Chapter Three: Crosstown Traffic
His eyes slowly took in her ripped and frayed bellbottoms, her wide quarter sleeved frilly shirt, leather moccasins, and red bandana tied around her head with the tail ends falling casually over her shoulder and mingling with her dark tresses. She stood calmly on the narrow semi-crowded sidewalk, shuffling contently through the rows of records set up before her. She seemed to be mumbling Janis Joplin's Summertime under her breath as she fingered through the albums.
Jin stood an aisle away, pretending to be engrossed with the Doors' albums, but kept her in the corner of his eye. Eventually, starring at picture after picture of Jim Morrison for near half an hour began to sicken him. He replaced their self-titled album and moved so that she was still within eye and ear shot. He then turned and found himself facing every Beatle album known to man. Please Please Me lay to his right, A Hard Day's Night to his left, Help! Along the front row, and Sgt. Pepper's everywhere else.
In his own opinion, one can stand looking at the Beatles for so long before being driven to the point of insanity. He supposed that that was the reason why there were so many fanatical girls. Had they decided to create their own cult one day… he wouldn't be surprised. As long as they didn't ask for his membership. In his boredom, he found himself debating whether Xiao was a Beatlemaniac or not. He glanced over at her just as she lifted up Bob Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited record and placed it under her arm. She repeated this process several more times with the Grateful Dead and the Who before Jin thought it to be safe to wander back to her.
"All set?" he asked as she replaced the Mamas and Papas back on the shelf.
Before answering, she tucked Van Morrison under her arm and returned the Rolling Stones' 'Satanic Majesties Request' while mumbling something more to herself than him about it being their worst album yet. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, and then nodded absently at him. "Just about…yeah, they don't have Led Zeppelin. Let me go pay."
She made her way toward the red tent, which was serving as the stall. At the counter, a tall, slim, dark Brazilian man awaited her approach. As she reached him, he greeted her with a shy smile and soft hello. He had a gaunt, narrow face, deep-set brown eyes, and long dreadlocks. As Jin moved closer, the man laughed aloud at Xiao's "forgive me for my ignorance, but do you know Jimi Hendrix?" Jin assumed that the man found it amusing because Xiao looked younger than she was. Years younger. She could probably sneak into restaurants and get free meals.
Jin placed himself behind Xiao as the man placed her purchases in a black plastic bag. He then proceeded to wait as Xiao fished her money out of her pockets. Like the Brazilian man, Jin watched on, amused, and half expecting her to set down lint, paper clips, and candy wrappers after she placed down four pennies.
"How much does she owe?" Jin asked the man.
The man grinned, his brown eyes glinting, and the black sunglasses sitting atop his head glaring in the sun's afternoon light. "For you, man, thirty five dollars,"
Jin nodded and pulled out his wallet, noting the man's smooth deep voice and heavy foreign accent. He tossed the bills onto the counter, grabbed the bag, and snagged Xiao's elbow as she continued to dig in her pockets.
After a few moments, Xiao realized that they were no longer at the record stall and allowed Jin to navigate her through the streets.
"Riddle me this, Kazama," she said after a few seconds of silence. He had given her her bag and had an arm wrapped loosely around her waist with his right hand gently pressing on the small of her back and pushing her forward.
Jin narrowly avoided a walking/kissing couple moving aimlessly in their direction and then looked back at Xiaoyu. "What's that?" He prayed to every god he'd heard of that she didn't ask of anything involving 'stuff'.
"What are your thoughts on the Vietnam War?"
Jin snorted and almost tripped on himself. "I highly doubt that you'd like to hear my political views," he began to steer her toward the park eager to show her the sunset. Whether they made it there before hand or made it there at all was questionable—with all the hippies walking around and trapping them. "I'd rather ask…why are you a hippie? And do you seriously wash your hair in mayonnaise?"
"Naw, I prefer to wash it in brew—kidding—I don't consider myself a hippie," she continued quickly. "Hippies are all into that free love, peace, anti-war, and crap, but me…I don't consider myself a peaceful person."
