November ended, grey and cold. When Xochitl opens her window in the mornings, the fog is so thick that she cannot see her neighbour's backyard.
At school, they carried blankets and huddled together. And at home, they must make do with the kotatsu. Not that Xochitl minded. Since she got to talk with Hitoshi and her mother much longer than usual. Never Ryuuzu. Not that she cared. And father was always on his phone. Everything else was forgotten. And when he does place the phone back into his pockets, he would leave, cutting her talks with Hitoshi short. "Sorry, something came up." A kiss on her cheek and a chaste kiss to mother. A quick banter in Japanese with Hitoshi. Then nothing else as they went on their way. Xochitl frowned. Ryuuzu too. She would try to talk to him after, but it was always one-sided. Ryuuzu would eventually go to his room.
"Puberty," said mother casually.
As if. At times she wished to peel his skull open. Then crawl into his mind to see, even a glimpse, of what he was thinking. (Even when they were on good terms, he could be so difficult). She said this to her mother.
"It is not that difficult," replied mother, eyes on her embroidery. She was sewing a complicated pattern of a bird. The Toucan if Xochitl recon. No. It was. It must be. She knew that creature as she knew the hair on her head: black, thick, coarse. Her most beautiful feature, they said.
"What do you mean?" she asked. Mother smiled as if she had just said something witty. Or she alone knew something that Xochitl didn't. She shook that thought from her head. She mustn't think so.
"It's what I always say, Xóchitl. Everyone can look but to see is an art. But in this case, it is not much as so. Ryuuzu is rather easy to read. It's just that you aren't trying that hard."
Before she could say another word, her mother invited her to assist with her sewing.
"You must not fall behind on your weaving despite not being back home," she said. "What would the others think? What would my mother think!" She shook her head, her bamboo earrings jingling in her ears.
Xochitl eventually accepted. Her mother and her words. Why was it that she had to be so cryptic? She asked her this once, in the end, the answer that was given was worth much as dirt:
"Why do you talk so?"
"For the same reason, Jesús taught his disciples in parables." Then a coy smile.
She wished she never asked.
There was news of snow, and Xochitl was excited to experience such. She never saw snow except in the movies. She wondered if she could build a snowman or even play snowball fight?
Xochitl sniffed, rubbing her nose. Despite the child-like excitement that threatened to rip her apart. She was wary, reconsidering her earlier desires. The cold was not something she was used to. She feared she would never adapt to it. Back home, there were only two seasons. A time so hot, dry, and barren and a time of rain—renewal. No in-between. Perhaps, the extremity of either. However, there is no autumn or winter.
"It will only get worse," was what Shuji said. He rubbed his gloved hands together whilst giving her permission to rest her hands in his pockets. He waited for a minute before he placed his in. A comforting squeeze. The warmth spread rapidly from her fingers to her face.
Xochitl owed this to Hemera. Someone whom she had gotten close to over the last month. There are hardly any days without either calling the other. Despite spending most of the school day with each other. Was this what it's like to have a girlfriend? Xochitl brightened.
"It's not difficult to flirt," said Hemera. She was seated on Xochitl's bed. A teddy bear, which her father bought on his last business trip, in her lap. Hemera played with the ears. "Soft," she said. She asked Xochitl what quality fabric it was made from. She answered that she didn't know. The conversation ended there.
"What do I talk about?" asked Xochitl. She was on the carpet, looking up. Like a teacher and their protégé.
Hemera smiled. The last light of the day came through the window and illuminated her face. Reminding Xochitl how pretty she was, especially here in Japan with such a conventional face. Besides her excess chatter that could come off as annoying. Hemera was lovely. Xochitl blushed.
"That's easy. Talk about something you like. I usually started off like that. Easing me in, let me lose my nerve. The conversation then came rather easily after that," she continued. "Besides, it would be rather easy for you." Xochitl perked at that.
Something sly settled on Hemera's face and Xochitl wished to hide. Her face was warm.
"From what I have heard, Shuji already finds you interesting. And from my knowledge, it's much easier to catch someone's attention when they already like you…I would know." The emotion that settled on Hemera's face was unbecoming. Didn't belong. She looked off into the distance. Dwindling with her thumbs. Hemera then cleared her throat. Waving her hands as though wanting to bat away the heavy atmosphere. Xochitl just hummed. Even when the conversation had moved to her room decoration, she couldn't help but wonder. Was it that Hemera like— No! She shouldn't. That didn't concern her.
