May, 2013

Bea did not lie. Except to my mother, the lie passed through her teeth as natural as a breath did. “I want to take him to the public library. To help with his reading.” With gentle coaxing, she chafes away my mother’s sharp rejection to a sufficing “bring him back before five”; I watch mom’s ego grow swole and ripe. Then as promised, Bea takes me to the local elementary school.

It is gray, cement, and almost windowless, a rectangular block of rock on its back. I learn that it is conjoined with the secondary school, twin buildings looking only duller under the glaring sun, their walls swallowing light. But at the heart of town where it laid, barren and harrowing, misery bled from its arteries down the streets. Through the car window, I had watched as swarms of people lounged the streets, their skin glazed from the heat. Most were filthy, eyes rheumy with disease, and congregated on the sidewalk pavement. When we had stopped for the light, greasy men tapped at our windows, mouthing words that made Bea’s nose scrunch. She had largely ignored them, but held the horn until they stumbled away, dizzied.

“Don’t you miss your cute suburban neighborhood?” She parks in front of the school. The buildings seem to rise before us.

“I’m not convinced.” But my voice wavers. I have never been this far from the house before. The town seems to rot from the core. I think of the people on the streets. Their jaundiced skin, waning munsell yellow, and a distaste burns in the back of my throat.

I hop out the car, and follow her lead up the front steps. There was a large plaque at the front and the chiseled figure of a man beside it, defaced by wear and vandalism. WALTON’S SCHOOL FOR YOUTH. Few students loitered. They stared, their gaze prickly against my face.

I was not a small boy. Not tall—broad. But not soft like pig-boy, who was plump with pale overspilling flesh. Husky, perhaps. So my chin tilts, unbothered, unthreatened. We walk past a guard, mouth gaped open in his slumber, and then we were inside, and the heat seemed to amplify. It draws over my face like a coat, suffocating.

I remember school, and the walls of colorful subpar artwork. But these halls were void of anything at all, just lines of doors under the dim winking fluorescent light.

And the smell. It was putrid, lingering, seemingly permeating into my skin. Stale sweat. And then came the fresh. Children came spilling into the halls at a frightening ring, their hands and skin sticky from the humidity. Pushing and shoving one another. And their yelling, deep bellows from the stomach. I started to back away.

But Bea notices, and she grabs me by the arm. Her grip is petal soft. It gives me solace. “Let’s go.” She doesn’t release me. “Okay.” I agree quickly, but she drags me deeper into the building. I hold my breath. Their bodies were rough and jabbing against mine.

I only learn to breathe again as she pulls me through the other exit of the building to a clearing. The sunlight was piercing and the ground was scorched brown. It was a wide parched desert almost, and in the distance where some children ran, their figures wavered in the heat. “This is The Sandbox,” Bea introduces, “where everyone hangs out.”

And she did mean everyone. Kids poured out from behind us into the fields, but so did a stream of older children from the secondary building. The boys had mustaches and muscled arms and cigarettes between their lips. And then a very clear hierarchy was formed, and the younger children were bullied into a corner of the field, where the sun was the angriest and if you looked close enough, smoke rose from the children’s scalps.

One of the older boys comes close. He eyes me like game. “Hi Bea. Who’s this?” To which Bea says “fuck off Jason” without paying much attention. Jason’s lips curl, thin as a rat’s tail, then he turns to me. “What’s your name, little boy?”

“Evan.” I release Bea’s hand. He loomed over me, big and broad with whiskers that dusted his upper lip. But I thrust my chest out anyways, jutting my chin to meet his beady eyes.

“And what are you guys up to?”

“I’m going to school here. Soon.” Bea makes a sour face at me.

But Jason looks happy. There’s a twinkle in his onyx eyes. “Cute. Hope to see you around, Evan.” He sounds excited, wretchedly delighted. It makes me nervous.

Bea finally looks at him. “Did I fucking stutter? Bye.”

Jason shrugs and starts to walk away, but then flicks me hard in the forehead. My neck snaps back from the pain. It leaves a burning welt on my forehead. My eyes water. Thankfully, he leaves. And Bea looks at me, eyes of concern.

