In the Wild Light

by Jeff Zentner

  Alex looks aghast. “Dude.”

  “Wanna guess how many Korean restaurants are in Sawyer?”

  “Is it zero?”

  “Ding ding.”

  “We’re gonna set this right,” Alex says. “I’m not going to let you die slumped over a rowing machine without it ever having passed your lips.”

  “Bring it on, baby.”

  “Honestly, though, I’m so hungry I could eat California barbecue.”

  “I’ve never had that either.”

  “I don’t even know if it exists. But if it does, it sucks. They probably use, like, mashed avocado and mango LaCroix as barbecue sauce.”

  “Just as I was getting over feeling like puking,” I say.

  “I should keep it down. I don’t know how many of these guys are from Cali.”

  “You new here?”

  “Just transferred in. First day.”

  “Same!”

  “Sweaty high five!”

  We high-five. Sweatily.

  Coach Cartier claps once. “Gentlemen, hit the showers. We’ll pick it up tomorrow. Come ready to work.”

  “Hey, bro,” Alex says. “What’re you doing now?”

  “Meeting my friends Delaney and Vi in the dining hall for dinner. Wanna join?”

  “I was gonna invite myself anyway.”

  “Cool.”

  “How do you have friends already?”

  “Long story. Tell you on the walk there.”

  Alex casts a quick rearward glance at Coach Cartier, who’s busy on his phone. He turns back to me, and in a low voice says, “Cartier forgot to mention there’s both an ow and an ache in rowing machine.”

  * * *

  I wait for Alex just outside the gym, my bag at my feet. The rose pink of blood still warms my face despite the ice-cold shower I took to try to simulate the feeling of river spray on my skin. But I do feel better. My muscles devoured a lot of my stress.

  Alex comes out, his thick black hair standing in wet spikes. “Tell you what, bro. That felt good.”

  “The shower or the workout?”

  “Mostly the shower. But the workout, in retrospect.”

  We start for the dining hall. “Gorgeous night too,” I say.

  “I cannot get used to it being under ninety degrees in September.”

  “What’s Houston like?”

  “Hot and huge. Supposedly the most diverse city in America too. Every kind of food. It’s amazing. My parents own a Korean restaurant there.”

  “For real?”

  “Yeah. You ever come to Houston, we’ll do you right. Bibimbap. Tteokbokki. Bulgogi. Korean fried chicken.”

  “Don’t forget the barbecue.”

  “Don’t you worry. So, what’s Sawyer like?”

  “Not the most diverse city in America. Small. Quiet. Real green. Like if people stopped cutting back the plant life, it’d turn back into forest in about five years. People there don’t have much money. But it’s home. I miss it.”

  “What do you miss most?”

  “Besides my grandparents? There’s a river that runs through town. My grandpa and I used to canoe on it. Then his health got to where he couldn’t, and I’d go with my friend Delaney, who we’re meeting.”

  “Hence crew?”

  “Yep. How about you?”

  “I’ve been canoeing one time, with my church youth group. Didn’t play any sports in junior high and high school. No time. After school I’d help at my parents’ restaurant and do homework between rushes. So I figured I’d do a sport that most people were gonna be new to. Thought maybe there’d be a chance of getting a college crew scholarship.”

  We merge into a stream of kids entering the dining hall. “You here on scholarship? Sorry if that’s a rude question. I don’t know all the etiquette or whatever. I’m on scholarship.”

  “Oh, for sure, dude. My parents could never afford this place.”

  “Same. I mean—” I almost say, Even if my parents were still around. But as easy as Alex is to talk to, I’m not ready to open up that much. “Yeah.”

  Inside the dining hall, it’s a potpourri of good smells. I survey the room. “I don’t see Delaney and Vi yet.”

  We get in the food line. I tell Alex how Delaney and I came to school together.

  “Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson up in here, bro.” Alex pauses, reads a placard, and points at some foil-wrapped burritos or sandwiches. “Yes!”