It seemed, in the end, Hemera was right. Shuji was interested in her. After talking with him at one Saturday class they exchanged numbers. Gradually, they chatted with each over the past days of November. And now, in December, they had talked frequently enough that they began to form something akin to a friendship. Though, this would be the first time he had been so forward, her hands tingle. Not that she minded!
Over the last month, she had learned a few things about him, holding this information close to her chest. Just adjacent to her heart. It was unbecoming behaving so, yet Xochitl couldn't help it. He told her he hated routine. That it was too predictable. Boring. He said this over the phone, after his brief attendance at Los Finados. His call woke her in the early morning when nature was still asleep: the birds were dormant and not even the sound of the city was heard. Beautifully quiet. She was half tempted to ignore the call. To shut it off, so that it would no longer disturb that was. But, alas, she saw the caller ID— her heart a hummingbird. He then told her that he wanted to see if she would answer. Like some tests.
Xochitl had also learned that it was his parents that encouraged him to attend Saturday class. They think that learning English would be beneficial for him. He confessed to her earlier that he considered playing truant with the class. The cold itched at her nose as they waited for the pedestrian signal to flash green. She found herself asking why he keeps attending. He yawns, then: "I stayed after seeing you.". They missed their chance to cross, the light flashing red. Xochitl felt light. What should she say? She said nothing. Tongue dry and too anxious. She anticipated what he was to say next: "You seemed interesting."
Xochitl remained silent.
"I've never seen anyone that looked like you before. So, I thought you must be fun to talk to."
She said nothing. What should she say anyway? When she returned her attention to his chatter (that damned mind of hers, deceitful, loud. Untamed: the river!) she wasn't too certain of what he was saying. He talked like her kouhai ending most of his statement with よ. Words that don't fit— slang. However, unlike her kouhai Shuji wasn't too keen on making his speech understandable. Talking too fast for her to properly decipher. At times it was like a shell to her ear: nothing. Then, she heard, "…you're exotic."
It was said to be a compliment, but Xochitl didn't know what to think about it. She hated it. That word. Fruits were exotic. She wasn't. They have told her once that her hair was her best feature and she remained silent then. And now, as Shuji said that and continued to talk, Xochitl remained silent again.
She soon realised he was continuing to talk.
"…I know someone who owns this projector bar."
"Projector Bar?" The words leave her lips without her realising. She looked up to meet his eyes.
"Yeah, it's a bar. But on the nights and on holidays, he put on shows. Great shows. They don't make movies like those anymore."
"What movies do you like?"
Shuji hummed. "Oldies. Anything Setsuko Hara is in, Late Spring. I like the Black rain—oh! The Family Game is also a good watch."
She had never heard of them. Shuji must have seen the look on her face as he smiled. The conversation should have ended there, but Xochitl soon spoke up.
"Thinking of going into the entertainment business?"
Nothing. Then a chuckle. Then a laugh. Almost childlike: bells ready to burst from his chest. "Kya!" It sounded unfit to hear.
"Like the actors?"
Xochitl nodded. Another laugh: convulsively so. "I'm content just watching. Though, if I must admit. I don't mind being the director, the co-director even. The screenwriter is not too bad of an idea either. Create plans and watch them unfold. It's like lighting a fire. Most are content in just watching it, myself as well. However, breaking the wood, gathering old newspaper, the gasoline, the matches. That's fun too."
Xochitl frowned. "That sounds like a hassle."
Shuji smirked. "The work is all that to it."
"So, you like the method?"
"I love to make use of. The thrill of it: to get lost in the toil, the do."
Xochitl hummed. She doesn't understand. She didn't get to dwell long on the thought as he squeezed her hands.
"Ne, want to come with me to the Projector Bar sometime this month?"
Her heart was a hummingbird wing in her chest. Threatening to tear through muscles and bones. And leave her in a mess: dead (perhaps she was being melodramatic). Xochitl didn't trust her voice, so she opted to nod instead.
It snowed! Her father told her how lucky they were for it to not only snow but stick. Allowing them to make a snowman Xochitl had dreamed of. Even Ryuuzu helped, smiling as they tried to make it resemble the ones in the movies. Eventually, Xochitl retired inside earlier than she would like. Turned out that even with gloves on the cold still managed to seep into her fingers making them stiff.
Warming her hands over the heater fan in her room. Hemera joined her shortly after, taking a seat on the cushions on the floor. Xochitl scooted over providing space for the other girl. Both her and Henri had invited themselves over earlier in the day and decided to help her and Ryuuzu to build the snowman. Apparently, both she and her brother lack the proper experience to make one. Additionally, the two fared much better than them both in the cold, which was expected. "It's a lot colder in Canada. Especially in Alberta," said Hemera then. She unwrapped her scarf, placing it on the snowman.
