Karma for Beginners (16 page)

Colin is an adult, but now he's the one on puppet strings. Not me. I'm pulling them. For the first time in my life. He finishes and melts into the sheets. “Didn't I tell you it was amazing? Was I right?” he says.

“Totally,” I say, and smile.

. . .

Hold your learning in the innermost chamber of your heart, where nothing but the Divine can enter.

I've seen Avinashi a few times since that day at the Amrit; she just sits and sucks her braid and watches while I eat or get a cushion for the Program. She doesn't try to talk to me. Sanjit's gotten string-bean tall in the last couple months, his Adam's apple showing. Meer still hasn't hit puberty, and across the cafeteria I can see him get more puffed-up and hostile each day that goes by without a growth spurt.

I'm scraping the remains of breakfast into the compost bin, the world warmly blurred by this morning's wake-and-bake, when Sanjit and Meer come up to me. I put one hand in my pocket on the little bag of weed that Colin gave me, paranoid it'll fall out. My jeans are tight enough that it's not really realistic, but I want to be sure.

I've never had an interaction with someone who didn't know that I was stoned. Colin always pays the pizza guy; not me. Everything inside is so intense I can't see myself from outside; I don't remember how I'm supposed to act.

“Hi,” I say to them, just standing there. I'm sure my eyes are red. “Hey,” Sanjit says. “We had a question.” Meer looks up from under his eyebrows, like a bodyguard.

“Yeah?” I scrape tofu-scramble off my plate. It seems to take forever to get the little bits from my fork to the bin. They tangle with tamari and sprouts, clump together.

It's sort of fascinating. “Where are you always going in that van?” My head snaps up and I completely forget about the tofu bits. It's like someone changed the channel in my brain. “What are you talking about?” I look straight ahead. “That van. The red one. We've seen you drive around in it. And a couple months ago it dropped you off at main entrance once.”

“Late,” Meer says.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit. I knew I'd have to make up a story eventually, but I was expecting it to be for Devanand. I know how to talk to him, at least sort of; these kids are an unknown variable. My thoughts whir. They're staring and I'm starting to sweat, and I have to steer the ship, even if I steer it wrong.

Finally I say, “It's
seva
.”

“Huh?” Sanjit says, highly skeptical.

“I know, it's weird, right?” I scramble. “But the Guru has me doing special
seva
errands for the kitchen up at Guru's quarters.”

“At night?” Meer asks.

“Yeah, sometimes even at night. You'd be amazed when he gets hungry. He eats so much!” I laugh. “Sometimes he wants junk food. Cheez-Its are his favorite. Usually, he'd send a kitchen
sevite
, but my mom's important up at Guru's quarters, so—” I drop the end off the sentence, like they should know what that means. It means I'm special. And that I get to do what I want. And that they shouldn't question me.

“Wow,” Meer says, impressed.

“Cool,” Sanjit says.

“Yeah,” I say, and turn to walk away.

That mostly sobered me up, but I still need to be alone until the wake-and-bake wears all the way off. Problem is, when I get back to the room my mom is there. And not only is she there, she's wearing my Walkman. Not only is she wearing my Walkman, she's listening to my tapes. Holy shit.

I keep Green Tea Experience wrapped up separate, but she was in my stuff, so there's no guarantee she didn't see it. I scan the bed, breath high in my throat. “Pretty in Pink,” “Upstairs At Eric's,” “Modern English,” “Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me.” By some miracle, Green Tea's not there. Thank god. It's enough to make me believe in the sublime intelligence of the universe.

But then I get closer, and I see what she's got in the Walkman. It's worse. It's worse than if she found my dad's tape. She's got the mix tape that Colin made for me last week, the one with
Sweet Emotion
and
Heart of Gold
and
Kiss Off
by the Violent Femmes. Every single song that's ever been a part of our relationship is on that tape. And my mom is listening to it. My entire life could come crashing down right now.

I don't worry whether she'll be able to tell I'm stoned. I have larger concerns. “What the hell are you doing?”