“I’m okay.” I blink hard a couple times “What are we doing here?”

She then points to a large cluster of boys on the field, wrestling over a ball. It was animalistic; one of the boys must’ve been slobbering. “I want you to meet my brother.”

I find him right away, center of the crowd with his arms locked tightly around the ball. His olive skin was marred with abuse from other boys but he seemed to not feel them. Instead he jumped to his feet and dust blew across the field as he sprinted. Did they even touch the ground? The other boys chase after him, their stumpy feet pumping in the dirt. But he was sinewy tall and impossibly fast. In an instant, he dives past a white drawn line in the ground and gives a celebratory yell. It is only when we go closer and he flips on his back that I am certain. He had golden cat eyes and hair that saw no light. He shared with Bea, her soft delicate features, yet his brows were dark and straight and cut harshly across his gentle face.

Bea led me to him. “Zoren,” she calls. The boy stands up, brushes his dirty hands and walks toward us, his little victory forgotten. He is older than I am, taller by a head and half. And I feel the same wariness cross my mind. My forehead still burned a little.

“This is Evan.” She pats my shoulder. “And Evan, this is Zoren. He’s almost ten.”

His face is not unkind, instead his smile is wide. “I’ve heard about you. It’s nice to meet you.” And then he reaches an open palm towards me. I cannot help but stare. They were calloused hands, rough, scarred hands with dirt embedded deep into his nails. I think of my hands. Clean, and trimmed. He has already pulled his hand back.

“Yes,” I say, a little embarrassed. “Nice to meet you too.”

His tawny eyes burned. “You know Tom don’t you?”

“Who?”

He points to a kid in the crowd behind us, red from the sun and robust. I recognized the pig-boy right away. It seemed just right that his name was as mundane as he looked.

“I do. He’s a neighbor.”

“You must be rich then.” His voice was monotonous, as one states a blatant fact, but it made my face burn.

And he let that hang in the air for a time, while I searched my brain for an answer. Until Bea rescued me and proposed that we all headed to the beach. Zoren’s light returned, eyes honeyed. I had never been to the beach, and a similar giddiness overcame me. By the time we made it to Bea’s car, he had already forgotten the awkwardness, and instead one arm had wrapped around my shoulders, heavy and affable, like we’d been friends for ages.

***

My first lick of freedom feels like sand between my toes, wind in my hair and salt on my cheeks. Zoren and I, we sat at the shoreline, with the waves kissing our ankles. The waters stretched so far and into the sky, it must be where the earth dipped and curved. Behind us, Bea had perched herself on the hood of her car, nose deep in another world, humming happy notes.

We poked at the crabs along the shore, where the sand bubbled and revealed small tunnels. They would scramble curiously around our toes, snapping at us with their little claws. Until we grew bored, peeled off our shirts and dove into the warm waters. I wriggled into the depths, where the water was pleasantly cool, and the sea floors scraped the bottom of my palms, smooth and slippery with moss.

When I resurfaced, Zoren was starfish-spread and floating on his back. And he had a look of utter tranquility on his face. There was a sweet smile on his face. Wet lashes stuck on rosy bronze cheeks. I wondered if I’ve ever felt as peaceful as he did in that moment, amongst the waves, untethered, unbound to any earthly thought or worry. And I was envious. My parents had never taken me to the beach before.

Of course though, it is Noure still. The sand was neither soft nor white, and large jagged rocks protruded from the ground, reaching for the sky. There was a layer of debris and branches that floated on top of the shallow waters. It was not beautiful. But the memory of it will be.

I will remember his face, golden in the sun. The song beneath her breath.

“Evan, you try. It’s the best feeling in the world.”

“Really?”

I let the sea lift my body and my limbs lengthen until I was another star next to him. I feel the ghost of his fingertips against mine before he has grabbed my hand. It is warm and firm. Then his legs begin pushing against the waters until we’re drifting farther and farther away from shore. For a while, I saw only the sky and the slow shift of the clouds. Even behind my heavy eyelids, it was bright and vast.

I will remember this feeling.

