about yourself? Your dad says you are quite the talent that you are into music, photography etc.” “Not really. He exaggerates a bit much.” “O really? Then what are you hiding?” “Nothing important. Please –“ She grabbed my laptop before I could stop her. But then maybe a part of me wanted her to read it. She sat back and read what I had written. I placed my hand down on the table clinching it nervously.

            “This is about me, isn’t it?” I bit my lip. O what will she say? Great, now she is going to tell my dad and I’m going to get into – “You write really well. I can tell you put a lot of heart into this. And relax. I won’t tell anyone.” “O?” “Our secret.” I smiled.  She smiled back. I looked down and she had placed her hands on mine. My heart skipped a beat.

            “Have you ever told your dad by the way?” “Are you kidding me?” I asked, the fear in my voice rang clear. “I take it you haven’t.” I nodded. She nodded understandingly. She looked at me, studying me for a bit and then she laughed. “Yea I’ve been there.” She said with a slight smile. “O?” “Yes. I ran away from home when my parents found out about me. Anyway now I am here.  You aren’t alone.” She got up and placed her arm on my shoulder and walked away. My eyes fell down to the computer screen and my mind grew blank. I could still feel her hand on my shoulder. My entire body tingled. It was such a weird sensation.

            I arrived home feeling light headed and exhausted. I stepped into the shower. My mind felt heavy, I couldn’t grasp what was happening. I felt my heart clench inside of me. I tried to relax as the water surrounded me, I could feel each drop slide along on my skin. I breathed heavily. I could feel myself starting to drown. The waves kept getting stronger and stronger and I felt a strong tug against my legs pulling me down. I fought hard to keep my head up high so I could breathe but it was no use. I just could not get her out of my mind. Whenever I closed my eyes I could see us together in the shower, naked and kissing so passionately. What is wrong with me? She’s a woman! How can I want another woman? Do I even know that I want her? I haven’t even kissed a guy let alone held a guys hand.

            I finally mustered the courage to talk to my parents about a possible trip to Israel. They were thrilled. And even more thrilled that I was going with the new pianist. So it was set I was going to Israel. I broke the news to Samira. She was relieved.

            Weeks went by. School was the usual. Not much to report on that. Over time I stopped going church. And before I knew school had ended for the year and my trip to Israel was just a week away.

            To my surprise it was much more than I had hoped it would be. I enjoyed it there. Despite the feud that was going around, we were relatively safe. I visited so many of the major sites associated with Christianity. One of the major ones was the Temple Mount. I enjoyed the food, the music the culture. I wrote every day and went berserk with my camera. I wrote to my folks once in awhile but not that often. And every time we chatted on Skype the only thing my dad said was "I see you are enjoying yourself! Don't forget God. We're praying for you every day. Remember! Talk to Jesus." I smiled and nodded but I never did what he told me to.

            I stopped talking to Jesus a long time ago. Over time going to church was just a charade I had put on for my father. I figured if my family was all about God and representing him to the church then I would have no part of it. I have always felt so belittled, ignored, and unappreciated.  I knew it wasn’t about me but did I not matter to anyone?  And in any case church didn’t even seem to be about God. It felt like it was all about my father. I just hid behind his shadow and ever since I was a child it was always “Jesus loves you” never “I love you” or “I’m so proud of you” Well if that was the case, Jesus’ love was just simply not enough for me.

            Samira and I went off to Tel Aviv and she showed me around her city. Even a couple of night clubs. Naturally I left that out of my conversations with my parents. Before we headed out to one she looked at me and said, "They only play Hebrew Techno. So don't bother asking for Western music they'll kick you out." I laughed.

            I asked the security guards. To my surprise they let me bring my camera in and let me take pictures in the club itself. I emailed them the pictures I took and they waved the cover charge and gave me a tab of hundred shekel. Samira was impressed and so was I. I found out later from Samira that they loved the shots I took and even posted it on their website to promote their club even further and it worked.

            I remember one night I went with Samira. I saw her in her beautiful dress and she danced like a dream. I had no sense of rhythm. She did. Her whole body glowed, like the first time I saw her. She danced like fairy, so graceful, so elegant. I could not stop staring at her dumbfounded. I could imagine myself dancing with her and feeling her body pressed up against me. I shivered as I could feel her hand in mine. How I wanted her. My old feelings had returned and I thought I could forget them being in Israel. So I raised my camera and took pictures and pictures of her. She took my breath away. I knew then I was in love with her and I wasn’t afraid to admit it, well at least to myself.

            We returned to our rooms. I headed into the shower trying my hardest to forget how I felt. But when I closed my eyes all I could see was Samira dancing. I sighed as I felt her calling my name. I went to her and we kissed. I felt her arms around me and she drew me closer and closer to her. Her skin was soft and silky. She smelt like lavender. I could feel her lips on my skin. She'd kiss me over an over again. It was divine and I melted in her arms.

            "Mena? Are going to be in the shower all day?" I snapped out of the dream and got out. "Sorry. It just feels so good." Samira laughed. I closed my eyes. Her laughter was music to my ears. Every time she laughed I swear I could see doves fly and my heart would skip a beat.

            I calmed myself down and was about to open the door, when suddenly Samira did. I stood there naked in my bathrobe. I stared at her and she looked at me with her hazel eyes. I froze. I didn't know what was happening or what I was doing. She pulled me closer to her. "Now my turn to shower." She said softly and kissed me softly on my lips. She smiled. I looked over and I saw the pictures of her I had taken open on my computer screen. She closed the bathroom door and began undressing behind me. I didn't turn around at first but I could not stop my head from turning and I saw a reflecting of her bare back in the mirror.

