Stories By Chaya

“The protests are getting more aggressive here,” declared the reporter. The camera panned to crowds of people shouting and punching signs into the air. “They’re saying it’s time for national action. We need change. We need—”

“Hey, I was watching that!” Mala furrowed her brows. The news had pulled her to the edge of her seat and now, left with a black screen, she sunk back into the old, stained couch.

“And I can smell the wonderful dinner you promised getting a little overcooked. As in, about to burn.” Kayla shot back. She watched—waited—as her wife shrugged and returned to the kitchen. She felt her lips twitch into a smirk when Mala paused at the kitchen’s entrance. Of course this conversation wasn’t over.

“You should be more interested in what’s happening,” Mala said.

“No one is protesting in Shelby.” The words were out of Kayla’s mouth before she had a chance to check them.

“So why can’t we lead the movement here? This could be our chance to make a difference! Or are you happy being complicit?”

“No, of course I want to do something.” Kayla looked away. She could almost see their entire home from where she stood. Mountains of Mala’s favorite fantasy novels took up half of the small apartment. Not that Kayla minded, it was cozy. And while she sat still, worrying about her own comfort inside, there was real injustice out there. She was glad for her dark skin, knowing it’d hide the blush pushing at her cheeks. This was their chance to make a difference. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

She was trying to remember where they had stored their poster boards and colored markers when Mala’s cellphone started ringing. A brief, shared nod was all it took for Kayla to take over dinner.

Mala leaned against the kitchen counter as she answered with, “Oh, Sir. Most Esteemed Brother! You honor me with this call.”

Kayla giggled, which earned her an appreciative wink. She was still soothing her earlier embarrassment with that reward when she noticed Mala’s expression freeze.

“What?”

Hearing the tremor in her wife’s voice, Kayla stepped away from the boiling pot.

“Caleb, are you serious?”

Kayla thought she could make out the sounds of her brother-in-law confirming, though he didn’t get to finish. The phone clattered to the floor.

Kayla waited for Mala to pick back up the phone or explain what happened. Nothing. So she reached down—wary of the perfect stillness with which Mala stood—and brought the phone to her own ear.

“Caleb, it’s me, what’s wrong?”

Between shaky sniffles, he managed to tell her. The streets were crazy where they lived. People were rioting. His parents—Mala’s parents—had died in a car accident. As if the second coming of the news lifted some spell, Mala shuddered and drifted towards their bedroom.

Kayla wanted to follow immediately but the scent of smoke tickled her nose. She was supposed to be watching dinner. Luckily, nothing had caught on fire yet, but their food was ruined. She figured out logistics with Caleb as she cleaned the mess. After she hung up, she gripped the edges of the kitchen sink and let a few tears join the soapy water below. She rubbed away the evidence, from the pot and her face, and went to her wife.

She found Mala curled up on the bed. They laid together, with Mala’s tears pressed against her heart, for a while.

“We’ll leave tomorrow morning. Caleb has already started on preparations and everything since he lives so close to them. But we’ll be there tomorrow. Is that ok?”

A damp nod into her chest told Kayla enough. As she ran her fingers through Mala’s hair, she felt out of place. When was the last time she’d held Mala like this? Had she ever? From the day they met, Kayla’s life had been a series of outrageous stories written by Mala. She’d been nothing more than a free-rider on her wife’s adventures. Now that she was the one who needed to carry the load of their story—to be leaned on—what would become of her?

How ridiculous, Kayla thought as Mala subsided into sleep against her. All she had to do was drive a car tomorrow. She should be thinking about her wife. Not herself. Years into this relationship and she was still as selfish as she’d been before they met.

***

The first time Kayla saw Mala, it’d been akin to watching fireworks explode indoors. Not just because Mala came flying into a frat party through an open, second-story window on a dare. Or because she’d been laughing hard enough to drown out the music. Not even because her hair had been a flowing rainbow of color and her many piercings reflected the party lights like a constellation. No, it was the moment when they made eye contact and shared one, prophetic smile before Mala was swept away by drunk friends and frenzied fans.

Later, at the same party, Kayla had been enjoying the nighttime breeze on the frat house’s porch when two boys came stumbling outside. One of them had a hand over his face. They were small, probably freshmen. Behind them followed two of the frat’s football players who were laughing like this was about to be the world’s most entertaining show.