  “What?”

  “Banh mi!”

  “Do what?”

  “Vietnamese sandwich. They’re so good, dude.”

  “Think I’ll like it?”

  “Depends on if you like delicious things.”

  I shrug and grab one. “Bottoms up.” I hold it up as if in a toast.

  Alex grabs one and tosses it on his tray, grabs two more, and tosses one on my tray and another one on his. “Save you a trip back. You earned it on the erg.”

  “Ergs are aptly named. Errrrrrrgh.” We laugh, grab cardboard sleeves of fries and cups of coleslaw, and find a table with a couple of spare seats for Delaney and Vi.

  “So,” Alex says, unwrapping his banh mi, “what’s your plan?”

  “What, like—”

  “In life.”

  “Shit, dude. I’m probably the only person here who hasn’t known since preschool their plan for when they grew up. You?”

  Alex takes a huge bite of his sandwich and chews for a second. He looks at it appreciatively. “This is better than it has any right to be.” He takes another bite. “My plan: Graduate. Princeton undergrad. Then get my law degree and div degree at somewhere that has a joint program. Maybe Yale.”

  “Div?”

  “Divinity. Study of religion.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Start a social justice ministry. Organize in the community. Run for city council. Run for state office. Run for US Congress. House or Senate. Probably House. From there: the second Korean American president of the United States.”

  He rattles it off with such ease and nonchalance, I study his face for some hint of a joke, but it reveals none.

  I laugh anyway. Alex stares back evenly.

  “You’re serious.”

  “Yep.”

  I redden. “Sorry for laughing. It’s just if one of the kids I grew up with said that, they’d be joking.”

  “I’m not saying it’s one hundred percent that I’ll be president someday.”

  “No, yeah, I gotcha. Why second Korean American president?”

  “Because it should have already happened by the time I’m old enough.”

  I’ve known Alex for fewer than two hours, and I can already see such a steely, quiet confidence in him. There’s not a doubt in my mind he’s going to do exactly what he says he will. I’m jealous. He seems like the kind of person who never lets down anyone he loves. I wish I were that.

  Alex takes another bite of his banh mi and shakes his head. “Real good. Tell you what, though, man, I do a brisket banh mi.” He kisses his fingertips. “You gotta try it someday.”

  “You cook?”

  “Used to help my folks out at their restaurant. Me and my sisters. I’m gonna be the first president to put a Korean-Vietnamese-fusion food truck on the front lawn of the White House.”

  “My roomie’s dad is a US House rep,” I say.

  “Yeah? Maybe I should talk with him.”

  “Wouldn’t recommend it.”

  “He suck?”

  “He ain’t great. How’s your roomie?”

  “Don’t have one.”

  “Serious?”

  “I was supposed to. Then he pulled out at the last minute and went to another school. Wait list came through or something. So I have the room to myself.”

  “Lu
cky.”

  Behind Alex, I see Delaney and Vi enter the dining hall, look around, and spot us. They get their food and join us at our table.

  “Delaney, Vi, this is Alex Pak from Houston, Texas,” I say.

  Alex nods and smiles broadly. “Hey, good to meet you.”

  “How do y’all know each other?” Delaney asks.

  “Crew,” I say. “It was like being in war together.”

  “In World War II, the Russians repaired roads by laying the bodies of German soldiers side by side and spraying them with water to freeze solid,” Delaney says.

  Alex nods. “Wild.”

  And with that…Alex, meet Delaney. I glance down at my french fries, lying side by side. “Sometimes I wish you knew less stuff.”

  “So, Delaney, I know where you’re from,” Alex says. “Vi?”

  “Brazil.”

  “Awesome. Welcome to America.”

  “I see you already have a good immigration policy, Alex,” I say.

  Vi looks quizzical.

  “Alex is going to be president someday,” I say.

  Alex shrugs. “Gonna try.”

  “How was field hockey?” I ask Delaney.