She pulls off the headphones. “Well, this is a very nice collection of music, Tessa.”

“Yeah. It's mine,” I say.

“Did someone make this for you? It's not your handwriting on the label.” Thank god I hid the case; it says
Love, Colin
.

“No.”

“Well, is that your handwriting?”

“Yeah.” It's obviously not, but what's she going to say?

“What, your handwriting changed?”

“Yeah.”

She sighs and puts the headphones back on.

“What are you
doing
?” I can't stand that she is listening to it. “That's
mine
!”

She puts her fake-serene smiley face on, trying to prove a point. “Oh, yeah? Who bought this Walkman for you?”

“
I did!
”

“Oh.” There's a pause while she figures out her strategy. “Well, I'm your mother, Tessa. And I have the right to know what you're listening to.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm your
mother
. I don't need another reason.”

It's such bullshit. She spends her entire life trying to get away from me so she can have her adventures and pretend she doesn't have a kid, and then she suddenly pulls this “mom” crap. She's never even here. “That's bullshit, Mom. You're never even here!”

She's stung, but then she comes up with an excuse. She always does. “Tessa, when I'm not here I'm at work. Doing
seva
and spiritual practice, just like a job. That doesn't change the fact that I'm your mother. I'm allowed to know what music you're listening to.”

“Why do you even
care
?” I yell. The calmer she acts, the madder it makes me. And the madder it makes me, the calmer she acts.

Her voice stays steady. “It's important for me to check in sometimes.” Like she's some kind of responsible mom.

She is so self-satisfied I can't believe it. So convinced she's totally right, even though she is completely wrong. And she is so close to my most important and most secret things. The thought of just the cells from her skin on Colin's tape makes me furious. My palms throb; I want to throw her stuff across the room. I want to run out of this place and slam the door. I want to reach down and rip my Walkman off her.

She looks at me beatifically. I glare at her, exhale hard like a bull snorting, then turn and leave her sitting on the bed. I swear two things: One, I am finding that journal of hers and seeing how
she
feels when I dig through her private stuff. And two, I am hiding everything that means anything to me from this day forward. So deep that she can never find it.

After an afternoon with Colin I feel better, even though we had to go to Burger King with Clint and Bennett in the Spacemobile, which meant an hour-and-a-half discussion of Emerson, Lake & Palmer's 1978 tour. Afterward, though, we went back to Colin's van and had sex. When we were done, Colin went to find his T-shirt in the back, and I put on the eye shadow I appropriated from my mom. In the rearview mirror I looked just like a girl in someone's music video: not just pretty. Hot.

Colin and I are in love. We haven't said it, but he keeps saying things like
I care about you
and
I like you so much
that are almost like
love
. And he signed the mix, “
Love, Colin
.” And anyway, I know it's true. My mom always said when it's love you just
know
, with every fiber of your being; it just takes you over, changes everything, and you don't have to think about it at all. I was always confused because she used to say she was completely and utterly in love with my dad, but when he visited they would scream at each other during
Sesame Street
and she would throw things at him, and now she says he's dead to us. I never really got how that could be love. She said it was mysterious.

Now I have my own love, and it is better than hers. It takes me over, every fiber of my being, and I
know,
just like she said; but Colin and I don't scream or throw things, ever. We've never even had a fight. It's sort of amazing that I'm only fifteen and I already know how to be in love better than my mom.

When Colin drops me off by Atma Lakshmi, I sway my hips walking down the path. He whistles out the window; I laugh and shake my hair, long enough to swing between my shoulder blades.

On my way into the lobby, Ninyassa grabs my arm and stops me. My heart bangs. “Um, Tessa? Could you come over here a minute? I'd like to have a word with you.” Shit. She takes me behind the front desk, past the flower arrangements into a little office. Pictures of the beard guy, files, wood paneling, desk. “Sorry to take up your time. I, ah, just wondered if I could speak with you.”

“Sure.”

“I'd like to tell you something.”

“Okay.”

“Well, there have—there have been some complaints.”

“O-
kay
,” I say, like,
Go on
. She doesn't. “What kind of complaints?”

