I nibbled on my soy dog.
Crackle. Crackle.
Swish. Swish.
The fire was spitting out embers. Happy dug her bare feet into the sand, making circle patterns over and over again.
Swish. Swish. Swish.
She stopped and looked up at me. “Thanks, Pablo,” she said softly.
“Thanks for what?” I replied.
“For this…” She kicked up some sand. “The beach, the sea, the bonfire, the hot dogs, the tent. All of it. It’s because of you, Pablo…”
I could feel the fire on my face even though we were several feet away.
“It’s nothing,” I said with a shrug.
Happy scooted closer. “It’s not nothing … It’s everything.”
I smiled at her. But what I really wanted to do was run into my tent and hide so she wouldn’t see my face melting from all the heat in my cheeks. Because what she didn’t realize was that it was her—she was the best, most loyal, most supportive friend I’d ever had. Not the other way around. I should have been the one thanking her.
“Is it s’mores time yet?” Miguel announced.
Phew.
“Yes, please!” Happy bounced off the log with excitement.
It was mad chaos after that. We ran around in the dark searching for long sticks. It was a miracle nobody got poked in the eye. There was also the shrieking whenever an unsuspecting crab would scuttle out of the shadows. They were only the size of Matchbox cars, but for whatever reason, Jem, Happy, and Ms. Grace acted like a knife-wielding serial killer was chasing after them. Thankfully, it got quieter when the marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate bars came out. Before long, our sticks were loaded with white marshmallows. We had to keep an eye on them. The marshmallows turned a toasty shade of brown pretty fast. Jem scowled when hers turned black as charcoal. I tried not to laugh. I really wanted to. But I didn’t. Unlike Happy, who fell to the ground giggling so hard, she forgot all about her marshmallows and got sand all over them.
Jem stuck her tongue out and said, “Ha! Buti nga sa’yo!” And even though I had no idea what it meant, I could tell just by her tone that it was something to do with karma or revenge or one of those spiteful kinds of things.
Zeus chortled.
Ms. Grace shook her head.
Miguel popped open another beer.
And I squished my marshmallows in between a slab of chocolate and two graham crackers.
Crunch! Crunch!
My munching was contagious. Suddenly, they were all gobbling their own s’mores. The feast didn’t last, though. As soon as the marshmallows were gone, everyone looked real sleepy. One by one, Jem, Ms. Grace, and then Happy shuffled off to their tent. Zeus fell asleep on the sand next to the bonfire.
“You should get some rest, Pablo. It’s been a long day,” said Miguel.
“In a bit. I’m still kind of loopy from all the sugar.”
Miguel chuckled.
Zeus mumbled in his sleep, and then he snorted so loud it scared the crap out of me.
Miguel sputtered. I sputtered. We lost it around the same time, covering our mouths so we wouldn’t wake him. I almost fell off the log—that’s how hard I was laughing.
I caught my breath.
It was just me and Miguel. The last men standing.
The log I was on suddenly felt hollow, empty, lonesome. Like something was missing.
No. Someone.
I sighed. “Too bad Mamá and Chiqui aren’t here … I really think they would have liked this place.”
“Yeah. Maybe next time…” Miguel’s words lingered. And then, they sort of just disappeared, floating like the ashes above the fire. He stretched his legs out on the sand and gazed up at the sky. There was this strange calmness about him. Or maybe he’d just had one too many beers.
“So, about Chiqui.” The words spilled out of my mouth.
Ugh. Why did I just say that?
Miguel’s gaze dropped. “What about Chiqui?”
I got all clammy and itchy, and it felt as if the serial-killer crabs were inside my shorts.
Great. Good job, Pablo.
“Um … uh … It’s just, I was wondering if you really think another family is going to want to adopt her?”
Miguel sat up straighter. “Well, yeah. Sure. I’m pretty optimistic about it.”
I gulped. But the graham crackers and marshmallows and chocolate and soy dogs were in the way, as if they’d regurgitated back up.
