Silver palm waving hello, yellow and orange blast sky-high, a bomb…

*****

Bali – 2002

Starlight deep in dusty sidewalk, people call me God… but surprisingly for a boy, my real name is Joy, I say to the virgin standing on the other side of a severed leg, her eyes still shut tight.

Saltwater trickles down the back of my throat, breath fast from running, toes wiggling, cool sand stuck to bare feet.

Starlight bounces from my jet-black skin to her small brown face, Allah, she says. Underneath her eyelids, pupil-pencils circle in wonder, drawing the new world she expects to see. Blind, unable to blink, trapped, she stamps a foot, and another, forcing her eyes to pop open under raining starlight, huh… scanning left and right, up and down the street, what, I’m still in Bali… yeah, I know this street, but… I’m supposed to be in, ummm… p-paradise. Small hands slide down her new body, I’m… I’m wearing a DRESS, and I’m a… I’m a KID. The sweet new voice prickling inside her ears scratchy and confusing, I’m a GIRL, eyes narrow, two slits seeing me in the dark-light, AND… AND, ahhh, ummmmm… oh… you are Allah, head wobbling.

…Yes, I am.

Ahhhh… you look like, a kid.

Smiling, we look 10-years-old, or so, we are forever young, smiling ivory fresh, and… my real name is Joy, offering oasis palms to the shimmer above, and your name is, India.

Joy, huh… thoughts tumble, ahhhhhh that IS a surprising name, for a boy, puffing a breath, and another, gingerly looking down to stare at the severed leg, that’s, ohhhh… that’s…

Yes, India, that was your leg, the leg of an 18-year-old man sitting in a minivan with a bomb. You closed your eyes and flicked a switch.

Tough-truth floods her ears, snipping and snapping at the outside layer of her brain, penetrating and dissolving in sticky blood. Sucking a desperate breath, trying to cope… No, it’s too much. Her moist eyes lubricate eyelid-curtains dropping at the end of a performance.

Standing in silence, I wait.

…India.

Hey…

C’mon, wiggling my toes faster, look at your old, severed leg, hmmm, it’s bent at the knee, speaking half-breath, even in death, it looks like it’s trying to run, desperate for fun, maybe, leaning forward, yes, India… a leg in a big, BIG hurry… for something, drying sand falls from my feet.

Preparing a reply, gulping buckets of hot air, she winces, the pain of too much heat boiling in a small mouth silences her talk-muscle, the muscle with no bone, a tongue infected with nonsense.

India… ahhh… now you are blind, AND you can’t speak.

Trapped, stamping a foot, breathing in, trying to cool her lips, throat, lungs, thoughts swirling.

Now, choose light.

India… now.

Shaking, breathing out, tingling all over, her soul energy grabs the spine, pushing her body into the shape of a bow, her face arrowing to the sky, sharp in starburst brilliance, eyes flash open, OK… ok… accepting truth, ALLAH… Allah… I thought… I thought I was getting… 72 virgins in heaven.

Ahhh… a small smile on my lips, no no no India, that’s not how it works, now you ARE one, one of the virgins.