Traffic and Revenge.

the gun i wish i had is quivering in my hand right now, my violence and rage is overpowering and intoxicating, but what if the coin was flipped, what if i couldn't do anything about it, what if it actually played out like this:

The door opens a crack and a soft, mildly upset voice passes through with deceptive ease, "Has anyone seen Nikki?"

I'm sitting on the floor across from my roommate, playing cards, leaning on our bunks. The voice outside belongs to David, one of Nikki's best friends here at the house. He's never really this timid, that's why he and Nikki hit it off. The outgoing people here found each other quickly and spent lots of our group's free time together. I glance at my watch and look up at David, "No, when was the last time you talked to her?"

"She told me after lunch that she was heading downtown to buy a new shirt or something."

It's almost 8 o'clock in the evening. San Francisco is getting dark about now, towering buildings blotting out the sun in the heart of the city, this fine August night.

"Asher, it's almost 8."

"I know David." He's starting the freak me out the more I look at him, watching his expressions change, quickly becoming more and more panicked. "I'm sure she's here somewhere, just keep asking around."

"I've already checked with everyone else."

My heart skips a beat. I feel a chill ripple through my arms and I accidentally drop a couple cards. Derek, my roommate, is none the wiser, and I can see the same wave coming over him.

Here at our group house in San Fran, all of us know all too well what might have happened to Nikki. There are about 25 of us students from around the country studying human trafficking and how to spot it, report it, and take it down. Our high blood pressure is well warranted right now. Every night prostitutes line the streets in certain districts of the city.

Derek and I stand up in a split second and David steps into the room, closing the door behind him. He lowers his gaze and slowly looks up at us, saying, "we need to go find her."

"How the hell do you expect us to do that?" Derek's voice almost cracks, "None of us know our way around here."

A second of silence gives the weight of this situation a little bit more time to etch itself into our collective psyche. Shallow breaths scrape from each of us in raspy turns. I want so badly to panic. And then I just want to be armed. Then I wish I had a car. And, again, a gun.

David breaks the tense stillness, "there are already a couple people on board and willing to go look for her. Nate and Mike and Ernest. But obviously none of them brought their cars."

The three of us stand in a tight cluster at the center of the room. I'm probably stepping all over our card game. I don't give a damn at this point.

"David, maybe we could call the cops."

"Derek, that's insane, they'd be nearly useless. Unless they have a trafficking unit... Okay, we won't rule that out, but let's get other people on board first."

David turns and opens the door and the three of us shuffle out, looking for anyone else with an open door. Mike, Nate, and Ernest come up the stairs, huffing. They must have been running through the whole house. Mike stops a few feet from us, "guys, the Professor's calling the cops. They should be here in a few minutes."

David turns on him, "Why would they need to come here, Mike, huh? Nikki's downtown and needs them there!"

Mike is taken back with David's tone and clears his throat, "Dave, they're gonna take a couple of us downtown to look for her, see if she's just lost."

Nate tries to level out the situation, "Dave, do you know exactly where she was going? Like, what store, what district?"

David looks like he's tripping over his own thoughts. He closes his eyes, saying through gritted teeth, "Macy's, by Union Square."

That's not too bad, I'm thinking. Then I remember Union Square is actually a park. As big as a downtown block, and pretty shady at night. Frankly, it's downtown San Fran--it's not really that safe anytime during the day. I grab David by the shoulder and push him toward the steps, "guys, let's get down there and do what we can. Grab water bottles or blankets and stuff them in a bag. Depending what... well... Nikki may need..."

I don't need to finish my sentence. Since Monday we've heard people speak of the terrors of being hand-cuffed to bed-posts for weeks at a time, laced with drugs enough to sterilize a cow. It only takes about a day or so to get girls addicted to any drug you give them. Nikki's no exception. She's an attractive blonde with a thin frame and long legs. It wouldn't take much of anything to render her senseless. My adrenaline races and I push past them all, yelling at them to go to their rooms and grab something helpful. My yelling causes a couple other doors to open in the upstairs bedrooms.

