Bye-Bye, By: A Memoir for the Broken Hearted

By Bhai Garcia

When Bhai goes on a trip to Tanzania for writing inspiration on his first novel, he finds himself entangled with an Indian girl ready to escape a deadly family secret. To overcome life's obstacles, he makes cheek-biting choices that bring him closer to a destiny where no man wants to go.

Bhai goes on a quest to find himself and

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro ConsulTech
• Release date: Oct 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781735878331

Book preview

Copyright 2020 by: Bhai Garcia

IngramSpark Edition

Published in the US by: Pro ConsulTech

ISBN - 13: 978-1-7358783-3-1 (eBook)

ISBN - 13: 978-1-7358783-2-4 (Paperback)

Cover Design: MiblArt (https://miblart.com/)

Editing Services: Cup & Quill (https://cupandquill.com/)

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In the case of reviews and certain other noncommercial uses, anyone may quote brief quotations and passages as permitted by Copyright law.

Acknowledgements

With deepest gratitude, I thank my family and friends for their support, faith, and encouragement. Without which, all that I achieve means little.

A big thanks to the editor and designer that helped make this possible.

Finally, a big thank you to those readers who took the time to write their comments on various websites.

Writing is a solitary, isolating activity, but everyone has made it less so - thanks.

A Note from the Author

You may be wondering, What kind of title is that? Such an interesting, eye-catching title. Hmmm, well, if you are Asian, especially from India, then you’ll catch the title quite quickly and say, Oh, obviously, Bhai or Brother wrote a book called Bye-Bye, and that is the full title! But for the average American, seeing the word Bhai is as foreign as seeing a monkey in a backyard tree, or riding an auto-rickshaw, or hearing someone say cricket and referring to a sport.

Any Native-born American without ties to countries outside of the US will find this book interesting. Those from the US and around the world will feel refreshed, knowing that it is possible to make it in the US even when all the doors have slammed shut right in their face. Those of you from other countries will feel the pains and may also take pointers and learn from these exciting experiences (or mistakes). However, those from India will read this and laugh at subtle nuances and cultural familiarity you have either lived through or at least heard in stories. You may take pointers, too.

I substituted most names for those that prefer anonymity, or, for because some of them cannot be reached. Yet, out of respect for their privacy, I have changed their names.

I didn’t feel good about it when it happened, but sometime after the fact, it left me wondering, how dare I not share this story!? While writing, I considered making an audiobook and inviting many of the people involved, to help tell the story. Let me know if you’d like that, and I’ll make it happen! Wink, Wink.

It was a journey from being an adult due to age and maturing into An Adult due to life. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have loved writing it. May you be blessed in any way you prefer. I thank you in advance for meeting my past. May we meet again in the future through another story. Please, read on. Chapter One awaits.

Contents

Bye-Bye, By: Bhai

Copyright 2020 by: Bhai Garcia

A Note from the Author

Part 1 From the Beginning

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Part 2 A Scream in the Mountains

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Part 3 Life Takes Its Toll

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Part 4 Decisions, Decisions.

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 25

Part 5 Suffering is a Gift. In it is a Hidden Mercy. ~ Rumi

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Part 6 Back to the Drawing Board

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Part 7 An Experience, Not for the Faint of Heart

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Part 8 The Silver Lining

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Part 9 Where the Silver Lining Meets the Darkness… and is Snuffed Out

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Part 10 The Chronicles of Bhai: The Wolf, the Bitch, and the Man Robe.

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

A Final Note from the Author

It was around 1995 or ‘96, and the Oklahoma Bombing was a central discussion point, even for thirteen-year-old kids like me. Knowing that the bombs were made primarily of fertilizer, easily allowed those conversations to end with whoa, that’s a lotta smelly shit for a bomb to bring down a building. Soon after that, the fart jokes were the main subject. Yes, one would sinisterly and silently allow some preciously accumulated gases out into the general vicinity and have the audacity to yell at the kid who complained, "You smelt it, you dealt it!"

I walked into the pharmacy with my mom. The girl behind the front counter attended to some customers like an over-enthusiastic newbie. Still, I had to have a plan of action. What subject was worth mentioning that could help strike up a conversation? Maybe a pickup line? Nah. It had to be something that other teenagers talked about for more than one sentence. Guys in their early teens only went up to girls to ask them out to the prom or a school dance, or on a date, or even to be boyfriend and girlfriend. A fart joke, perhaps? I stink not! Maybe a current event? That might show that I was cool yet mature enough to be concerned about the world and its matters – even though my semi chubby figure said otherwise.

I walked through the aisles to get something for my mom, and instinctively went to the toy section – my happy place. I thought hard and fast, running scenarios through my mind while I nonchalantly stared at the Hot-Wheels toy cars within arm’s reach. I absent-mindedly took one as I kept working out the scenarios that would lead to a fruitful conversation. I had botched so many other ones at school with the girls my age. I wondered how so many other guys ended up holding hands with cute girls in the halls between classes. High School is a different planet compared to the rest of the world.

