XXXV | Root

❦

The man, the woman
—I can't think of them

as Kumar's parents.

We stand
like awkward
scarecrows

on the deserted street,

faces lit

by one yellow street lamp
and the red backlight of the motorcycle.

I've heard about them,

vaguely,

we (my friends and I)
don't talk about them much.

Most of us

aren't close
to our parents,

don't have good relationships with them.

So we don't bring them up.

Kumar is one of those
who occasionally mentions them.

He's complained

his father sucks at business
but keeps trying new things.

His mother does her best to help
but the people she introduces to his father

are not all that reliable.

'We have debts,'
the man says.

He turns away slightly.

The woman looks down.

'W-We owe some people money,'
she continues.

'And we haven't paid them back.'

The man makes a tsk noise.

She ignores him.
'But today, after Kumar went out
'to...run some errands,

'they...they came
'and said they've collected payment.'

A pause.

She turns to the man.

He refuses to look at her.
Arms tighten across his chest.

His fingers tremble.

'It's not the only time,'
I guess.

The woman nods.

'I didn't know...
'I didn't think...

'that Kumar...would...'

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