Why was Miguel so optimistic?
Did he know something?
Should I ask?
I leaned in closer to him. “The thing is—” My throat clenched up. For a second I couldn’t speak. I coughed. That’s when it all blasted out of me. “The thing is, I’m kind of, like, happy, Miguel. The happiest I’ve been in a long time. I—I never really wanted a brother or a sister, you know … I guess I just didn’t know what I was missing. But it’s different now. Chiqui, she’s like the sister I never knew I wanted … And … and it’s killing me … it’s killing me that she’s going to be taken away…”
I hadn’t planned on it. But there were actual tears in my eyes. Real ones. Not the crocodile kind. I sniffled and waited for him to say something.
“I’m sorry, Pablo.” Miguel exhaled. “But this is a conversation you should be having with your mother. You need to tell her how you feel … She’s not a mind reader. She may be a lot of things, but a mind reader isn’t one of them.”
“But … but … I can’t … What if…”
There it was—the dreaded what-ifs.
Miguel seemed uncomfortable all of a sudden, like the crabs had gone from my shorts to his. “You can, Pablo. You can talk to her. Whatever happens, at least you tried.”
He was right. Of course he was right.
There was this moment. Neither of us said anything. We stared at the bonfire. Listened to the waves. Allowed everything to sink in until it couldn’t sink any deeper.
“Okay,” I finally said. “I’ll talk to her.”
Miguel nodded. “Good.”
And somehow, I felt a bit better.
A bit relieved.
A bit braver.
A bit more … hopeful.
FORTY-SIX
It was weird when I woke up the next morning. Actually, it was barely even morning. I mean, technically it was, but at 5:15 it was still kind of dark, so it didn’t really seem like it. Yet somehow, I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. What was the deal with that saying anyway? The bright-eyed part I understood. But what was about the bushy-tailed? I didn’t have a tail, and if I did, it probably wouldn’t be very bushy.
Never mind.
So anyway, when I glimpsed out of my tent, I saw the beach and the sea and the hint of light peeking from the horizon. And for some reason, I wasn’t dizzy or woozy or nauseated. That was the weird part.
Obviously nobody else was awake. It was quiet. Even the waves seemed kind of quiet. That was weird too. Or maybe it was normal, and me thinking it was weird was weird.
Never mind.
I tiptoed to the edge of the tree line. Somehow it felt like there was this invisible border dividing the safe zone and the not-so-safe zone. The other side, where the sand never seemed to end, where the waves frothed on the shoreline, where the sky was clear of pine trees—that side was supposed to be the side I feared. Yet at that moment, it didn’t seem quite as scary as it did before.
“Magandang umaga!” I heard someone say. I searched for the voice and found it several feet away. It was the old woman at the shack-of-a store, which was kind of like a mini sari-sari store in a bamboo hut. She was seated on a tree stump, drinking from a coffee mug.
“Oh. Um. Good morning,” I replied.
She smiled and waved me over without saying anything. I looked down at the invisible border. I looked right. I looked left. I looked over my shoulder. Why was this old lady talking to me? What did she want?
The paranoid part of me wanted to run in the opposite direction. But
the other part, the curious part, wanted to stay and see what happened.
I crossed the invisible border and approached her, stealing glances with every step.
Step one: Silver hair braided down her back.
Step two: Loose-fitting granny dress with parrots on it.
Step three: No shoes, only bare feet with calloused soles.
Step four: Crinkly eyes and shiny brown skin.
Step five: A leather twine necklace with a brass pendant.
I halted in front of her and stared at it. The pendant was triangular shaped with a single eye engraved in the middle. It was kind of creepy, but I was fascinated with it for whatever reason.
“Divine Eye,” she said, rubbing the pendant. Before I could even react, she stood and reached for a small thermos in her shack. Then she poured some of the hot drink into another mug. “Here. You sit.”
It was as if she was commanding me. I should have been offended, but instead I took the mug and settled on the nearest tree stump. The old lady sat back down and continued sipping from her drink.