As I get downstairs, ignoring questions and calls from the others upstairs, I find the Professor waiting by the front door. He stands alone, fidgeting, his cell phone at the ready. In my blurred state of vision right now it looks like he may be packing under his jacket. But for all I know it's just the influx of adrenaline that's causing these visions.

"Asher, hey, are you okay?" He looks concerned.

"Nikki's missing. No I'm not okay. When are the cops getting here?"

"Just a couple minutes."

"We're almost ready to go."

"To go? Asher, you're not going anywhere. The police are just getting a description and a couple photos."

"The hell? Yes, I have to go. David has to go! Mike said they'd take us to help look for her."

"No, not anything like that. We can't get involved."

"Mike wouldn't lie about that, Professor."

"I'm sure he misunderstood or something."

Mike and the others show up behind me.

The Professor turns to him, "Mike, what made you think you all were going with the police?"

"Professor, uh... you said you'd have us ready for them to pick up when they got here."

Everyone looks confused, my heart rate's going insane. Would someone please make a definite statement soon!

The Professor extends his hand, holding an envelope containing a few photos. Outside, we can see red and blue flashes growing brighter. There's no siren, or maybe there is, but I can't focus enough to hear it if it's there. "Mike, I told them I'd have these pictures ready for them to pick up."

Mike and David nearly collapse.

"I'm sorry, but no one here is going with them."

Ernest blurts out, "But Nikki's out there! We don't know if she's okay! Professor, we're the only ones who know anything about her, about the way she walks, what she looks like, what she might be wearing! The cops need us out there! Nikki needs us!"

The Professor's eyes flash with anger and anxiety and in a cold, thinly masked wavering tone, "I know. The cops don't work that way, and we don't have any jurisdiction to see if we could find her in another person's house or business." He pauses and I can see a vein bulging on his neck. "Guys, I need you to help calm everyone else down right now. The cops will do the best they can out there. The law only allows them to conduct searches anyway. We can't break laws trying to find lawbreakers... That's just not how this works."

"That's bull!" Did I really just say that? The skin over my knuckles seems tight and stretched. God, is this really happening?

"Asher, calm down. There's nothing else you can do right now. If any of you want to pray, that would be great, and for those that don't, I need you to stay calm. Nothing can get done without--"

Someone's knocking on the door. The yellow light from the lamps in the room is intermittently over-powered by red and blue hues flashing almost as fast as my pulse.

The Professor walks to the door and opens it with a shaking hand. Two uniformed officers step in. The looks of apathy smeared across their faces disturbs me. You don't know what you're doing, do you? You little pricks can't do anything with that lack of concern! Just give me your damn badge and gun. I'll do your job better.

"Hello Professor, What was Nikki wearing?"

David steps forward, "A green jacket and um... these blue jeans with little swirlies of gold and red or pink or something. Her sister Sandra, she made them for her last year, she..." David drops his eyes, "Take me with you, officers, I can spot her from a mile away."

"I'm afraid we can't do that, sir."

David seems to be convulsing. "She's my best friend. You have to understand."

"There are ways we can and cannot go about things. We can't take you with us. You just have to trust us."

"Find her. Find her, officers." He raises his eyes to meet the taller officer's, catching him off-guard. "Find her tonight, or expect that I'll be joining the search first thing tomorrow."

"You can't do that, sir. That's not in your jurisd--"

"Damnit! Don't tell me what I can and cannot do."

I'm not sure, but I think I could absolutely expect David to take someone's life for Nikki. These cops better know how serious this is to us.

David's not done, "Find her tonight. You don't want to have to deal with all of us if you don't."

I am expecting some sort of confrontation from the cops right now, but for some reason, these two seem to get the point, and instead of anything further said to aggravate David, they simply say:

"Green jacket, blue jeans with colored swirls. We'll do our best."

The Professor closes the door behind them and I ponder how trite and half-ass that statement always sounds: "We'll do our best."

Will you, really? Cause I'm sure I could do better.

