March 29, 2017.
Dear Journal,
If you haven’t read the previous journal entry, here is a quick summary of what happened till lunch. I had taken the train to Esther’s city with my mother and we had arrived just this morning, enthusiasm unmatched. Then we took off to a church which was briefed by my cousin in the earlier post. To be honest, this is Esther, typing out whatever I am dictating and the reason is quite amusing.
Immediately after lunch, we had holed ourselves in Esther’s room with the AC on, chatting and gossiping about the mundane as tweens do. We engaged ourselves with Pokemon Go, which had become a recent obsession of mine and talked about our favourite songs. After getting tired of me complaining about how hungry I was, and how Esther had left her very own cousin starving (being ever so dramatic), she gave in to my demands and we set out to the shop she liked to get a fill of snacks. It was a quick walk from her house, so I don’t remember us asking the adults permission to leave.
We had a lemonade each and then walked down to a humble bakery, hoping for veg rolls and other snacks. As I drooled at the sight of the piping hot samosas that the shopkeeper was frying up, his back turned to us, Esther casually grabbed a few pastries on display, chalking it up to be sampling. I pointed out that she had “sampled” several more than what was acceptable to be considered a sample, and she responded by popping the sweets into her mouth.
After having (and maybe, shoplifting) our snacks, we set out on an evening stroll, where we saw one of Esther’s friends. I was eager to meet her, possibly looking to hear about embarrassing events that my cousin would normally never reveal, but Esther managed to guard her dignity by practically dragging me home, using the time as an excuse.
Sneaking into her room again, I forced Esther to decorate my hands with the mehendi cones that were invitingly peeking at me from her dresser. She agreed with a sigh. Honestly, I was appalled by her skills with the cone. I don’t think I had had the patience to sit through an entire session of getting mehendi put on and dried completely before this day, so I decided to delve into some scientific research.*
First I squirted some henna straight from the cone into my mouth. It tasted…leafy. A bit too damp and bitter for my liking, I declared. It made up for that with the classic Mehendi smell, although. It was brown when applied and turned a vibrant orange when dried, as some divine form of scientific reaction. I noted that it went on cold.
Esther tells me that these observations are stupid and funny but really, I don’t realize why. She undermines my scientific genius too often.
I waited for my mother to come in, so that I could ask what she thought of the pretty designs that ran across my wrists, vines making their way up to my fingertips. However, she walked in and demanded that I learn from Esther in the art of Henna. I’ll spare the details. Not because it was a humiliating experience that taught me that my hands are anything but steady, of course. Totally not because of that.
The evening was spent that way, over laughter and hours of idle chatter, accompanied by Esther occasionally chiding me for getting henna on her bedsheets.
Love,
Lee.
*Author’s note: While I still encourage actual scientific research, kindly keep in mind that this entry was written over four years ago, and I admit, I was not the brightest tool in the shed. Reader discretion is strongly advised and for the love of God, do not taste henna.
Authors:
Esther & Lee