Jin turned his head to look at her slowly just as someone threw a clear bag filled with what looked like caramel candies straight past, and grazing his head. "Oh? Lay it one me,"
"For me, 'hippie' is a fashion statement. I dress how I wanna dress, I listen to, and I believe we should stop communism before it starts. Watch, one day, man, China'll be the only communist nation left in the world. And it'll suck. Man, am I glad to be outta there."
Jin grinned, tugging lightly at the frills on her shirt. "I get the feeling you're for the war in Vietnam,"
"A hundred percent, man. South Vietnam hasn't got a chance without us," she replied as he led he into the park. He all but dragged her up the hill and back toward the big oak tree, while dodging people in the way and trying not decapitate her arm when pulling her through the ridiculously large crowds of people camping out. The moment they arrived there, the sun, as if on cue, began to dip down beyond the horizon in a current of red, orange, pink, lavender, and yellow. Jin was delighted to hear her marveled gasp and watch as the sun splayed various colors across her captivated face.
A ghost of a smile fluttered across his lips. She reminded him somewhat of his late mother; her carefree outlook on life, her love of simplicity, her innocence, her love for drugs…
"…lost you didn't I?"
Jin snapped from his daze and was caught completely off guard when he found her directly in his face. He flinched instinctively and tried to move away hurriedly, but resulted in smashing his forehead against hers. She yelped in both pain and surprise, falling backward onto the grass.
"Jumpy, aren't we?" she asked jokingly.
Jin extended his hand and began to help her to her feet. Her hand was small and slender compared to his. Her nails were naturally cut and had a bit of nail polish left at the cuticles. He half expected her hand to be soft, smooth, and gentle, like most of the girls he knew, but was taken a back to find it to be hard, calloused, and bony. He made a mental note to find out what she did in her spare time.
He pulled her upright and she almost stumbled into his chest. She caught herself, her hand still in his, and brushed a few loose strands of hair from her eyes. She looked shyly at their interlaced hands and tugged.
"If it's cool with you, I'd like my hand back,"
Maybe it was the chill of the summer twilight, the purple, pink, and red lights reflecting off her hair and face, or maybe the fact that she seemed so small and vulnerable. "Forget about the stuff," he uttered breathlessly, pulling her suddenly into his arms. He felt like a total candyass for being the one to bring the taboo subject up, but she reminded him too much of the one thing he cared about.
"So you do have it," she said, a hint of excitement in her voice. She started to pull him down the hill and maybe toward the street, but he was powerless to stop her. He followed behind her, mechanically.
Abruptly, he stopped her at the gates with: "My mother died of an overdose."
She, however, didn't seem to care. "That's why you have to be careful—and not OD."
Jin had the sudden urge to slap her; shake her; shove some sense into that pretty head of hers, because that's all it was: pretty. "Don't you get that that stuff can kill you?" he fought hard from letting the anger reach his voice.
They were standing on the curb now and Xiao was looking at him lazily over her shoulder. "In the words of Janis Joplin "…If you get it today, you don't wear it tomorrow, man! Cause you don't need it…. Tomorrow never happens, man."
Before he could retort, a bright red Mercedes just happened to Brody Out right next to them. Dread crept through every limb on his body as Hwoarang rolled down the passenger window and grinned at Xiao, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.
"Heeey, sugar! Xiao, right?"
Jin tried to get Hwoarang to bug off. "Hwoarang—"
"Yeah, yeah. What's happenin', brother man?"
Hwoarang shut off the engine and walked out leaning against the car door closest to Xiao. He held a packet of cigarettes in one hand and stood looking at her like the groovy cat he was. "What's up, pix? I see you at that party last night, some guy comes up and says he's got something for you, and you ditch me? What's up with that, huh?"
"Sorry, man," she said quickly. "But Jin here said he's got some stuff for me, too."
Jin jerked in her direction in sheer surprise. "What? I didn't—"
Hwoarang snorted. "Jin's got stuff? Pfft. Let me tell ya, Pix. I got stuff…. And if you really want it, you'll come with me."
I tried. Please review... please?