I am told to return to my room. I feel a hand on my shoulder. I notice David's as frozen as I am. Someone is trying to urge us both to move and head upstairs. Eventually the hand on my shoulder loosens its grip and I and David are left alone in a silent, tense, pulsating foyer. My ears are throbbing.

The gun I wish I had is quivering in my hand right now, my violence and rage is overpowering and intoxicating...

Find her. Get her here safe. Bring her captors to justice. Or I, and most likely David, will seek revenge. Every one of those creeps deserves a full clip of hot lead in them.

It seems like hours before I release my muscles and try to walk away from the foyer. David is still standing there, motionless, when I close the door to my room. I look at Derek and catch his eye. We don't have to say anything. We're on the same page.

As I lay down and Derek kills the lights, I stare blindly up at the ceiling. Just a few thoughts running through my head:

Find her. Get her to safety. Bring her captors to justice.
Find her.
Save her.
Now.

Decision Time

It's been a while since I've faced a reality about the world and my place in it as big and life altering as the one I've realized today.

In Pakistan there have been over half a million people displaced by the American troops and the Taliban. I am an American Pakistani, so where does this leave me? If my family had not immigrated from Pakistan when my father was a boy, then one of those hundreds of thousands of IDP's could be me.

I understand that there are evils in this world that can only be eradicated by the help of our soldiers, but at what cost do we try to rid ourselves of said evils?

The men and women being displaced were families barely able to care for thier own children, and what will happen to those children now? Most likely they will die from injuries sustained, be left to die by the road side to cut back on family cost, or forced/sold into human trafficing to earn money. These are the harsh realities that already faced these kids, and we've just made it worse.

I could have been one of those children! For the love of God people wake up! We have to do something to change this world of ours. If we just sit by and allow the carnage, the genocide, the madness to continue, then we are the terrorists!

I mean think about it. If our ancestors hadn't immigrated to this country however many years ago, we could be those unfortunate children facing the world's darkest hours.

It is because of such realizations that I have decided that my ultimate goal will be to save a child. At least one child from a fate that could have been mine. I will not let my life go by without doing something to stop the insanity.

Love is not Beautiful

I bet this is a pleasant surprise for the other Piny Pek bloggers (especially, particularly Archer).

I didn't even know that I could still contribute to this blog.

And I feel so out of the loop and even misplaced.

But here's something that I wrote March 29 (I think); it's my most recent writing:

Love is not beautiful; love is selfish. The Sonnets of the Portuguese are not beautiful, because they are about love. And when in love, you forsake all others, your family and your friends—those who are indeed beautiful. I once browsed through a book called 1000 Beautiful Things—none of it was beautiful, because love was written on its every page.

A kiss is not beautiful; it is disgusting—two tongues reeling about like snakes mating. And it is the very symbol of love, of a disgusting love.

Sex is above all the least beautiful, especially when it is done by two people in love. From heaven, they must look like featherless birds flapping. Even sex derived from lust is more beautiful than two people in love, twisting and entangling their bodies in and out. For some time they are one, and then they are separate; then they are one again. Sex without love is beautiful—because lusty, foul humans wallow in pleasure. They don’t feel the longing desire that people in love feel as they are separate and must function with this hidden secret—that for some time they were whole.

They don’t feel the ache of a human-shaped hole ripped from their bodies—just to fit perfectly together by nightfall and torn apart by day break. Twenty-four hours is measured differently by people who are in love; it is divided into pieces—the times with which they love and the times with which they don’t even exist. As if to say, I love you or I am not at all.

And in this moment of inexistence, it has taken one good-bye kiss, one morning-after, one day of silence before the longing sets in. Sex without love is for actors, trying to taste heaven without repercussion. For a single moment, they think they’re in love, the curtains close, they bow their heads to ravenous applause, and they slither away to soak in their diluted pleasures.

Because sex with love is very different, indeed. Lovers are not actors, merely seeking self-centered pleasures. Love by nature isn’t selfish, it is very beautiful.

- Evon R. Christian