“Nescafe three-in-one,” she said after swallowing.
I lifted the mug and sniffed it. Coffee. The old lady had given me a big cup of coffee.
Nice.
The first sip was strong yet creamy and sweet. It warmed me and made the corners of my cheeks tingle. “Thank you. It’s delicious,” I told her.
The old lady winked. “I, Manang Lorna,” she said with a thick accent. “Kahapon, I see you, sa kubo.” She pointed at the hut on the beach with the thatched roof.
The hut. Oh god. She must have seen me puke my guts out. How humiliating. My face burned. I focused on the coffee mug. Maybe she would stop talking to me if I looked catatonic.
“I think you no like beach. No like dagat … How you say … sea. Yes, you no like sea. You get sick. Make suka. Diba?”
Don’t look at her, Pablo. Do. Not. Look.
Was she some kind of witch? Some kind of psychic? How had she figured it out?
She didn’t even know me.
I pretended to sip my coffee, gazing at her over the rim of the mug. Manang Lorna was eyeing me with her actual eyes and with her eye pendant. I gulped the coffee and the giant glob of shame in my throat.
“Um. But how could you tell?” I finally croaked out.
She cackled. “No magic. Manang Lorna watch. I see people. Many people.”
“Oh.”
“Is bad. You scare. No normal. No good. Sea is beautiful. Is better you brave. You fight. Laban.” Manang Lorna raised a fist in the air. “Laban! You fight. You win. No more scare.”
For a second I felt like puking. What she was telling me—it was a slap in the face. Like she was stomping on my feet and kicking me in the stomach. It hurt. Really bad.
But it was true. It was all true.
This old lady. This stranger. For the first time in my life, someone was telling me I wasn’t normal. I wasn’t right. I needed to change.
“So … um. Like how am I supposed to fight?”
Manang Lorna clutched her stomach and her heart. “Scare is here and here. No there,” she said, pointing at the sea. “You go. You make friend with sea. No more scare. Promise.”
Huh?
First she tells me to fight, then she tells me to make friends with the sea?
What was she talking about?
Maybe she was just delusional.
That was it.
She was a deluded old lady.
“Hay…” Manang Lorna pushed herself up as if her bones hurt. “I rest. Mamaya, I open store.”
I handed her back the mug. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Salamat is ‘thank you.’ You learn speak Tagalog. Is good. You stay here in Philippines,” she said with a nod.
My face got all hot again. It also stung. She was right, though. All along I should have been learning Tagalog. But it had never really occurred to me—the importance of learning the language and the culture of whatever country we were living in. It hadn’t seemed worth it if we were just going to move again in a couple of months.
“Salamat,” I repeated.
And then she just hobbled down the beach, leaving me alone again.
I gazed at the beach, at the water, at the sky. For a second I wanted my sunglasses. They were in my pocket. I could have easily pulled them out and slid them on. But the second came and went. I didn’t need them anymore, even though the sky was changing colors and the sea was beginning to shimmer. In fact, the shimmering looked like winking.
It was as if the sea were winking at me.
You’re not going to puke, Pablo.
You’re not going to drown, Pablo.
You’re not going to get killed by a shark, Pablo.
The sea was calm. The sea was reassuring me.
I could hear Manang Lorna in my head, “You go. You make friend with sea. No more scare. Promise.”
I inhaled the salty air and walked. It didn’t even matter that there were bits of shell and seaweed fronds and dead funky-smelling crabs and sea urchins in my path. I just kept on going until my toes were wet. By then, the sun was a fireball at the edge of the horizon. The water was purple-y and calm. So were the clouds, which had golden beams of light shining through them. It was kind of like staring through a big stained-glass window. It was breathtaking and peaceful. So peaceful, it made me warm and fuzzy and hopeful inside.
That’s exactly what I was feeling.
Hopeful.
Manang Lorna had a point.
I had to face my fears.
I had to fight.
