Chapter 31: Do You Mall Here Often?

Rohit listened the heavy bass beat of "Staying Alive" as he walked into the Short Hills Mall. He knew without his cousin having said a word, that the two of them would would be dancing, flash mob dancing, for the rest of the afternoon. He further suspected that his mother had known this was Jairaj's plan hours before she suggested they leave for the afternoon.

Rohit shuffled through an excited crowd of girls wearing Irish step-dancing shoes -- all pointy toes and ribbons -- towards Mrs. Field's cookies. He bought two cookies and stacked them like an empty sandwich. Glaring at his cousin, he ate into both of them, hoping that Jairaj saw him NOT offer a cookie. Revenge is best served cold, and anger in small bites: Rohit began to cough loudly after inhaling a chocolate chip.

His eyes streaming with tears as he tried to clear his throat, Rohit sat on the edge of a fountain and stared glumly into the water streaming out of a clear globe. He looked at France, England, Thailand and wondered if there were flashmobs and difficult cousins in those places.

Yes, of course, he thought.

He stood and shuffled towards the crowd of dancers, nearly colliding with a girl whose long curly hair made her look like a Renaissance Madonna. The contrast with her Daisy Duke-style cutoffs, and two layered tank tops made her seem only prettier.  And then she looked at him.

"Rohit," she exclaimed, clutching his arm. "I didn't know you could dance." She turned to another girl who looked much like her. "This is Rohit, from my school.  Well, from middle school, I mean. Now he goes to Livingston Academy."

"Sophia," he said, grinning at her in spite of himself.  "Not much longer at Livingston Academy. I'm coming back to CHS in the fall."

She smiled, and Rohit felt as if the sun was shining on him, and on only him. 

"That's really good news," said Sophia. "So, do you dance? I didn't ever expect to you see at a dance mob."

"Sure, I dance," said Rohit. "And I'm not so bad at it." He looked around at the assembled dancers and then back at her.

She smiled and looked skeptical.

"No, really," said Rohit, moving slightly as two women in black started forming the group into lines. "I was raised on Bollywood and Indian weddings. Watch."

And Sophia watched as Rohit expertly spun on his heel and took the first steps of a practiced dance. She and her sister clapped as Jairaj, catching sight of his cousin, darted to Rohit's side and imitated him. Soon the two cousins were moving in unison, dancing to music only they could hear. 

CELEBRATE SOUTH ORANGE 2012!

CELEBRATE SOUTH ORANGE, 2012

THANKS, VOLUNTEERS!

Chapter 30: Flash!

Rohit followed Jairaj glumly to the bus stop. Without a word, he followed his cousin onto the #31 bus, refusing to sit when Jairaj took a seat and patted the empty space next to him. Up and down the hills that made South Mountain, through the S-curves of the Reservation, Rohit clutched a metal poll and swayed with the bus's motion.

It was hard, he thought, to put into words how badly he wanted his quiet life and quiet home back. He loved his grandparents, to be sure, but it was tedious to be silent in the evenings when they went to bed early, and to be quiet during their daytime rest periods. Even worse, thought Rohit, was the now inviolable practice of watching Jeopardy as a family. Shortly before the game show came on at 7 p.m., Rohit was expected to pass out ball point pens to the family, assembled in the den in their usual spots. The family played along with the show, and when they wanted to "buzz in" with an answer, along with the televised contestants, each was expected to click the ball point pen audibly.  The family wagered along with Alex, the show's host. At the end of each evening's game, Rohit's grandfather wrote the family members' scores in a notebook which was stored with the pens. Rohit dreaded the day that a friend might visit and need a piece of scrap paper. He imagined the friend pulling out the notebook and seeing names and numbers in his grandfather's angular script, and the inevitable explanations that would follow.

Jairaj roused Rohit from his thoughts with a nudge."We're there," he said, stepping down from the bus onto the parking deck of the Short Hills Mall.

Jairaj walked quickly to the glass doors leading into the mall's large open central plaza. Rohit followed, nearly colliding with his cousin, who paused to check his reflection in the doors. Peering around Jairaj, Rohit saw large groups of people in the mall, most dressed in red and black. He looked at Jairaj, who was wearing the same colors.

As they pulled open the doors, a burst of music almost overwhelmed Rohit. He heard the strains of "Going to the Go-Go," and saw a wave of movement from the people. He looked at Jairaj, who was moving in time to the music as they moved towards the group.