I reached the aisle with Q-tips, and as I retrieved a box, a little shine peripherally caught my attention. All I saw was the wisp of her long, flowing hair pass the end of the aisle like a slow-motion streak of memory in a dream. I tip-toed in long strides to see her again, my own game of cat and mouse, and I was on the hunt. I peered through the corner shelves at the end of the aisle, between some Entenmann's cookie boxes. As I watched her restock items, I opened a box and ate a couple of cookies to keep my mouth from drooling at the sight of her prancing around the store. I waited until she went back to the cashier station to attend another customer.

She was a mesmerizing sixteen-year-old girl. My mom brought me to the pharmacy often for her diabetic medication and other sundries. The girl and I were the same height, and her thick black hair reached her waist with a grace that gave me shivers. Yet, I held my emotions to seem like the cool guy she had never met before. Kajal or eyeliner underlined her lower eyelids; her large, bright brown eyes were accentuated and breathtaking because of it. Moths must have felt that way, getting ever so close to the flame that would snuff them out in a moonless night.

Are you ok? she inquired with a concerned look as I stared, lost in my thoughts of impressing her.

My first impression turned out to be the exact opposite. I had no idea how long it was before I snapped out of my trance.

Oh, so sorry. I clamored, as I put the toy to the side, out of her line of sight behind a chewing gum display, revealing only a box of Q-Tips for payment.

I was the only one in line, or in the front of the store for that matter, so the embarrassment should have been minimal. Even if the store was full of people mocking me because my pants had fallen, this moment with a beautiful girl waiting for me to snap out of my wide-eyed coma easily topped it.

I just, well. Sorry, you reminded me of someone I knew. An ex-girlfriend of mine. Yes! What a comeback from the embarrassment, but it got worse because I had no idea what to say next. I winged it. Her eyes went from wide and concerned to expecting another flirtatious boy to hit on her and fail miserably.

Ah, yes. I am sure that you have dated many Indian girls around here. What was her name? She barely smirked, knowing that in the heart of Miami, Florida, let alone in Hialeah, there was not an Asian Indian presence except for her family.

Everyone knew this city was mostly where all the Cubans reached the US – my family included.

Her name was Vanessa, I said with a smooth tone that sounded quite convincing, even to me.

The only real girlfriend I ever had was Vanessa. An adorable girl, Hispanic, of course, but was very white with light brown, curly hair – so, not really like this girl. Such bravery to continue this conversation with such a lack of experience still surprises me.

Your smile is like hers, but yours is better.

She immediately rebutted, I haven’t smiled yet. Did you want to pay for those Q-tips?

My time speaking with her was about to end, but the operative word in her stern statement was yet. She hadn’t smiled yet, and this gave me the will power to try and make her do it. Otherwise, I would have ended up fighting with myself for not being smart enough (or cool enough). But in this half of a second pause, my soul somehow threw out the few words that would change my life forever.

Yes, I do need something very badly. I must get it today. I don’t have enough money for it. It’s something that money can’t buy.

She was intrigued. What is it? Her cute brows furrowed to the ceiling.

In the smoothest, Casanova-style tone, I replied, Your smile.

Like a captivating flower-bloom in a time-lapse film, her face changed from inquiry to a smile, to a burst of laughter. We giggled for what seemed like minutes before we settled.

She finally asked, Where did you learn that pick-up line?

It was common for young teenagers to hear funny, clean, and vulgar pick-up lines all the time.

No, no, that was all me. I have no idea how that came out, but I am glad I said it. I will never forget your smile!

Her guard was down, and she seemed to like me. She gave me a lingering smile that quickened my heartbeat. Like the feeling you get as the semi-chubby kid on the front lines of a dodge ball game facing the big kid with the ball.

Luckily, my mom saw the interaction from afar and did not intervene. She knew her boy was becoming a young man. She stopped another lady from making the mistake of interrupting. My mom told me the story from her point of view, and I told her what was said. It was cool to share that, and I told my mom that I hoped to see my new friend again.

Several days later, my mom took me to the all-familiar pharmacy, but she wasn’t there. It was some old lady with a bad attitude who perked up with a huge, fake smile as each customer arrived at her register. My mom saw my discontent and gladly took me back for the next couple of days until the girl was there.

I went up to the black-haired maiden, stood in line, and waited for the two customers ahead of me to pay.

When I was next, she kept a straight face and asked, So, did you bring enough money to pay for a second smile?

She said it sternly, but she could not contain her humor and smiled.

She came around the counter and hugged me. Thank you for coming back. I am so glad to see you!

I was speechless. Easily the hottest, and most unique girl in all of Hialeah was glad to see me and even hugged me. Geez, if only we could take a selfie. Facebook, Snap Chat, Instagram, and all that weren’t around yet – or cell phones. So, I couldn’t post a picture of us as a badge of honor on social media, even if I had bought a disposable Kodak camera. Life seemed much more social before social media.

Our bodies slowly parted, and my hands softly caressed the undersides of her arms. My tunnel vision pierced her eyes, Of course, I couldn’t live without knowing your name, especially now that you hugged me so close. I felt our hearts beat together. Will you go out with me? I almost stumbled on my voice, which became more masculine every day, with the occasional high-pitched crack.