I don’t know how long we laid there, but Bea calls us back. She chastises Zoren for dragging me so far into the waters and he makes faces behind her back. I also noticed his hands, which were now clean from dirt. They were raw with angry crimson scars.

“What happened to your hands,” I asked.

He flexes them. “I didn’t do my homework, so they hit me.”

I suck in a breath. “Oh.”

But he didn’t look bothered, instead, a grin spreads across his face when Bea begins to pull out food from her bag. “Dibs on the PB&J!”

We fill our bellies with food and watch the sky turn gold and pink. It became dark very soon, and a chill made our shoulders tremble. I was disappointed, but I knew it was time to go home.

When Bea parked in front of my house, her face was apologetic. “Sorry Evan, I totally lost track of time.”

It was worth it, I wanted to say, this was the best day I’ve had in two whole years. But instead I just nodded. “It’s okay.”

She looked uneasy. “Don’t tell your parents what we did. Please.”

Bea is asking me to lie.

“What about my reading?” I wasn’t a particularly good liar.

She pulls out a book, yellowed and wrinkly. “Percy Jackson.” I hold it in my hands. The corners had curled upwards. I knew she must’ve read it a hundred times. “Thanks.”

When I reach for the door, her voice calls me back. “Did you like the school?” she asked.

“It is not so bad.” I would hate it there. I was used to finer things. Discipline at the least. But I would not have to hate it alone.

Bea looked a little sad. The corners of her lips drooped. “What…What if Zoren joins your tutoring lessons?” She glances at him, sprawled over the back seat, snoring softly. The sadness in her eyes, the desperation. It was real and it was tangible. I would not know it then, but Bea did everything for him–would do anything for him.

“I guess…okay.”

There was almost a relief that entered me. I think of Zoren’s scarred hands. Now they will heal.

Before I leave, she doesn’t forget to remind me. “Public library,” she says pleadingly. And her eyes would follow me into my home.

***

I’ve never known the anger that possessed my mother that night. Upon ringing the doorbell, she pulled me into the house so fast it made the walls dance.

“You’re late!” She’s screaming. It hurts my ears. Her bright hair is awry and her eyes are bleeding fury. “Where did she take you!” Mom demands to know. Her nostrils flare.

I hand her the book, but she tosses it away. I’m suddenly afraid. The feeling is freezing cold, a lightning that strikes across my body. “I-The public library.” I hide my hands behind my back, as if they held a secret. Then I started crying, I could not help it. My eyes watered and my nose clogged. I feel my breath get caught in my throat.

“Lies,” she whispers. Dad walks up behind her, arms across his chest. “Evan…” he begins. But she interrupts him. “How dare she. She’s done. That crazy woman is not coming back to this house.”

I feel my heart slam against my ribcage. “No mom! Please. We went to the public library, but then she had to pick up her brother from school. And we got food on the way. There was traffic, mom. We didn’t mean to.” I pleaded, I beseeched. I made my voice sweet and soft, just like how she liked it, just how she liked me.

But then came the strike. It was harsh and fast. She raised her palm and struck me across the face. Mom was wearing a ring. I felt a small trickle of wetness run down my cheek. It dripped pink on the floors, mixed with tears.

“Don’t you ever lie to me ever again,” she seethed into my ear.

Dad looks startled, and he pulls her into his chest quickly. She turns and melts into him, quivering. My mouth is agape. There is no pain, my cheek is numb. I stayed still in my place and looked up at my father, whose face had become stone. There is no comfort.

When mom turns back to me, her eyes are red and brimming with sadness. “We have to be honest with each other. How can I protect you if you don’t tell me the truth? All I want is to keep you safe, sweetie.”

Later, she would hold a cold compress to my red cheek, and she would bandage my scrape. Sorry, it is her way of saying. And then she would tuck me into bed. Before turning off the night light, she shows me three little green pills on her palm. “Take these, sweetie. They are vitamins that help you grow strong and tall.”

I swallow them without question. Then I stare at the ceiling, which is full of tiny glow-in-the-dark stickers. I imagine they are stars, and my bed is the sea, and I let it carry me away to darkness.