the habit of being

I watched the mendhi artist crounched down on the floor in her sari, going so fast with her brown hands on the Bride’s white feet. I answered people’s questions so she could keep on working. (I knew things because I wanted to do it myself once. I’d had a plan for a summer job at least, and had a kit shipped to me from India.) She told me her back hurt and that she’d been decorating brides the night before their weddings for 14 years.

I chipped the dried henna paste off of my hand with a butter knife at 6 am, then crawled back into M.’s bed and didn’t sleep enough. I dreamt I was a crazy heroin addict, walking around barefoot in wet green grass in the dark, disoriented and confused. I woke up anxious and cried over coffee. We’d overslept. I put my new pink dress back on and my bangles and my heels which I never wear because I’m so tall already.

I dried my tears in a Peruvian hand-made scarf I bought from my friend A. after we got back from the Mendhi Night. I went through the big duffle bags of soft fuzzy colors and she told me which ones were most fragile and which ones looked good on me and how long they took to make. She’d worked on an organic farm in Peru for a month and got them from a Lady there who made them without even a loom. I picked a deep red.

A. walked around her apartment naked and couldn’t find her lighter so we couldn’t smoke weed, but we watched Pirates of the Carribean and drank green tea. She fell asleep on the floor and I snuck out at 2 and went to the bar where M. was doing his reggae night and got a gin and tonic.

M.’s drunk best friend said “happy belated birthday, ma’am” and asked me what it was like to be 21 and Old. I cried about it when we got home at 3:30 and M. said “don’t cry,” because he was happy I was there and that I was with him. Then he fell asleep. I kept crying a little longer and looked out the open 7th floor window and I had the breeze on me and then had that awful dream where I was sick.

In the morning, my mother called and said she was getting ingredients for a lemon meringue pie and asked, “How was the party?” I said fun and good food and I got one hand painted and a billion bangles and it took an hour and a half to do the Bride. I didn’t tell her about A. being naked or M.’s friend asking me what it was like to be 21 when he really meant what’s it like to be 21 and sleeping with his friend, who is 38.

Today, I’m going to an Indian wedding.