Vending Machines

“I made a mistake,” she said. Her mother’s eyes glistened with tears. “I made many mistakes. I’m sorry.” 

 

There’d been many times she apologized like that, but it was never genuine. She wasn’t apologizing for anything she did, but only that they thought she did it to hurt them. She didn’t. Baba still refused to look at her. He looked directly at the TV, focusing on the words of a news reporter, maybe a little too much. Earthquake in Punjab. No casualties.  

 

There weren’t many times Zoha Karim made her parents happy. Her GPA rested at 2.6, and she didn’t have many talents. Not visible ones, anyway. She lied about praying five times a day and hadn’t read the Holy Quran since ninth grade. On World Hijab Day at the masjid when asked to tell how she feels about the hijab, she announced her parents had forced it on her and left. She stopped wearing it after that. She ate like it didn’t matter what she looked like because it didn’t. It also didn’t matter what her parents said because it was her own money. She worked at Office Max and only spent money when she absolutely needed to. Eating junk from vending machines was her everyday lunch. 

 

She was saving up for a car. She got a driver’s license without telling her parents. Noah taught her how to drive, among other things. What “biscuits” are in the US and what pumpkin pie tastes like. She didn’t like it. Vending machines were tricky. Noah couldn’t keep from laughing the first time he saw her swiping the card over and over, getting no response from the machine. If she couldn’t hang out, it was mostly because she couldn’t sneak out. She hoped he wouldn’t get tired of her family’s bullshit; dating had always been messy for her because of her family, but it’d been seven months. He was still here.  

 

So when Ammi had softly held her hand and told her that they knew that she had been skipping Quran classes for more time at work, she gave her the news that her father was sending her back to Pakistan. Zoha knew arguing wouldn’t help. Honesty wouldn’t, either. She just needed to apologize and hope they’d believe it. But they were quiet. They’d made the decision. 

 

“She thinks everything is about money,” Baba said, ignoring Zoha’s presence. “I’ve told you, Zoha. I will pay for everything. You can depend on me.” 

 

But Zoha couldn’t. Depending on them meant giving away everything she wanted for herself. It meant marrying someone and returning to her “homeland” and raising children to standards she never agreed to. 

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“Pack up. Your flight’s tomorrow night. You’re living with your khala in Karachi.”  

 

*** 

 

She sat on the floor by her bed in silence except for the ticking of the clock. Her eyes burned with tears; Zoha hadn’t cried loudly for a long time. She was numb to her parents’ actions now, but not this.  

 

She’d spent three hours outside Baba’s locked door apologizing: “I’ll do better,” she'd said. “I want to live with you and Ammi. I want to study.” But nothing worked. It was almost as if her existence was sinful. Shameful. So she went upstairs and cried and packed her bags and cried until she couldn’t anymore. Zoha Karim lived two lives and the one that won over was the one she was forced to keep. 

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She heard Baba’s door unlock. Zoha walked out and watched him enter the living room, His face was unnerving. She felt his footsteps as he walked further. She wandered into the kitchen, avoiding his eyes.  

 

“I’m going for a walk,” she said, shakily. Her father did not respond. As she left for the main door, she saw her papers in Baba’s office. Her passport’s dull green color stood out behind the ticket information. She stood, motionless, wanting to destroy it. And then she left. 

 

She called Noah and told him what had happened. They talked for a bit, trying to find each other’s words. Noah felt useless. Zoha felt worthless. Nothing much passed between them but emotions.

 

“Can I see you?” He asked.  

 

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll text you when.” 

 

Walking back into the house, she felt anger building up. She held the door open a little too long, feeling the vulnerability in her skin pinch her like a thousand needles feeding on her all at once. Eyes were shut in pain. She clenched her fist. Her pinky nail bit into her palm making her bleed. She focused on her breathing, then the rumbling of her stomach. She hadn’t eaten all day. She looked down at her toes and noticed a cockroach sneaking in. She didn’t stop it. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she waited. It crawled in ahead of her, making its way to her father’s office. And then it was gone.  

 

*** 

 

Her bags weren’t organized. She had messily put her clothes in along with some other things: her laptop, twenty books from her bookshelf, a framed picture of herself and Noah. This was wrapped with many of her bras. Baba would never see it. Then the essentials. Toothbrush and toothpaste. The only shampoo she’d use because nothing else worked on her silky hair. Make-up, hair bands, hair clips. She tried to put in everything she owned.  

 

There were four hours left before they would head to the airport. She met Noah in the morning when everyone was asleep. Silence had struck them both. Then she stood, almost imbalanced. She could feel him staring at her. They said their goodbyes, and it was done.  

Her parents called her into the living room. She sat opposite of them, her knees next to her face. She looked at them hopelessly.  

 

“We love you,” Ammi said.

 

Baba added, “We’re doing this for you. Because we love you.”  

 

Zoha took her phone out of her pocket. She opened her bank account. Three thousand dollars. She needed nine hundred more for the used car she found at a dealership downtown.  

 

“I love you too,” Zoha responded, only looking at her mother. They smiled painfully. Her mother began to give her tips for the trip. Don’t leave your bags alone, even for the bathroom. Make sure you finish your snacks before going to the security checks or they’ll throw them away. Look out for the screens that update gate numbers and flight times so you can be ahead of any changes. Baba handed her papers to her. A Pakistani passport. Her U.S residency card, just in case she needed it, and her flight information―8 P.M. Gate C17.  

 

Zoha nodded to every word. She ordered an Uber on her phone. Ten minutes away.  

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“Baba, Ammi, I am ready. Please go get ready so we can go.”  

 

They walked into their bedroom. Ammi began to perform wudhu for Ishaa. Baba stood in his closet obliviously debating between two shirts. Zoha laughed to herself. So easy.  

 

She waited. Three more minutes. She fingered the edges of her green card, feeling the perimeters of it. She found herself fiddling with it, faster and faster. She couldn’t come back. Her last words would include: “Baba, Ammi, I am ready.” Her last “I love you” said only to her mother.  But there was no time to think. She stood up, quietly picked up her bags and walked out the front door. She looked back to her father’s office. The cockroach was dead. Baba had probably killed it. Then she glanced at her parents’ bedroom door. She hesitated, and then felt her feet take her away. 

 

*** 

 

“Hotel Raftel?”  

 

Zoha looked at the Uber driver. She had reached her destination. She nodded and picked up her bags. 

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“Thank you,” she said, and then she entered the hotel lobby. It was bigger than what she expected; the lobby was quiet, only a few guests holding their luggage by the sofas. On the right, she saw a vending machine. She was hungry.  

 

She walked towards it as she made a call on her phone. No time to waste. She waited for the call to go through and almost hung up, when she heard a firm, clear voice.  

 

“Brian Auto Sales. How may I help you?”  

 

She swiped her card for a coke. 

 

“Hi, I was calling to know about the 2006 Hyundai Azera listed on your website. Can I take a look at it?” 

 

“Of course. We’ll be open until six tomorrow.” 

 

She swiped again, frustrated over the lack of response. She stood blankly. 

 

“Hello?” the voice said. 

 

“Yes. Sorry. Yes. I’ll make sure to stop by. Thank you.” 

 

She hung up and slid her phone back in her pocket. She looked at her card. She wasn’t swiping it right. She started to feel her chest tighten, but  she remembered to breathe. She swiped again, hearing the beep loud and clear.  

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