She makes a face like something smells. “Well, Tessa. I assume you may have heard of the Guru's recent decrees regarding relations between men and women?”

I am not giving her any more information than whatever she already has. “Um, sort of?”

“Okay. Well, the Guru has given us some . . . shall we say,
parameters
. For example, I assume you've noticed men and women sit separately at programs now.”

“Yeah?”
“These parameters are meant to deepen our practice.”
“Yeah?”

“And—”

“Yes?” My face is hot.

“Well, it's come to my attention that you've become, shall we say, sort of a
distraction
. Which, given the new decrees from the Guru, has made
sadhana
a little more difficult for some of our devotees.”

Wait. What is she talking about? “What do you mean?”

“Well.” She nods down to my sweater, which I stole from my mom. It's thin purple wool and fits me perfectly. I like the way it makes my boobs look. “For example.”

“What, my sweater?”

“Well, and those jeans are quite tight.”

I don't say anything.

“And the makeup.”

I'm wearing blue eye shadow and frosty pink lipstick. My mom doesn't use makeup anymore, so she never notices when I steal hers. Today I wore mascara for the first time. Mascara is amazing.

“There have been complaints that it's disrupting focus for—some of the men.”

“Wow.” I don't know what to say.

“Yes.” She just looks at me.

“So,” she starts again, “it would be appreciated if you would exercise more modesty. Particularly as there is a festival beginning in a few days, and devotees will be arriving from around the country.”

“Well, I don't—”

She interrupts. “The Guru would appreciate it.” She looks at me with raised eyebrows and a stern mouth. I'm not going to get anywhere by arguing.

I walk through Main Building toward the Amrit, face burning. First of all, how dare Ninyassa tell me what to wear? Second of all, these stupid goddamn assholes gossiped and complained behind my back, like I did something wrong, when all I did was wear my clothes. But third: I “distracted” grown-up men who I don't even

know. Hot shame mixes with a flush of power, and I feel small and dirty, proud and strong, all at exactly the same time. At the Amrit register, the pimply cashier stares at me too long; I blush. My body feels somehow too obvious, announcing itself even through the wool of my sweater and the denim of my jeans.

The next morning, the beard guy's in solitary meditation preparing for the festival, so my mom and Vrishti aren't up there cooking, which means I have to eat with them. Today we're having tofu steaks for breakfast. I don't really see how it can be steak if it's tofu, but whatever. I don't look at my mom; I don't want to talk about my goddamn mix tape that she ruined for me, or anything else. She doesn't talk to me either. Vrishti is glowing.

“Guhahita,” she says meaningfully, and squeezes my mom's hand.

My mom looks up from her tofu steak.

“I—I have to tell you something.”

My mom tilts her head like a curious dog. “What is it, Vrishti?”

Vrishti's breathless. She lowers her voice to almost a whisper. “Okay, you can't tell anyone I told you this.” She looks at me. “You too.”

“Okay.”

Vrishti turns back to my mom. “I'm supposed to keep it secret. But—I have to share. But swear it. You won't tell.”

Christ, they're sounding like popular girls again.

“I swear,” my mom says, leaning in, eager. “What is it?”

“The Guru—has asked for a companion.”

My mom suddenly gets very still.

“And they've been evaluating several candidates—”

My mom gets even stiller.

“And apparently I'm in the final round.”

“Wow,” my mom says carefully. “What kind of companion are they talking about?”

“Well, I mean, nothing
non-yogic
, of course.” Vrishti rushes on like white water, oblivious to my mom's stick-straight spine. “It would be within the laws of celibacy. But, you know,
companionship
. Be in his presence, assist with things, you know. That kind of stuff.”

“Wow,” my mom says again. “And you're in the final round, huh?” There's a hint of an edge in her voice, but not mean or sharp; more like she knows something that Vrishti doesn't.

“Yes.” Vrishti beams. “Isn't it amazing? I mean, I don't know what kind of karma I must have to be in this position. I just feel so
blessed
. God, it feels so good to tell someone.”