The Colors of Life
by Lillian Dearing ‘14
Dena kept her head down as she walked briskly through the crowded, drizzly streets of New York City. The day was finally here, the one that would change her life.
Her ring occasionally caught on her fringed, silk purse, which she kept close to her side. The money enclosed was what allowed her dream to prosper into reality, to find her sister, Rozene, at last. The sisters had been separated as their trip from India to America had come to an end. The cost of entering the city was more than they could afford, and Dena, being the older sister, forced Rozene to go on without her, she thought it would be safer for Rozene than their home in Kashmir. Rozene promised Dena she would save up the money to send her over as soon as she could, but finding a job, keeping rent, and buying food in an unknown city without a helping hand proved to be difficult.
The money Rozene promised never came. Over time Dena saved up enough on her own and was finally able to enter the rust covered gates of New York City. Yet after a few hours of wondering around, Dena found an Indian speaking man. “Please sir,” she said quickly in her native language, grabbing his arm. “Do you know where I can find work?” She was in luck as he was the owner of a small Laundromat that was in need of a manager. The man wanted to take time off of his business to help raise his newborn baby boy with his wife. He needed someone who could be trusted to run the shop while he was gone. He gave her a week to impress him and she proved she could do the job. Dena had always had the work ethic, even as a child she had to work hard to get any attention from her parents. Rozene was the younger, prettier sister with long silky black hair, large green eyes, and clear skin. She was the outgoing one, and everyone looked to her for advice, while Dena would waver in the background. Often men would request of their father Rozene’s hand in marriage.
The owner of the laundromat, Ashish, even allowed Dena to stay in the upstairs of the shop for a low rent. To Dena’s surprise her new living quarters were very clean. Ashish gave Dena their spare cot, and she lay out her red floral blanket on top, which reminded her of home. She had bought it for a low price in a market, as she had felt that the details matched her personality. She found the space comforting at night. There was a large skylight right above her cot. She would look up at the sky and wonder if Rozene was thinking of her.
Dena and Ashish became fast friends as they shared their stories of their lives in India. Ashish had also lived in Kashmir, years before, and left it, looking for a new, safer life for himself and his wife. They reminisced about the streets full of new clothing for sale, the music, and the many friends they saw every day until the war broke out and everything changed.
Once, when Dena brought up the story of Rozene and their trip to America, Ashish told Dena to never give up hope because she had a chance to find her sister again.
“There are these special kinds of agencies where their workers are able to find separated family members, but they charge a lot of money. The search can take years,” he explained. “I saw one on a television commercial in the store window next door.”
After hearing this Dena diligently saved up her money for several months. She didn’t care how long it would take to find Rozene. Dena just wanted to move in a forward direction, towards her sister.
And here she was, now almost jogging through the streets to the agency. Dena reached into her jean pocket and pulled out the directions Ashish had given her. They were smudged with blue ink now from the rain. She held herself back from yelling in exasperation. It was getting darker and Dena became very scared as she realized how lost she was. There wasn’t anyone that looked Indian, or even friendly. Dena swerved to the left of a tall building towards a dark alley. Ashish had warned her to stay in the street and to keep away from these side streets, but she had no other choice.
Dena began to sprint, but as she passed by an open doorway, a dark figure grabbed the handle of her purse and began ripping it away from Dena. Dena began to scream as loud as she could; her dream couldn’t be taken away from her now, not after everything she had done for that money. Roughly, her attacker clasped a hand over her mouth. She bit down hard on the figure’s hand. The person yelled in a very similar voice and let go. Dena grabbed the person’s arm from behind her and began to pull, but stopped as the cream colored gem caught her eye. The sisters had been given matching pearl rings at birth. It was Rozene! Dena stopped and frantically tried to tell Rozene. She came half way to hitting Dena, then stopped. Rozene stood for a moment and while the headlight of a passing car illuminated her face, Dena realized that she was no longer beautiful like in India. She showed many scars and bumps on her forehead and arms. The streets had not been good to her. Rozene wore a raggedy old black cloak. At home she would never have worn it; she always insisted on the latest fashions and brightest colors. Even her hair was a mess, cut short and shaggy. Who was this girl? What had happened to her?
Dena began to sob and attempted to put her arms around Rozene. Rozene pushed Dena away automatically. “Rozene?” was the last word she spoke to her once-other half before her head slammed into to the brick wall of the alley behind her. Blood seeped out of the wound on Dena’s head. Rozene bent down by her sister.
Rozene walked to the market with her head high. She had a new purse and ring.