            I stood where I was watching her shower. I could tell she knew I was watching her. But she said nothing. If anything I could sense she wanted me to watch her. It was three in the morning but I wasn't tired. She got out and got a hold of my arm. She turned me around and I faced her. She stood naked in front of me. I bit my lip. She untied my robe and gently pulled took it off my shoulder. I stood still unable to move as I felt my robe fall of me. She looked at me from head to toe and I could feel her hand on my waist. I looked into her eyes. I knew she wanted me. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and I loved it.

            "Come closer." I walked towards her till our breasts touched. I felt my arms wrapping around her and felt her back. Her skin was flawless to the touch. She leaned in to me and kissed me softly. I let myself go and kissed back. She smiled. Her lips tasted sweet, like honey. Her eyes sparkled. She reached out and got hold of my hand, "Come to bed with me." I followed still silent. Words failed me and we got under the sheets. I lay underneath her and she covered me with kisses. I felt her lips, her tongue on my cheeks, my neck and she began licking my breasts. I moaned as I felt her body so close to me. I placed my hand on her face. I began stroking her hair and moving it out of her face as she made her way down.

            I woke up the next morning. Samira was sleeping in my arms. I stroked her hair. My two weeks was almost done. I only had a few days left before I had to fly home.  Samira and I continued to have sex every night since. During the day we went out everywhere holding hands. We kissed before we got into the taxi. She held my hand as we made our way to the airport.

            Neither of us spoke to anyone about what happened in Israel. The following Sunday I shared my experience to the congregating and showed them only pictures of holy parts of Israel relating to Christ. My dad was so proud of me. Samira and I went back to being "just friends" in Church. I could not take it anymore. I had to leave. Seeing Samira play the piano only made me think of the nights we had to together. The last night before we had to leave, she told me she loved me. I told her I loved her. And now back to reality. And it hurt.

            I finally graduated and was offered several scholarships to do my masters in graphic and interior design. I accepted the scholarship from the University of Hertfordshire in London, England to my parents' surprise. They expected me to go back East so at least I would be in the same country. But I had to get away, far away. I could tell Samira did not want me to leave. I saw it in her face when she overheard my parents and I talking about. I finally spoke to her.

            "I know we can't be together, but I still wanted you close. I can't imagine my life without you." "Well we can't just be friends can we?” I said. I could hear the anger in my voice. “I don't know about you but I cannot go back to pretending that nothing ever happened. I have to leave. Seeing you and not being able to love you hurts." I just walked away and left for England.

            I stayed with my uncle, my mother’s eldest brother. Apparently the two of them estranged. Why, well not surprisingly he was gay. So I stayed with him and his husband. They were kind enough to rent me a room for next to nothing. When I finished my masters I remained in England and stayed on. Over time I managed to land a more permanent job at Hinton Spencer after doing several contract jobs. I even managed to sell a lot of the shots I took. To my surprise the shots I took of Samira were a big hit. Years past and I became a British citizen. It was so much easier here without my family. I didn't have my mother's eyes lurking about the corner watching my every move. I got my own flat I kept up my photography on the side.

            In my living room I had put up one of the shots I had taken of Samira blown up onto a canvas. I never forgot her. I never could. I heard from my father not too long ago. Samira had left the church. She admitted to being "of the gay" and could no longer walk with the Lord. He told me his heart sank and as usual was praying for both of us. I just smiled and said nothing.

            I began dating again. I met a sweet girl by the name of Anna. She was originally from Germany and had settled down here. We hit it off and for a moment my memories of Samira faded away. I told her everything from my parents and even about Samira.

            "You've gone through a lot. I came out to my parents and they told me they already knew and didn't much care as long as I was happy." "Really? I never came out to my parents." "Well I can't blame you. I would not bother if I were you. I know some people in our community are so adamant on coming out to everyone and that is the only way to accept who you are. But in my personal opinion is doesn't matter. Just surround yourself with people who love you for who you are and people who respect you." "True."

            My relationship with Anna had become serious. A year had passed and she proposed to me. I told my parents. My father didn't respond. My mother lost it on Skype and told me she would never speak to me again and hoped that I would enjoy burning in Hell. Anne held my hand throughout the entire debacle.

 A week before the wedding and my dad wrote this to me:

Dear Mena,

Forget your mother. I love you. You have been such a blessing to me. I know I never told you this and I regret it. We have grown so apart over these years and I regret that it is my fault for not getting to know you. I can't and won't support your decision to marry Anne but that doesn’t mean I don't love you. I am here for you no matter what. I love you and I know despite my faith and my beliefs, I wish you and Anne all the best. God bless you both and don't stop talking to Jesus.

Your dad

            I handed the letter to Anna and cried. She wrapped her arms around me and kissed me passionately. I felt her tongue in my mouth and I took her to our bed. I lay on top of her overwhelming her with kisses. "I love you.” She said and kissed me. "I love you too." I replied. I reached over and turned the lights off but neither of us slept much that night.

            We got married. She shared her vows. I could not help but cry when she read them out to me. She wiped the tears from my eyes and kissed me. The judge stopped us with a wink. "Not yet ladies. Anne? Your turn." Everyone laughed. I read mine out nervously and I ended it with this note: "What we have is special and I hope with all my heart that we been together for the rest of our lives. No matter what anyone says we know that in our hearts what we have is just love, just pure simple love that two people have for one another." Everyone cheered and the judge with a smiled announced us gave us a light nod, “You can kiss your bride now.” We both laughed and kissed each together. I still cried but it was tears of joy. I finally knew that I had found love. Real love.