She scoffed, "Where do you want to go? We are already somewhere. You mean, go outside?"

I blushed. She must have realized that I was probably emotionally immature and had no clue what was supposed to happen on date night with a girl.

Oh, you mean to go out, like on a date?

She left a pause that defibrillated my chest with doubt, Well, instead of that, let’s get to know each other here. Whenever you come to the store, we can talk and get acquainted, and if it works out, then I will go out with you. Somewhere special.

That sounded like a good plan, so I nodded like a treeless woodpecker.

I lowered my voice to a whisper, hoping she would respond by getting closer, her perfume still circulated within my sinuses. So, what is your name, before the next customer comes.

She stood in front of me with a chest that I couldn’t ignore. Her name tag was there the whole time, must have been selective awareness or something.

With a hint of spearmint on her breath, she slowly leaned in and sang her name in a soft tone, like a siren speaking to pirates in the mist, My name is Shazia.

The words rolled off her tongue eloquently; I stared at her lips covered in lip gloss and thought that this might be the first kiss. My lips quivered and pressed together as if preparing to go in. My insides burned with devilish desires and were immediately extinguished by a businessman with horn-rimmed glasses. His suit looked like it belonged to a person about twenty pounds heavier than himself. He stood beside us as he cleared his throat.

He spoke with a monotonous nasal tone as he pushed his glasses over the bridge of his nose. I couldn’t help but wonder if he missed out on the opportunity to play Steve Urkel in Family Matters because he was white. He mimicked Steve’s famous phrase with his high-pitched version, Can I pay for this?

His annoying voice pierced the air for anyone within earshot.

She nodded and respectfully went around the desk to charge him for his goods. I stood there, contemplating the last thirty seconds — what a bummer. The chance for a kiss was long gone, but surely there would be another chance soon enough. Wait. Did she reciprocate? I had childishly pursed my lips together with closed eyes about a foot away from her lips, anticipating a kiss that might have happened? I was confused, unsure if she even saw my intention. I would have to try again someday.

Well, suffice it to say, we became excellent friends. We talked and often joked, always with had a bit of teenage tension. Shazia knew it would never work between us due to her family’s culture, but it didn’t stop her from becoming my girlfriend. She genuinely enjoyed my company and was willing to tell me all about herself, her family, her culture, and religion. It did make me sad, though, to realize that we had no real future together. I would never meet her parents, and we’d never be in the same classroom together. We’d probably never really go out on a date, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying every bit of her presence. It was my version of Romeo and Juliet without the poison and sacrifice or whatever.

On her lunch breaks, we’d cuddle and kiss under a tree that was beside a small canal behind the pharmacy. She’d tell me stories about India and Pakistan and how living was easy in the US. She explained her culture and the various cultures of Asia, their value systems, and how shame can quickly destroy a family. She even explained about honor killings – when a person greatly dishonors the family and is killed in the name of redeeming that honor. Honor killing is not acceptable in the government’s eyes, or at least they’d just turn a blind eye in smaller towns and villages. She assured me that she was in no danger of that; nonetheless, I was much more careful after that story.

One Halloween, she dressed up in an incredibly beautiful Indian attire, in something that they call a saree. She looked like an Indian princess wearing that turquoise saree with accentuated flairs of light grey and impressive golden accents. It accentuated her curves in ways that electrified my skin and kept my eyes occupied all night long.

There are approximately one hundred different ways to wear a saree. Its simplicity hides the fact that it is made up of one cloth about six to nine yards. The length of the saree helps to determine the style worn. Some styles include a half-sized jacket as an undergarment, and others will make use of pants, although less common. But typically, a good way to describe a saree is to call it a dress that covers the shoes and ends up draped over the chest and shoulders with as much flair and bling that the seamstress could muster. The designs and colors vary greatly as no two sarees would ever be the same except when made from the same cloth for a special event.

We did go to the movies a few times, and she made an excuse to her parents that she would go with a couple of her girlfriends and a chaperone. Her friends liked me and kept Shazia’s secret. It was an amazing time.

Two weeks before her eighteenth birthday, I planned a secret getaway with her. I was fifteen and had a car and driver’s license. Yeah, driving restrictions were not so restrictive back in the day. The secret get-away was a nice restaurant in South Beach called The Loews Hotel. It was opened in 1998 as the first major hotel to open in Miami since 1967. It was considered one of the most luxurious hotels for the wealthy. Back then, Google was not a thing. I found out about it because I had recently performed with the jazz band from my high school. On my break, I looked around and asked at the front about rates and the restaurant food. Right then and there, I knew that I had to take Shazia for her birthday. The timing had to be perfect but could only work with her confirmation, so I couldn’t make it a surprise.

I planned it out and explained to her how it would all work. She agreed to leave school with me and go straight to the hotel instead of working that night. I booked a room and had money left over to pay for lunch and dinner. I had earned the money playing live saxophone and clarinet music at birthday parties and events. I was going to treat her like a queen and give her a birthday that she’d never forget. She was supposed to be at school then go straight to work that Friday, so her parents didn’t expect her to come home ‘till after 9:30 pm.

It was exciting, knowing that these plans would work perfectly, and nothing