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And Then One of Us Gets Sick |
by Nidzara Pecenkovic
"Ouch."
I pull my shirt-sleeve down over my shoulder and reveal my sunburned shoulder. In the bathroom mirror, my skin is shiny, red, and raw. Kim, my fiancé, walks up behind me with a disapproving look on his face, but that's because he has had a perfect tan since he was born.
"Put mustard on it," he says.
I do not even flinch at my fiancé's suggestion to garnish myself like a hotdog. After four years of being a half of this interracial, international, and interfaith relationship, I know that he is referring to one of his at-home-remedies, like lime juice for cuts and sniffing tobacco to relieve stuffy noses.
When we met, my Mexican and Mormon fiancé did not speak English and practiced a religion that I thought was a cult. I, a Bosnian Muslim who had survived a war and lived in three different countries by the age of ten, had grown up in the United States with the influences of the Gap and Starbucks.
Back then, we never expected to have conversations about what religion to raise our children in and what language to speak at home. Even as we face these grown-up dilemmas, the sacrifices have been few and small. He has given up chorizo and carnitas, and I have yielded to the TV blasting soccer games narrated in Spanish.
But then, one of us gets sick. Kim slathers on something or other from our fridge and prays about it. I am already sitting in my doctor's office, comparing the mole on the inside of my elbow to the ones on the medical chart on the wall. I do not know if it is the Mexican machismo or his stubborn faith, but Kim has a strong mistrust in today's medicine. He chooses to either walk it off or leave it to God.
I know he means well. He puts all of his energy in trying to take care of me. Last winter, when I was out with a fever, he boiled chicken bones and various spices to make the most perfect soup. All I wanted was some aspirin and an air freshener to mask the smell coming out of the kitchen.
I, of course, never follow his advice but prefer, instead, to stick to Neosporin, NyQuil and other bottled and branded chemicals with funny smells and unpronounceable ingredients. I do not mean to overmedicate or play doctor, but I am the kind of girl who takes action. Vitamins and Airborne before, a cocktail of medicine after, and my doctor's number programmed into my cell phone. Mayonnaise is for sandwiches, and prayers are for the job applications that I've just sent out.
I admit, our Benetton-ad-like relationship brings us a lot of attention. People ask me personal questions about religion and private choices. They want to know how we make it all work: different religions, nationalities, races - and medical preferences.
I smile and say something about keeping an open mind and compromising. I say that I respect Kim's choices and decisions. At times, having a good sense of humor helps. But what I don't say is that the secret to our relationship is a very good health insurance plan.
Nidzara Pecenkovic is awaiting a MFA in Creative Writing and a MA in English from Chapman University. Her work has appeared in Enormous Room, Local Muse, and Blue Earth Review. She has read at the &NOW Festival of Innovative Writing and the John Fowles Reading Series. Born in Bihac, Bosnia, she writes and teaches in Southern California.
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