  She holds up a skinned knee. It’s all the answer I need. I can picture Delaney standing just outside the fracas, looking zoned-out, while she observes the patterns of play and searches for the right formula, ignoring the calls of her coach to get into the action. Then, she strikes. She’s smaller than the other girls on her team, but none of them have the scrap and grit she does. None of them have her pain threshold. All of them are more afraid to see their own blood.

  Delaney doesn’t look exhausted like me. Her cheeks still glow from field hockey, and she has a luster and alertness in her eyes that make her appear energized and eager for more.

  “How were classes?” I can predict her response, from her face, before I even ask.

  “In physics we were discussing quantum entanglement within like three minutes of taking roll,” Delaney says.

  “Wow.”

  “Don’t say ‘Wow’ sarcastically like I haven’t told you several times what quantum entanglement is.”

  “It didn’t take.”

  Delaney shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

  I turn to Vi. “How were your classes?”

  She rests her chin on her palms with her pinkies at the curved corners of her full lips. An errant streak of sunset falls across her face through one of the tall dining hall windows, illuminating the copper of a lock of her hair.

  “Good.” She says it with a little contented sigh. “And how was—mmm.” Vi pantomimes rowing.

  “Crew?”

  “Yes! Crew. Sounds like the word for ‘raw’ in Portuguese: cru.”

  “That works, because I’m feeling pretty raw right now. My arms are hamburger.”

  Vi reaches across the table and grips my left biceps and squeezes. “Feels okay to me. Maybe we can replace it with a robot arm like Bucky Barnes’s.”

  “Now, hang on, you buy a ticket to the gun show?”

  Vi looks at me blankly.

  “So, uh. In America sometimes we call biceps ‘guns,’ like, as a joke. And there are these big shows or conventions or whatever called gun shows. But for real guns, not biceps. Obviously. And you have to buy tickets. To the gun show. And yeah.” Very successful joke.

  “So I just got into the gun show without a ticket?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Don’t tell the police.”

  “I won’t.”

  “They’ll send me back to Brazil.”

  “I definitely won’t, then. We need you right here in America.”

  “Right here in Connecticut.” She pronounces it Connetchicut.

  We rejoin the conversation between Delaney and Alex. Delaney is telling Alex that science doesn’t know why anesthesia works.

  “I think we’re officially a crew now,” Alex says as we’re finally getting up to leave.

  “Dude, can you not say ‘crew’ right now? Too soon,” I say.

  Alex laughs. “Good point. Squad, then. I officially declare us a squad.”

  We leave the dining hall together. Vi and Delaney split off. Alex and I keep strolling. The air smells aquatic, verging on rain.

  “Where you live, bro?” Alex asks.

  “Koch Hall.”

  Alex beams and goes up for the high ten. “Koch too, baby.”

  I high-ten him. “Fourth floor.”

  “Third.”

  “You gotta come up to the fourth floor on Saturday night for Midnite Matinee.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Oh…you’ll see. Kinda tough to describe.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  My phone starts buzzing, and I pull it out. An incoming video call from Papaw and Mamaw. I try to decline it, with the intention of calling them back, but I accidentally answer. “Sorry, dude,” I say to Alex. “Accidentally answered this Skype from my grandparents. I better take this.”

  “I wanna meet your grandparents!”

  My insides cinch tight just above my stomach. I flash to Tripp mocking Papaw’s accent. But something reassures me that that won’t happen with Alex. “Cool.”

  Papaw’s face appears—drawn, sallow, and at the unflattering upward angle at which he tends to hold the tablet. “Hey, Mickey Mouse,” he wheezes. “Thought I’d try to catch you before I turned in. Had to see how the first day went.”

  “Good. I’m beat. Classes were hard but good. Got a ton of homework already. Just got done with crew practice, which completely destroyed me. I’ll be lucky to stay awake to study.”