Jairaj bolted ahead, into the center of the group, raising his arms and dancing. Rohit was first horrified, wondering if the cousin obligation extended to pulling Jairaj from the grip of a...what?

"Is this a cult?" Rohit asked a passing security guard. "Like...a riot?"

"Dude," said the man. "It's a flashdance, you know, a flashmob. Get on your dancing shoes, buddy. We're about to do the twist."

Chapter 29: Across the Silk Road Street

(Thank you, Alaskans, for reading this. I can look at the stats now, and I see that many people in Alaska are following along. I appreciate it!)

Rohit looked at warily as his grandparents as they entered the back door of the house. He was wearing Pink Floyd pajama pants and an old t-shirt stained pinkish in the laundry, and was standing at the counter eating Cocoa Puffs.

"That is not a breakfast for a growing young man," scolded his grandfather before turning back to his grandmother to bicker in Hindi.

"Issues," said Rohit. "You two have issues."

His grandparents ignored him, as his grandfather reached for Best Buy catalog. Rohit nodded; his grandfather was addicted to gadgets and wanted everything money could buy that could be plugged in, charged, or remotely controlled.  His grandmother, more practical, worried that their suitcases would explode from overpacking on the way back home to India.

"Rohit,"said his mother coming from her basement studio. "Thank goodness.  Come."

He followed, carrying his cereal, as his mother beckoned him into the hallway and reached for her purse.

"You must take your cousin away," said his mother urgently. "I have the Artists Tour tomorrow, and my studio is not yet ready.  I need some peace and space today."

Rohit sighed extravagantly. "Me?" he asked. "Why me? Can't he be with Nana and Nanima today?"

"No," said his mother firmly. "They are going with Auntie Priya and Uncle Carlo to the Hayden Planetarium, and her car only seats 4."

Rohit knew an excuse when he heard one -- he was a teenager and spoke the language well -- but also sympathized with his mother. Peace, quiet, personal space.  All of this that Rohit took for granted in his three-person household had vanished when his relatives arrived. And his cousin, Jairaj, was the worst offender.

"Okay," he said. "I'll take him out."

His mother leaned forward to kiss Rohit on the cheek and handed him forty dollars.  "Jairaj will be ready to leave in thirty minutes," she said. "I'll drive you to the bus stop."

Rohit frowned. "Bus stop? Where are we going on a bus?"

"Oh," said his mother, no longer meeting his gaze. "There's something for Jairaj at the mall."

Rohit felt that he was being told only part of the truth, but he finished his cereal and nodded at his mother.

Chapter 28: Naomi Has Two Mamas

Naomi watched the kitten removal from the kitchen window, a cup of coffee clutched in her hand. She saw Jillian, the Kitten Tamer, put on gloves and capture the tiny kittens with a crabbing net. A small group of neighbors clustered around Jillian as she set up a large trap, for the mother cat, Naomi assumed. When Boris dashed into the kitchen for a can of tuna as bait, Naomi understood that she would be responsible for watching the trap until the mother cat was caught.

Naomi wondered why cats had to be taken away. She had heard a few nasty rustles behind the washing machine that suggested mice (or worse). But she thought about the mother cat's fate, to be trapped and neutered before being released again into the yard.

A sharp pang, almost a physical pain, went through Naomi's body, when she thought about the  mother cat. She, Naomi, longed for a family, for children, for the heaviness of pregnancy.  She wanted to know her own children in a way that her birthmother had never truly known Naomi.

Naomi looked in the mirrored surface of the toaster oven. "What would my kids call me?" she said aloud. "Mommy? Mom? Maybe mama?"

She turned when she heard a rustle behind her. Dylan, the six-year-old neighbor, had come silently into the kitchen.

"I'm supposed to get water for the cat," he said, holding out a bottle.

He met her eyes, which she knew was a small victory for Dylan.

"Do you have a mama?" he asked solemnly.

Naomi took the bottle from him and headed to the sink. "I do," she said finally. "I have two mamas, in fact, one who had me in her tummy and another who raised me."

"Where are they?" asked Dylan. "Are they in your house?"

"My birthmother is in China," said Naomi. "My mother who raised me is in Millburn."

Dylan looked puzzled then his face cleared. "Millburn is where we spend our coupons."

Naomi laughed in spite of herself. Millburn was higher-income community, with houses like palaces, bat mitzvahs like weddings, and cars like tanks.  Coupons and Millburn were rarely mentioned together.