Kayla looked around but it was just her and the four guys on the lawn. One of the boys caught her eyes with a pleading look. She knew whatever was about to happen was going to get ugly. She rose from her seat, training her eyes on the ground, and headed back inside. She had almost made it past the threshold when she saw the flash of a rainbow pass her by.

Against her better judgement, she raised her gaze. It was Mala, charging onto the lawn like a missile. Kayla was almost glad when the crowd flowing outside pushed her closer to the scene.

“Leave them alone.” Mala, despite being a head shorter than both of the football players, seemed to be looking down.

“What’re you going to do, little girl?” chuckled the biggest man. “Are you one of them? I can tell. Those piercings and that colored hair give you away. It’s unnatural, all of you.”

Another homophobic bastard, Kayla thought. She’d met enough of them for a lifetime. She’d been raised by a family of them. She’d imagined, more times than she could count, what it’d be like to be on the receiving end of such hatred. As her fingers tugged at the ends of her long, dark hair, she dropped her gaze again and remained indistinguishable from the crowd.

The sharp sound of glass shattering drew Kayla’s eyes back to the standoff. Mala was now brandishing a broken vodka bottle like a sword. She was dwarfed by the men in the front of her, yet she made them step back.

“I said, leave them alone.”

The jocks put their hands up, proclaiming she was lame and that they were bored of this anyways. The drunk crowd laughed along and soon enough music resumed blasting inside the house.

After the lawn had emptied, Kayla noticed there was a bruise blossoming where one of the boys had been holding his face. Only Mala remained by him and his lover, whispering something.

“Hey, do you… Do you need any help?” Kayla didn’t know what drove her to approach. She might as well have screamed she was gay too.

“I’m alright.” Mala grinned and the boy who’d been bruised winced as she patted his cheek. “So are these two. They’re heroes to show off their love, right guys?”

The boys nodded. Whatever Mala had said to them gave them the confidence to stand tall. They held each other’s hands and walked off on their own.

“Oh, ok.” Kayla waved awkwardly.

“Bye, beautiful.” Mala winked and rejoined the party with vigor.

Kayla, left behind, stared at that swishing, rainbow hair. At that woman who had burned bright and long enough for a single, sobering thought to penetrate her drunk mind:

“I love her.”

***

Of course, Kayla had no idea what love was back then. As she lay awake with Mala stirring in her arms, she wasn’t sure she could define it. Maybe it was what kept her tied to Mala even though she was frightened by almost everywhere this relationship had led her. Maybe it was the reason every muffled cry Mala was making hurt her like a stab to the gut. As Mala jumped in her arms with a final shout, Kayla thought love might just be the culmination of every horrible feeling in the world.

“Nightmare?” she asked as she rubbed her wife’s back.

“I can’t stop imagining it.” Mala’s voice was a croak and she didn’t try speaking again.

Kayla busied herself with getting water and, remembering they never ate dinner, brought over a couple breakfast bars as well. No amount of nourishment seemed to help. Mala remained silent—not a word about parents or protests or anything.

The violet tinges of dawn were peeking through their bedroom blinds. A glance at the clock told Kayla it was 5:00 a.m., which meant there was no point in trying to get more sleep. Mala seemed to agree as she mechanically made her way to the bathroom.

Packing was a simple ordeal. Kayla did it for the both of them. Noticing Mala had already donned a black dress after showering, she packed one color. As she was sifting through a hallway closet for their travel pillows, a few old poster boards fell out from the top shelf. She stuffed them back inside without a second glance. She took a quick shower as well and chugged some coffee—hoping it’d give her enough energy for the long drive ahead.

As they were loading the car, the skies darkened and it began to drizzle. It was chillier with the threat of a downpour but neither of them commented on it. Kayla shivered as she took the last bag and watched Mala’s back recede into the passenger seat. The suitcase slipped from her grip.

“Damn it,” she hissed as she tried to rub off the wet gravel. She looked up to check if Mala had seen, but her wife hadn’t turned around. She couldn’t shake the feeling Mala was drifting away, like a ship sailing into the horizon of a sunset. Further and further it would go, until it vanished. No matter how well she drove this car today, she wouldn’t catch the ship. As the thought occurred to Kayla—that she’d need to do more than drive to help her wife—she remembered how good she’d always been at finding Mala.

***

It’d taken Kayla a full week to track down the mysterious woman from the frat party. Finally, a senior in her humanities class said they had seen a girl with long, colorful hair at the south dorm dining hall. Kayla took off at a run.