  He staves off a coughing fit. “Go get yourself a Coke-cola, put some pep in your step. How’re the kids there? Nice?”

  “Yeah, I made a new friend—”

  Alex pops his head into the frame. “Hi!” He grins and waves. “I’m Alex.”

  Papaw smiles. “Howdy, Alex. Pleasure to meet you. My friends call me Pep, and so do my grandson’s friends.”

  “He just met Delaney,” I say.

  Papaw chuckles and coughs. “Ain’t she something?”

  “Indeed,” Alex says.

  “Now, you from up in Connecticut?”

  I hand my phone to Alex. Might as well.

  “Houston,” Alex says.

  “Guess I better call you Tex, then.”

  “My last name is Pak. Tex Pak has a nice ring to it.”

  “It surely does. Now, how’d you and Cash meet?”

  “Crew practice.”

  Papaw coughs but quickly recovers. “You ought to come down with him, visit Tennessee sometime. We got a fine river right near.”

  “I’d like that. Cash told me.”

  I’m awestruck at Alex’s ease in befriending an old man from Tennessee in mere seconds, with pauses for coughs and labored breathing, over a sputtering video call. With this gift for connection, he might just become president after all.

  “I’m gonna stuff him full of Korean food and Texas barbecue. Show him the true barbecue.”

  “Them’s fightin’ words, Tex! You come down here, I’ll throw a pork butt on the smoker, show you what for,” Papaw says, grinning.

  “Sounds like even if I lose, I win,” Alex says. “I’m gonna hand you back to Cash. Good meeting you, Pep.”

  “Pleasure meeting you, Tex. You make sure my grandson keeps his nose clean, hear?”

  “Yessir!” Alex hands my phone back and slaps me on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go on in.” He claps and points at me. “Tomorrow, baby. We enter the valley of the shadow of death together again.”

  “Can’t hardly wait.”

  Alex leaves.

  I turn my attention back to Papaw. “Alex is great, huh?”

  �
�This is why I wanted you to go. So’s you could meet good people like him.”

  “It’s early to be turning in.”

  Papaw coughs and wheezes like he’d been saving up during his brief chat with Alex. “Felt tired.”

  “Mamaw there?”

  “Working.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Tell me more about your first day.”

  I sigh. “It was tiring. They move fast here. Everyone’s super into school. Kinda makes me feel like the dumbest one in class.”

  “You ain’t.”

  “Feels like it.”

  “No, sir, you ain’t. I wager many of these kids been in an environment like this all their lives. So they got a leg up. But you got a strong mind, and you know how to work. You’ll be fine.”

  I hope so. I don’t want to let you down. I don’t want that to be the last you know of me.

  Papaw coughs and coughs. Even his coughs sound weak and tired and thin.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Ye—” he starts to say, but more coughing cuts him off. He can’t stop.

  “Hey, Papaw, I love you. I’m gonna let you go so you can get some rest, okay?”

  He waves. “Love you, Mickey Mouse,” he manages as best he can, and the screen goes dark.

  * * *

  I do my best to focus on my homework. I’m not used to trying to study with someone sitting indifferently a few feet away, listening to music so loud I can clearly hear it through his headphones.

  In addition to that distraction, I’m fighting being bone-weary and thinking of how Papaw has visibly declined in a matter of days. I’m also thinking of the new light in Delaney’s eyes compared with what must surely be the dull glaze in mine. I’m petrified for what this means for the future of our friendship. How long do I have before she finds her real people—the ones she’d have chosen over me if she could have in Sawyer?

  Most of all, I’m struggling to get a grip on the unfamiliarity of this new life, and it’s proving very slippery.

  All this adds up to a patchwork of undefined emotion. A whole lot of feeling, most of it bad, stealing my focus.

  Then, one final distraction. A gust of wind lightly rattles the window, followed by a constellation of rain on the glass. Tripp either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, and I’m glad to have this bit of minor holiness all to myself. If nothing else, this one thing in my life can be perfect.