Short Story Contest 2020 — Incoming Student Winner
Tasneem Bint Abdul Majid
Blame Game
“I am the girl who loves scratching a life on a glass; reviving a soul within a canvas and defining my knowledge upon the chapters of practical experimentation that each year becomes an adventure in the summer of…”
In this moment of unwavering gaze, I noticed the sun rise in a disseminated circle with its vibrant backdrop upon the cosmopolitan area of Jumeirah Beach Residence; I noticed the clouds disperse with an intricate semblance in their formation. And I noticed the crystal clear dew-drops on my airy hands — which now covered with gloves — I subtly outstretched from the confined boundaries of the ‘Four-wall brick window.’ Gradually, with the increasing moisture of the day decreased the intensity of the rays of light piercing in with a sense of mystic abandonment. The fading rays of brightness again began to cast shadows of the objects in the semi-furnished room. And within a fraction of a second, a hypodermic of adrenaline pierced my heart enclosing the trachea and disclosing the strain to inflate my lungs with air. I was handed over the package for today and asked to change my mask and sanitize my hands. I could feel my mind being pushed to blackness once again as my recently developed agoraphobia escalated with the spread of the coronavirus pandemic.
There was silent consternation, perhaps a flash that protected me from the protracted pain of ambivalence yet wholesomeness. I recalled the conciliatory gestures of my Mom early that Sunday morning, exactly two weeks ago, and 45 minutes past the hour: “ What have you done to our child– the flower of our eyes! You plucked her herself! Couldn’t you bear watching her raven blue eyes and the wilderness in her innocence? Couldn’t you bear her charmed fate against your ill omen– couldn’t you do so?”
And with these distilling thoughts in mind about the venture of 2020, began my adventure of summer 2020, wherein I was plunged out of the funeral rites of my beloved sister, who was once and is still the flower of my eye.
I watched the concrete walls of my room yet again– yes, ‘my room’– The best room and the darkest room too, only to realize myself forcibly restricted freedom for being convicted of a crime.
But wherefore am I held here? What have I done? And for how many accusations am I blamed?
There are questions in my mind that to solve is the greatest adventure of the summer of 2020. Questions that question a person’s morbid curiosity of creation and experimentation, and questions that define my adventure from ‘Jumeirah Beach Residence’ to the ‘Jumeirah Detention Center’.
Gone are the days when my Mom was thrilled at my exhilarating expeditions of the amalgamation of Arab and Western culture. Gone are the days when I was praised for planning the adventures for summer. Gone are the days when I was acknowledged for my talent; for my ability to merge the layers of science and rationality. Indeed, life apart has slandered all odds and evens; one’s and two’s and successes that we had just begun to cherish. And here begins the story of the “summer of 2020” — the story of my engineering experimentation and the journey to the boundaries of the four walls…
I applied to the top-notch Universities of Canada in the winter of 2019 and by the beginning of 2020, I was accepted in all the educational institutes that I had always dreamt of. Everything felt simply perfect with the new opportunities flourishing each day. And I could feel my passion for experimentation increase, but it was not until I filled the McMaster Engineering Scholarship application and answered the question “Tell us about your BIG IDEA to solve a real-world problem” that I began working on my life’s most unprecedented project of ‘Robot Sensing Students Understanding’ with the help of my beloved sister.
We began working on a sensational robot that will assist in teaching in classrooms by detecting the facial expressions and behavior of students. To implement this, I planned a convolutional neural network to be set up using the principles of how the human brain processes visual information. And after four months of consistent effort, I worked on inputting data sets of standardized emotions of the particular age group such as the tone of their voices during different understanding levels. I will always be grateful for it was my beloved sister, who was the first to have her voice input into the Robot. And it is this summer of 2020 that we aimed to output feedback reactions.
Suddenly, there was a disturbance upon the shadow cast on the floor. And once again, men with historical costuming invaded my room for thermal screening and disinfecting the ward. And once again my eyes were stuck on their Personal protective equipment (PPE) as a shield from contaminated patients and surface. The respirators worn with coveralls conveyed the ‘earnestness in fear’ of people in the outside world, and the repetitive Q & A sessions conducted each time intensified it all the more:
“Are you suffering from shortness of breath, nasal congestion, nausea, or loss of sense of smell?” “Are you sanitizing your hands at regular intervals?” “Are you practicing social distancing with all your fellow mates here?”
With each question begins my introspective reminiscence upon the irony of social distancing my family began social distancing with me before the government could even impose the concept of social distancing. And the same goes for my fellow mates- We were meant to live lifetime practicing social distancing…
“We practice social integrity!” exclaimed my beloved sister. “No matter how the pandemic has begun to keep us indoor but has it failed in stopping us from celebrating Gramma and Grandpa’s 55th wedding anniversary”.
I looked around only to strongly agree upon her words. The house looked perfectly welcoming from the main door to the hallway. Our custom-designed home, with ceramic and mosaic tiles, lit up the room which was blossoming with the aroma of vanilla-scented candles. The hall room was decorated with the most scenic paintings only to portray the comfort and elegance of our lifestyle a couple of weeks ago. And all the other walls were decorated with extended family portals, my photogenic canvas sketches, and a large collage of our family photos.
“That’s what I call a perfect family picture, our complete family”. My sister pointed. “And maybe your robot could join us in today evening’s family photo session- you know Gramma and Grandpa will be the happiest”.
I simply concluded “Just checking that the robot’s brain can accommodate messaging connectivity and a little bit of power testing is left. Even my ‘stained glass portrait’ is incomplete! I am not sure if we should seriously display it today”.