She was still trying to catch her breath when she rounded the block to the dorm. She was hit with a thrilling rush of joy, equivalent to what she’d felt at the party, when she saw the familiar rainbow mane, swishing outside the dorm’s front doors. She stopped short when she saw someone else’s fingers wrapped in that hair. Not just someone else. A man.

Because she needed to be sure, Kayla crossed to the other side of the couple. She couldn’t even feel embarrassed for staring when she recognized the woman’s face.

Mala’s eyes opened and, like at the party, their gazes locked. She broke off the kiss and whispered something to the man. He laughed and walked away, looking too proud of himself.

Kayla cursed herself. There’d be no escaping now as Mala walked towards her. And she couldn’t think of a single excuse for why she’d been standing there panting and sweating and creeping on the obviously private moment.

“Hello, beautiful, I think I remember you from the other night.”

Kayla pulled at the frizzy ends of her hair. She didn’t feel beautiful at all right now.

“What’s up?” Mala cocked her head. “Have you come here to confess your undying love to me?”

Kayla felt her cheeks heat so quickly she was sure even her dark skin had changed color.

“Oh my goodness, I was joking.” Mala read everything written on her face. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Well, points for having the gall to come here. But I have to reject you.”

Somewhere, somehow, Kayla found her voice. “Because you like men?”

Mala grinned. “Because I like heroes and you, well, you scream closeted lesbian who’s probably not out to her family. I’m not in the business of handling a kid who latches on to the first thing she’s found remotely colorful in her dreary life.”

The moment Kayla took to digest the attack seemed to be all the confirmation Mala needed. She turned to go, her chin held high with the confidence she’d guessed right. All it did, though, was pull something new out of Kayla.

“And I’d normally say that someone with as much baggage as you wouldn’t be worth the trouble either. Was it an ex in the closet who hurt you bad enough that you’re stereotyping us all? Don’t worry, your past won’t scare me away.”

From Mala’s gaping expression, Kayla felt confident she’d guessed right too. They both stood there, having dueled it out with their darkest cards. Kayla’s heart raced harder than it had when she was running to this moment. She couldn’t believe she’d said that to someone as intimidating as Mala. This—the dizzying rush of change—was what kept drawing her back to the woman before her. Maybe Mala was right and she was latching on to the first colorful thing she’d found her whole life. But what was wrong with that? If only to soak up the feeling, she remained rooted on the spot.

Finally, Mala coughed out a chuckle. There was a manic light in her eyes when she said, “I’ll see you around.”

***

It’d been so easy to follow Mala’s lead in the standoff outside the south dorm and in every moment since. But now, as Kayla drove in silence alongside her wife, she was lost. The relationship she had with her own parents had been strained for so long she barely felt those bonds anymore. What would it feel like to lose two, beloved parents? She spared a glance at the passenger seat.

Mala’s lips were still a hard line and her gaze was locked to the window like a taut thread held it there. Her hands were clamped tightly over the black dress spilling down her lap. Gray and green lumps were blurred by rain outside. Within this car and driving along this highway, there were no signs of protest, no colors of marches, and no calls to action. There was nothing but the two of them, heading deeper into a storm.

“Shit,” Kayla said when the judgmental honk of another driver forced her eyes back to the road. In this weather—in any weather—how could she be so careless?

Again, Mala made no comment.

Kayla had never seen that precious face so empty of emotion. What could she do to help? She was the person who looked away when gay freshmen were bullied. While she sat here doing the bare minimum—struggling to drive—the love of her life was still aboard that boat, drifting further away. What did she know of bravery?

***

“Why are you so obsessed with heroes?” Kayla asked one afternoon, poking Mala with a toe. The university library’s couch boasted too many springs for its cushion value and one spring in particular was jutting into Kayla’s hip. She didn’t move. With her legs intertwined with Mala’s and their noses stuffed in books, she couldn’t have been more comfortable.

Between schoolwork and her part time job, Kayla had used every spare moment she earned to learn more about Mala. They weren’t dating but, after their duel in front of the south dorm, she was holding out hope. With each recommended book she read or each movie they watched, Kayla was piecing together what it would take to win a real relationship.

“They’re inspiring,” Mala said, utterly serious, as she looked up from her novel about a pirate prince Robin Hood who spent most of the book shirtless.

“But, why? They’re all over-confident men trying to save damsels in distress.”

“Oh, my little pupil, too narrow.” Mala made a show of shaking her head. “A hero is someone driven to bravery by a sense of justice. Of love.”

