Aban's Accension

Chapter 16: The Market

Chapter 16: THE MARKET

by Shireen Jeejeebhoy

“Let us go to the market,” El says to Aban from her bedroom doorway.

Aban opens her gluey eyes, seeing him with blurred edges. “Wha?” she mumbles.

“Let us go to the market. Come on Aban, get dressed, get ready quickly, for I am waiting.” And he’s gone.

Aban wonders if she was dreaming. She falls back asleep.

“Wake up Aban. Time for the market,” El barks from her  doorway.

She sits up startled, drawing air in sharply, her heart beating rapidly.

“It’s time for you to be ready,” he says and disappears, leaving her mouth open with her retort unsaid.

Glaring at the empty doorway, she stretches and scratches. She lets her body fall back down; the bed bounces softly to her weight. She had her day out already. It’s too hot to move; the heat is like a woolen blanket just out of boiling water, heavy and wet. Who can move? A crash smacks her awake. “All right, all right,” she mumbles. “I’m coming. What’s the rush anyway?”

Moving slowly, she pulls on her white T-shirt proclaiming “Everything is Possible” in purple letters then her camouflage army pants and sneakers. No socks. Maybe her feet won’t broil if she wears them with no socks. She should’ve taken Mom’s Birkenstocks. Why didn’t she?

Because you’re afraid.

“Oh, shut up,” she mumbles and lurches down the stairs to end up in front of El, who is standing by the front door.

“There you are,” El says, nodding. He strides out, leaving her to shut and lock the door. But she’s forgotten her keys and stumbles upstairs in the cloying heat to get them. Getting hotter, she attempts but fails to pick up her pace going back down to lock up. She totters to the sidewalk, veers towards the bus stop, and finds that he’s not there. She stops and unnoticing chokes on the textural air as through the sideways-dawn she looks down the street toward Lake Ontario then up toward the bridge and the Danforth. Aban spots him disappearing up the hill almost underneath the railway bridge. She stumble-runs after him. Sweat pops out on her face, soaks her back and under her arms, and makes her curls lank. “Why the hurry,” she mutters to herself, gasping on the dust and particles in the air. He could’ve waited.

“Why didn’t you wait?” she yells at him, her throat raspy.

“Why were you not ready?” he replies.

“I didn’t know we’re going to the market. You never said.”

“Why do I have to say for you to be ready?”

“What do you mean why? Talk English already.”

“I am. But you do not listen. Open your ears. Do not be like the well-off and complacent, those who see no troubles, who say ‘I’m alright Jack’ and so do not use their ears, do not use their eyes, hear only what they want to, see only what they want to but not what is in front of them.”

“I’m – ”

El picks up speed as if it's a cool, Spring day to be enjoyed, leaving Aban talking to nothing. She hesitates in shock, but her anger ripens, driving her legs forward. She catches up, barely. He hikes silently uphill, while she puffs noisily beside him. Finally, she has enough breath to retort, “You keep talking about hearing. But it’s not fair to wake me up at –. What time is it anyway? You’re not Mom, you know. I don’t hafta get up this early. On a Saturday too. I bet the birds aren’t awake neither, like, who would? No one! You keep talking about being ready. Well, I would’ve been if you’d told me.”