“Why not? You have always revived a soul on our canvases. Now just scratch the life on glass and it’s time to define your robot too”.
I nodded yes. But beyond the wry smile of excitement was my uncertain feeling about the unraveling of the day. It was a usual Sunday morning and Mom was baking the molten red velvet cake for the anniversary celebration. She kept telling us the entire summer “Better safe than sorry. No outdoor food kids!” And my sister would continue her day to day banter with Mom “Yes, Mom. Better safe than sorry. Prevention is better than cure. You keep saying all these. But now indoor kills me!”
My sister started blowing the balloons, and I checked on my robot in the room. And removed the sheet of glass that I had so long prepared for this day. Everything felt seemingly perfect but for the first time, I doubted my ability to revive a soul on a glass. And felt an eternal sense of disillusionment in the name of defining my practical experimentation.
“It’s time for a final touch. Just wrap it up. It’s the best ‘stained glass portrait’ I have ever seen! What a portrait of Gramma and Grandpa!”.
“Yeah, I have revived a soul within the glass” I professed.
“Hope they don’t mind — we send them walking in the floor area of the waterfront community of our residence as part of a silent anniversary celebration amidst COVID-19”.
My sister beamed with excitement “Mind? They won’t– it’s their adventure in the summer of 2020! Except that Mom protects us indoor– don’t you, Mom? ”
We prepared everything possible. Decorated the hall with anniversary banters, set up sheer lanterns and organized red confetti filled balloons. And welcomed Gramma and Grandpa with a surprise bang! The greatest party of this summer was soon about to find its way in. At this point, I was rather flattered with the inevitable successes of life, achievements beyond comprehension, and dreams that were on the brink of being fulfilled. Destiny divinely complemented my desires. But my desires complemented my downfall…
Gramma and Grandpa were beyond mesmerized with the surprise indoor party organized. Gramma had a great approbation for the silky red velvet cake which was perfectly chocolaty, moist, and tender from within and without. And Grandpa joked about the cream cheese frosting intertwining with the red velvety crumb as though it was a fusion of life and death. I felt numb at his thoughts and simply shook it off my head as an “overcritical judgment”. I brought forward my glass painting wrapped in a gift wrapper. But to my consternation, the AC suddenly stopped working and lights went off before they could uncover the present that was a challenge for me to complete within the hours of daylight.
At this moment, I was extremely determined to have my gift shown. I was exceedingly insistent to get the lights fixed. And I was excessively resilient to have my robot shown. I was rather active, exhilarated, and spontaneous to send my sister, beloved sister to get the robot from the room for it was her who had helped me to create the robot and even finalize the Big Idea. For it was her, who had motivated me to have the robot launched today and it was only her– the greatest reinforcing force in my life to date. It was now her turn to come.
My sister, being my beloved sister was ready for almost everything: “It’s her day too! She has finally defined her knowledge upon the chapters of practical experimentation. I will go get it– see me right back here!”
How was I ever to know that she would go and this will be the last time that we will see her right back here? I had done the best set up possible. And I had set the safest atmosphere possible. But where did I go wrong? How couldn’t I predict that the darkness of the room now was perhaps foreshadowing the darkness and bitterness of the summer of 2020?
To my trepidation, a call came and informed me that the lights could go off anytime today. The electrician continued: “…That’s in case the AC trips the circuit breaker once again. But be careful! I noticed the wires’ insulation was corrupted– There may still be live circuits whose wires are running next to the wires we were working with. Eh, move your robot too from there!”
My heart wrenched with the fear of evil. And I felt drawn and drowned by mischief– The lights weren’t switched off as part of my surprise, rather it went off!
I stood up straight and ran to the room. Only to see that it was all over…
I was paranoid, rather mentally challenged at the sight of my beloved sister’s body shaking involuntarily. For some unknown reason, I could feel the current surge through my own body and burn both internal and external tissues. I cried aloud at the stringent question on her contorted face: “Was this the surprise you had planned for me?”
I quickly ran to find a wooden stick and battered it repeatedly to break the conductive route. Nevertheless, I failed to revive her that day. I failed–
And my ‘beloved’ sister went silent forever.
I could feel my claustrophobic feelings geared up. And my muscles were frozen in place but with a tingling sensation of discomfort. My brain failed to process the proceedings of the day. My heart hoped for its circulatory system to function, and my lungs longed for respiration. I could feel a hypodermic of adrenaline pierce my heart for the first time. How I wished I could camouflage myself within the darkness of the room at the moment. I felt desperate — I had to celebrate the day, I had to launch my big idea, I had to go to McMaster, and I had to fight the pandemic as a Marauder… There is an incomputable number of things that I had to compute in the summer of 2020.
But all that I could compute was the sound of my ‘stained glass portrait’ smashing violently amidst the abrupt silence. It was no more ‘a stained glass portrait’– It was now bitter shards of stained-glass. I knew I was being set free of all relationships.
The blame game had begun.
…And once again there was a disturbance upon the shadow cast on the floor. And once again the same men with historical costuming invaded my room for the same screening procedure. But this time with a salient message: “Ms. Anna Gomes has come to meet you– the greatest psychologists of all– this is your last chance. Be honest”.
“Ms. Anna Gomes. I knew it. It was now her turn to come.” I simply smirked.
“Bring her in — I will tell her the story of my adventure in summer 2020”…
Thank you to our judges of this writing contest:
Blair Hurley, writer and sessional instructor in our English department
Terri Favro, writer and alumna
Robyn Sidhu, poet and student
