EXCERPT

He cannot believe that it's true, but she is actually standing there at six o'clock, on the corner of Broadway and 116th Street, wearing an orange woolen poncho and baggy jeans. She has headphones covering her ears and she's bouncing to the beat. For a moment Ushman hesitates. There is no possible connection he could have to this girl. They did not learn the same songs as children, she does not know how the banks of the Talkheh become awash with color from the rising or setting sun. In her heart is the memory of a different landscape. She is from a different world; her trajectory, even momentarily, could never mirror his own.

Against his better judgment, he stops and lifts his hand from the steering wheel in recognition. When she climbs in and smiles as she pulls off her headphones, he reminds his cynical self how nice she smells. Her eyes are welcoming, familiar. She is not a stranger. No more so than any other person in this world would be. Even Farak, with whom he thought he shared so much- culture, values, heritage, homeland- even she was never truly known to him. If she was, he would not be here, alone, in America.

For the first time since he's met her, Stella is wearing lipstick. She looks strange but lovely. Ushman concentrates on this.

"This is a nice color on you," he says, gesturing to her poncho.

"You like it?" she asks. "I just got it at a thrift store downtown. One of the ones that sell new and used clothes, where everything's sort of the same price regardless." She laughs. "I went with some girls from my dorm. What about you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah. What did you do today?" Stella's eyes are eager and accepting. Her curiosity is unjaded.

"Just work," he says, remembering the events of his day, beginning with his early morning at the bodega.

"Oh," she says, pushing her face close to the windshield, "I almost forgot. There's a lunar eclipse tonight. Do you think we can see it from your place?"

"Absolutely. And if we can't, we'll go up on the roof." Ushman has never actually been on the roof of his building, but he's overheard other residents speak of it.

"It should be amazing. I had astronomy this morning. It's a required course- meaning I'd never take it unless I had to- but it's actually mind-blowing once you realize that time and space are just huge." She stops and looks over at Ushman. "Am I talking too much? I'm just excited. And nervous. I can't believe what I said to you this morning." She buries her head in her hands.

Ushman just drives.

Then, suddenly, she sits up and looks right at him.

"But then, I'm sitting there in astronomy and the professor is lecturing about the timeline of the universe. Are you aware that humanity is just a blip? Not even a blip. Just a fraction of a fraction of what the universe has been and will become? Talk about perspective. I figure I can't feel so entirely stupid about saying what I said because, first of all, it's true. And second of all, there will be no remnant of me or my stupidity. No fossil or geographical shift that can document, really, even the most important historical human begins, let alone my paltry admissions."

She looks at Ushman and he smiles, finally. The intensity of her voice and the rapid pace of her speech thrill him.

"Okay, now I really am talking too much." She sits back against the seat.

"It's just that you talk so quickly. I must concentrate to follow you logic."

"I know. Especially when I'm excited. I'll try to speak. . .more. . .slowly." She winks at him.

Ushman smiles. It is true that she speaks quickly, but he has understood everything she's said to him. He wants to prove this.

"There must be something that lasts. Something that is indelible," Ushman says.

"Not that I know of. But I will let you know if there's anything in the next lecture to give us hope."

"Please do. Now," Ushman says with authority, "let's get some take-out food and watch the eclipse in Queens."

"Take-out Fantastic. Can we get Chinese?"

Ushman nods. She's like an exuberant child. If she weren't so charming, so wide-eyed and genuine, he'd be suspicious of such enthusiasm.

"In the little white cartons? I love that. My parents aren't fans of Chinese food, so we never got take-out when I lived at home. This- you, here, Chinese- is the beauty of leaving home," she says with genuine affection.

"Indeed," Ushman says, imagining the freedom she must feel. Ushman never left his parents' home. Not until he came to America. He never lived in Iran without the dread of his mother around every corner. Even when he was a newlywed, when his mother was confined to her bed, she was still there. Her smell, her voice coming at them through the dark, her hair that had to be brushed. "I never. . ." He starts to tell Stella this and then changes his mind. "I never ate Chinese food until I came to New York."

Stella looks at him. He senses that she knows it is not what he was going to say. She looks away from him, out her window, as if she isn't interested in anything inauthentic.

"It's true. Okay, one time in Istanbul there was an old man selling egg rolls from a cart. I was with my father and he bought us each one." He recalls eating the exotic treat out of waxed paper as together they watched oil barges lumber down the Bosporus.

"And?"

"A little greasy, but good."

"There's a Chinese place on the corner across from my dorm."

"I know," Ushman says, remembering her face through the big glass window and the boy she had hugged. "I mean, I saw it when I picked you up."

"The crazy thing is that they also have fried chicken, hamburgers, and club sandwiches on the menu. Who goes to a Chinese restaurant for a burger and fries?"

Ushman shrugs.

"I find it very suspicious. There should be a police investigation. Maybe sociopaths are identifiable as those people who order burgers at a Chinese restaurant."

Ushman laughs. "But the proprietor puts it on the menu. They shouldn't make the offer."

Stella raises her eyebrows. "Now you're onto something. We can blame it on insecure restaurateurs. They are the sociopaths."

Ushman laughs. "Maybe. It is worthy of study, right?"

"Absolutely. Does your Chinese place serve American food?"

"No," Ushman says. "Not even soda. Only tea."

"I like the tea you made. With sugar cubes between our teeth."

"I am happy to make you tea."