She handed the bottle back to Dylan and patted him on the shoulder.

"Yes," she agreed. "Millburn is a good place for coupons."

The boy left the kitchen and Naomi smiled. The weight of her sadness lifted for a minute, and decided it was time to get Saturday started.

Chapter 27: Cole Wakes

When Cole woke at noon on Saturday, he yawned and stumbled downstairs to see Daisy barking, wagging her tail and circling Joe.  Next to Joe, crouched on the floor, was a tall woman with blond hair leaning over a cage.

Cole looked at his father with a growing realization that not only had his father taken a nest of kittens into the house, but his father was clearly smitten with the woman. Joe gazed at her, thought Cole in a way that resembled many of Cole's friends staring at girls in Physical Education classes in spring, the first time girls peeled away sweats to show long legs in outgrown shorts.

"Are these ours?" asked Cole. "Do we have a bunch of cats?"

Both his father and the woman turned to him. "Your father offered to foster them," said the woman. "That means you'll bathe them, feed them, show them the litter box, and generally socialize them."

"So we have a bunch of cats?" repeated Cole.

"It's temporary," said Joe, "and it will be great.  It will be a growth experience."

What the hell is he talking about, thought Cole, but he said nothing. He nodded and walked into the kitchen. He knew well that two was company, this particular three -- not counting the kittens -- was a crowd.

Chapter 26: The Kitten Tamer Cometh

Boris listened with his mouth open in amazement. The tall curly-haired woman in his backyard was speaking into her phone, as she dropped a backpack in the grass next to the nest of squirming kittens.

"It looks like a TNR," said the woman into the phone. "I have five kits, three tuxes, two ginger tabbies. Can you call ShelleyBell and tell her we need a trap and an appointment at PFP?  Thanks."

The woman put her phone into the pocket of her fleece jacket, and pulled on surgical gloves.

"You're the homeowner, right?" she said to Boris, the slight twang in her speech suggesting she wasn't a New Jersey native.

He nodded.

"Well, as you can see, we have a situation here," she told him. "A real situation.

When Boris heard Joe suggest that he call the Kitten Tamer to handle the brood of kittens next to the carriage house, his first thought was that Americans were too gullible to be trusted with their own destiny. Kitten Tamer? A specialist for kittens?  People pay for this?

But then he considered that maybe this is what people did in Orange Heights when they had kittens on the property. He didn't know any better. His instinct was to ignore them, but maybe they damage property, he thought. Could kittens infest the carriage house? Would that be a bad thing?

Finally, curiosity won.

"What's a Kitten Tamer?" he asked Joe.  "Is this an online thing?"

"She's a lady," said Dylan gravely. "She'll take the cats away and give them baths."

Again, Boris was struck by a wave of frugal cynicism, thinking of the 5 bathrooms in his house.

Joe rushed in to clarify. "She comes, traps the cats, and tames the kittens. Then she can find them homes. The mother cats are neutered and then released, so you don't have this again next year.  Or next month," he said.  "You know how they are."

Boris nodded knowledgeably.  "Do we need to get rid of cats?" he asked, trying to sound casual and philosophical. "Will they, ugh, burrow into the ground and weaken the foundation of the house?"

Even as he asked, Boris realized the question was absurd, and both Joe and Dylan laughed.

"These kittens?" asked Dylan, pointing at tiny squirming balls of fur.

"No," said Joe patiently. "But trapping them and finding them homes is the right thing to do. And it doesn't cost anything. She does it as a volunteer."

So just a while later, long enough for Boris to put on a t-shirt and warn Naomi, the Kitten Tamer arrived in a Subaru station wagon filled with boxes.

"By the way," she said, striding into the back yard, "I'm Jillian."

Boris introduced himself and wanted to introduce the neighbors now gathered to watch the action. He forgot -- if he had ever known -- their names so he looked helplessly at Joe.  But Joe was staring at Jillian as if he had never seen anyone as riveting as the tall woman now wearing purple surgical gloves.

Moonstruck, thought Boris, in broad Saturday sunshine. Lovestruck.

He turned to Dylan, who took the situation in hand. While Joe stared at Jillian and Boris watched Joe, Dylan recited the neighbors' names.

Jillian, the Kitten Tamer, nodded her thanks. "Okay, buddy," she said to Dylan. "Let's catch these kittens."