Stomp

Sometimes you feel helpless and angry and all you can do is go to a friend's house and jump on bubble wrap.

I had just sat down to eat lunch when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Kye: “Hey Aqui, has this ever happened to a synagogue you went to?” Attached was a link to an article about a local mosque being defaced. The photo showed at least one broken window and some rather uncreative spray-painted insults.

“No, thank God!” I responded, “Is that your mosque?”

I took a way-too-hot bite of my leftover lentil soup before she texted back “Sure is. I’m so mad!”

“I’m so sorry!” I replied, blowing on my soup and staring at my phone with concern. It wasn’t much of a leap to imagine such a thing happening to my temple, and that thought saddened me.

“I should probably be sad or scared or… something,” Kye continued, “but I’m not. I’m just mad! I just want to punch someone in the nose, but I know that wouldn’t solve anything!”

“Do you want to come over and jump on bubble wrap?” I offered.

“Bubble wrap?” she asked.

“Zee and I jump on bubble wrap when we’re mad at things we can’t control,” I explained, “Like when Zee’s caterpillar died last summer. We couldn’t make it alive again, but we could stomp on some bubble wrap to feel better. One time, the little guy caught me having a panic attack over something silly and ran to get me a piece of bubble wrap.”

“Y’know, I think you’re onto something here!” Kye replied.

I took a bite of soup and smiled to myself before responding, “You can just come on over, if you want! Zee’s still at preschool, and I don’t work until dinner shift today. I’m just sitting around eating leftovers and reading cheesy novels.”

“I might just have to take you up on that offer,” she texted back, “I’ll head out now.”

~*~

I heard Kye’s car pull up to the curb by my house about 40 minutes later. I ran down the stairs to let her in the front door. She took her shoes off in my apartment doorway at the top of the stairs, revealing a pair of bright orange socks that matched the flowers on her t-shirt. Her aquamarine hijab completed the tropical look.

“I like that you still manage to look like a surfboard brought to life even on bad days,” I said with a chuckle.

“Of course!” she replied with a cheeky grin, “So where’s this bubble wrap you speak of?”

“I already pulled it out of Zee’s closet,” I said, ushering her towards the kitchen where two massive rolls of bubble wrap were laid out on the table, “Is this a big bubble or a small bubble kind of angry? The big bubbles make a really satisfying pop, but they don’t last long. The small ones last longer, but they don’t make as much noise.”

“Oh, definitely big bubbles,” she said.

“Good choice,” I agreed, setting to work rolling a sheet of bubble wrap out onto the floor. I taped down the corners to minimize slipping, then stood up and smiled at Kye, “Here you go! Stomp to your heart’s content. Or until we run out of bubbles, whichever comes first.”

Kye wasted no time. Without a word, she scrunched up her face, readied herself like a cat preparing to pounce, and leapt into the middle of the bubble wrap with a huge, crackling thud. “Take that, Islamophobic scumbags!” she boomed, stomping around in a disorganized frenzy that sounded like fireworks display.

I leapt more gingerly onto the bubble wrap and began to hop across the bubbles on my tip-toes, holding my long skirt out of my way with my hands. Each jump created a sharp, satisfying crack.

After a couple minutes of stomping around, we heard a knock on my door and stopped in our tracks, shooting each other a mutual sheepish grin.

“I’ll get it,” I said, making my way to the door.

Waiting for me in the hallway was a slightly confused Lupio, who greeted me by asking if everything was okay.

“Yeah, we’re great,” I said. I leaned against the door frame, panting.

Lupio didn’t look convinced.

“My mosque got vandalized,” said Kye as she came down the hallway behind me, “So we’re stomping around angrily.”

“Ohhh, is this the bubble wrap thing you does with Zee?” Lupio asked, his eyes lighting up with understanding.

“Yup,” Kye and I said in unison.

“Y’know, I’d be happy to help you organize a clean-up or a fundraiser or a protest or whatever needs to happen to make things better,” Lupio offered.

Kye shook her head, “Nah. The imam’s got everything under control. I just needed to stomp on something so I don’t punch the next white Christian I see in the nose. Especially since the next white Christian I see is likely to be Ash, and she hardly deserves to be punched in the nose.”

“Okay, well let me know if you do need anything,” Lupio said, “you know I never turn down a social justice project.”

“Yeah, and I also know you never sleep more than four hours a night because you always have so many social justice projects you couldn’t turn down!” Kye retorted, “Don’t sweat it. We just need a few more minutes to jump around on bubble wrap.”

“Sorry about the noise,” I said apologetically, “I didn’t realize you were home on Monday afternoons this semester. I promise we’ll leave your ceiling alone, soon.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lupio said with an understanding shrug, “Sometimes you just have to jump around on bubble wrap. I get that.”

After Lupio left, I closed the door and turned to Kye, “Bubble wrap?”

“Bubble wrap!” she repeated with a grin, taking off down the hallway and taking a sliding dive into the bubble wrap. She landed with a thud and a groan, followed by cackling laughter.

I followed, concerned, “Was that on purpose?”

“Partially,” she said between giggles, rolling over on her back and popping several more bubbles in the process, “Man, I feel great! You’re a genius, Aqui.”

“I dunno about being a genius, but it’s certainly served Zee and I well this past year,” I chuckled, turning around and falling backwards into the bubble wrap. The hard floor beneath knocked the wind out of me and I grimaced, “Oof! That was not my most brilliant move.”

We lay sprawled that way on the kitchen floor for a minute or two, Kye giggling hysterically and me grimacing in pain. Finally, Kye’s laughter died down and she rolled into a sitting position.

“Whew, that was good,” she said, sounding almost as out of breath as I felt, “Thanks Aqui.”

“Anytime,” I wheezed.

“Need a hand?”

“Yes, please.”