Kayla assumed a person like that, in real life, would look like Mala. She, in contrast, could count all the brave things she’d done on one hand. And all of them happened after the frat party where they met.

But the soft rub of Mala’s legs soothed Kayla. As she tentatively played with the ends of Mala’s hair, she thought of how it was almost winter break. They’d both be going home for the holidays. Home. If there was ever a place she felt least like a hero, it would be there. Where she could only be a sliver of herself. But do I have to be? Kayla wondered. The thought felt scarier than the naval warfare in Mala’s pirate prince novel, but Kayla took a deep breath and continued thinking it.

***

Now, Kayla faced a single ship. The one dragging her wife away. While she was fully aware this dramatic diagnosis stemmed from living around Mala’s fantasy fixation, she still thought it was a fitting metaphor. Especially as Mala remained silent, surrendering every grain of focus to the storm worsening outside.

Kayla raised a hand to tug the ends of her hair. It wasn’t frizzy anymore. Since meeting Mala, she’d started cropping her hair shorter. She’d stopped combing her curls to submission. And she felt the soft touch of her own, beautiful hair, she realized it didn’t matter if she’d been following Mala’s lead all these years. Even if she’d been the author of their story, she’d still choose their tiny apartment, the marches outside her comfort zone, and the evergreen feeling of wanting to stretch herself. To make Mala feel even slightly better, she’d force herself to do more than drive. She’d be a hero.

But how? She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She tried turning on the radio. The local news station was covering this region’s protests.

Before she could so much as look at Mala again, the radio turned off. From the corner of her eye she saw a hand receding from the button. Her hope slid away like the droplets running down the windows. She tightened her grip on the wheel.

One lane change later, Kayla peeked at Mala again, desperate for a hint. Mala was still staring out the window. Of course! For someone who entered parties through second story windows and broke bottles in a fight, only something as dramatic as feeling a storm would alleviate the dark pain of death and loss.

Kayla knew Mala would never ask to open the window. They were on the highway and, after what had happened, they of all people knew to be careful on the road. But Mala needed her, Kayla could tell, and she wanted to act. Now. Brandishing her decision like Mala had wielded the broken bottle the first night they met, she lowered the windows.

Rushing wind and rain attacked. Kayla gritted her teeth. She would hold out until Mala was ready to close the windows herself. She had enough to focus on while keeping her eyes clear of her whipping bangs and pelting rain.

When the windows finally squeaked shut, she glanced at Mala again. Every thought of her own discomfort vanished.

Mala’s eyes had life. There was a flicker of a smile playing at her lips. Those long lashes fluttered as she drank in what was around her. There was color in her cheeks. Mala was still aboard that ship, as Kayla expected given the agony she carried, but, at least for the time being, the ship had been anchored.

Kayla allowed a grin to melt her numb face as she remembered. This was how it had felt to speak to Mala at the frat party. To duel Mala in front of the south dorm. This was how it had felt when she’d earned Mala’s love. She might not be ready to lead a protest yet, but she could act on her own. She’d been growing since the day Mala exploded into her world.

***

Kayla stood with a finger lingering over the doorbell. She was shivering on a suburban porch. Not even the winter air could stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks. The suitcase zippers at her feet were rattling from how hard she was shaking. She was a mess, but she’d done it. And she would finish it. She rang the doorbell.

Mala opened the door with the same energy she used in everything else she did. Her jaw went slack when she took in Kayla standing there with cropped hair and tear-stained cheeks.

“I told them.” Kayla swallowed, trying to sound as strong as she was supposed to be. “I came out to my parents and they kicked me out. It’s nothing I didn’t expect but—”

“Is that the famous Kayla we’ve been hearing about?” called Caleb from somewhere inside the house.

“Oh, my, invite her in Mal, it’s freezing out there!” shouted Mala’s mother. Her father was there too. His laughter joined his family’s.

Mala nodded, more to herself, and stepped aside. Her eyes were wider than Kayla had ever seen.

So focused on those big eyes, Kayla didn’t step inside. Not yet. Her fingers curled over her suitcase handle and she said, “I didn’t come out for you.”

“No?” The edges of Mala’s eyes crinkled.

“No, but you made me wonder if I could do it. If…if I could be a hero too.”

“I think,” Mala whispered, “you are.”

“Yeah…I feel like it. Battered and bloodied.”

“And?”

Kayla grinned. “Brave.”