When I got home, I’d talk to Mamá, just as Miguel had suggested. I would tell her everything, even if it made her mad or sad. She might ground me forever, or strangle me, or send me off to Abuelita’s. But at least she would know the truth. At least she would finally know how I really felt about my father, about moving around so much, about Miguel, about Chiqui—especially Chiqui, and how she needed us, and how we needed her, and how we should never ever let her go.
I waded into the water. It was a bit cold. But I kept on going until it was thigh high. I wasn’t scared, considering I didn’t even know how to swim. Yes. It was true. I didn’t know how to swim.
So what?
I’d seen bigger waves in a bathtub.
Splash.
I dunked my head.
Oh my god.
I was actually underwater.
I held my breath. My eyes were closed. There was fizzing and popping and whooshing as if the sea were whispering. I couldn’t understand. Not really. But I knew what I wanted to hear.
Everything is going to be fine, Pablo.
Everything was going to be fine.
I burst through the surface. Hwaaahh—inhaling air.
It finally looked like morning. I stumbled back to the beach, into the forest, back to my tent. My skin, my hair, my clothes were sopping wet. I must have been quite a sight.
“Hey. You’re up.” Miguel emerged from behind some trees.
“Uh. Yeah,” I replied.
I could tell he hadn’t been awake for very long, because his eyes were still crusty and he had these wrinkle marks on his face from leaning on his pillow. He gazed at me from head to toe. “You need a towel?” he asked.
I looked down at myself. Water dripped everywhere. There was even a circle of wet sand around my feet that reminded me of an old-fashioned doughnut. “I am pretty wet.” I chuckled.
Miguel chuckled too. But I figured he wanted some sort of explanation. I mean, part of me wanted to blabber about everything that had just happened. About Manang Lorna. About what she’d said. About the sunglasses that had stayed in my pocket. About the sea and how I’d made friends with it. I could even imagine what he’d say when I dragged him to the beach and showed him the new and improved Pablo.
“Awesome, little man! You’ll be ready for surfing in no time!”
But the other part wanted to keep it secret. Keep it quiet. Keep it all to myself. That way I wouldn�
�t jinx it.
Zip it, Pablo.
“The water in the shower … it was freezing. I thought it would help if I kept my clothes on,” I said, trying to sound as convincing as possible.
“Ah. I should have warned you about that. We’re lucky we even have showers. Never mind hot water. Go dry off. I’ll start breakfast,” he said with a smile. “Scrambled eggs and toast okay?”
“Yes, please.”
“How about some coffee?” he added with a glint in his eye. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
I coughed. “Oh. I don’t need any. Thanks.”
Little did he know I’d already had a cup. I could feel the caffeine and sugar coursing through me. I was energized.
Okay.
Let’s do this.
I’d return to my tent.
I’d change.
I’d have breakfast.
I’d make an effort to enjoy myself.
I’d go home.
I couldn’t wait to see Chiqui.
I’d talk to Mamá.
And I’d fix everything.
FORTY-SEVEN
I ran up the steps and unlocked the door. I was finally home. I didn’t think it was possible to miss the peeling paint, the water stains, the missing tiles, and the moldy old-house smell. But I had. I really, really had.
“Mamá! Chiqui!” I yelled.
It was quiet.
Ms. Grace sauntered in behind me, glancing at her watch. “They’re probably still at the doctor’s office.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Do you want some merienda? I could fix us some tea and cookies,” she asked.
I didn’t want cookies or anything else to eat. How was I supposed to have a leisurely afternoon snack when all I wanted was to find Mamá, sit her down, and talk to her? I just wanted to get it over with already.
I exhaled. “No thanks.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you change your mind.”
Ms. Grace was gone. I just stood there, my limbs hanging like wet laundry. Drip. Drip. Drip. It was such a major letdown. I’d rehearsed my speech in my head the entire drive home. Everyone was conked out, except for Zeus, who was focused on the road listening to an ’80s radio station. At one point, he started singing along to some song about karma and chameleons and I totally lost my train of thought.
How to Make Friends with the Sea Page 18