"Henri and Ryuuzu decided not to come in. From what I have seen, they have dared the other to walk around the yard barefooted."
Xochitl huffed. "Sounds like my stupid brother. Back home he would always be up to some dangerous tricks with his friends." She continued after smiling to herself at the memories. "Have I ever told you why one of his hands is taller than the other?"
"They are?" Hemera looked up, thoughtfully.
"They are. When he is not doing anything and he has them at his side, you'll see one elbow is higher than the other. You must look closely. Like really close!" Xochitl demonstrated this by pressing her face to Hemera's side. The other girl rubbed the tip of her nose with her elbows. They laughed. Through uneven breath, she continued, "This close, you get me now?"
Hemera nodded her head.
"As I was saying, have I ever told you the reason for it?"
"No. You haven't."
"It's from a childhood injury. You see, after a surprise thunderstorm in April, well, I think it was April—it must be, it's usually rainy then. I think it was. It rained for days, probably a week. The river that was close by had 'come down'—" Hemera tilted her head, confused. Xochitl quickly decided to explain. "The river overflowed its bank. It's dangerous then and the adults always advise us not to go near it. Even if your own mother was just on the other side and even if you had a donkey, horse, or car to use to cross it. Not even if you see another person within it. You see it becomes so loud that everything, even the closest bird in their nest, is suffocated by the sound. And the current is deadly, if it catches you, it will not let you go until you're drowned, and if that doesn't kill you the brown-insect polluted water will."
She licks her lips, continuing, "Ryo—Ryuuzu saw some rose apples and dared the other boys he would pick them. But they were on the other side of the river. I don't know what happened, but the boys told me he jumped on the rocks that still peek out through the water but met trouble coming back. The current had caught hold of him. He tried to find his balance, however, that's the worst thing you could do when you're under. It would just tighten its hold. In this tousle he hit his hand on the rock, breaking it. Thank God that it was Gaaling who had seen him and helped him and not anyone else, as he would have drowned."
Hemera tilted her head, a sense of bemusement settled on her face, "What do you mean by that?"
Xochitl perked at that, gripping Hemera's shoulder, "Oh, I have forgotten. You see, Gaaling has some influence on the river," she explained—tone light, a bit too casual. Hemera raised her eyebrows and she continued. "You see, his daughter had drowned in the river recently that year—" (Hemera gasped, Xochitl ignored this.) "—It was her jumbie, soul, that gripped Ryuuzu so he pleaded with her, '¿déjalo ir, yuh nuh seh 'im nuh es joven?'. Let him go, he is too young. Otherwise, if it had been anyone else, he would have drowned."
"Mother was so frightened that day we didn't have any dinner. The food was burned. Ryuuzu being Ryuuzu in the second week of his hand in the cast had injured it again. The doctor told him that it wouldn't heal in the correct position. But he didn't mind, as long as it didn't hinder him, he was fine with the outcome." Xochitl wet her lips again at the end of her narration. Whilst Hemera slowly shook her head, as she came to terms with the story she had heard.
"How terrible. I never once thought that Ryuuzu was so reckless." She continued. "My father always says that the daughters are the parents' angels and boys are an early grave. He must have been alluding to this."
"That's not even all of it. When Ryuuzu was pulled out and came to, the first thing he asked was if Gaaling saved his rose apples. Father, I supposed, was so twisted up with emotions that he responded to his question with a slap to his face. That's the first I ever saw him lay a hand on him and the last." A pause, before she continued. "For about a week, Ryuuzu refused to leave the house."
"Why?"
A smile, then a laugh. It took a while before Xochitl could form words as she held her side. "Pride. You see for the entire month everyone had it up like some twisted play. One child would act so confused and said, '¿ Ves meh rose apple, ves meh rose apple?' then another would slap that child, to only repeat."
"That sounds horrible."
"It was, for him," Xochitl paused, deep in consideration. Index finger pressed to her lip, she continued, "But it didn't last long, it never did. Such emotions with Ryuuzu don't take root in him. In time he was up and about with new ideas. At times dragging me into it. We were inseparable—as expected—we were joined by the navel string. It only makes sense. We were always up to something."
"There's never a dull or quiet moment when you have siblings. Especially with brothers," mused Xochitl.
A hum from Hemera, deep in her thoughts. "It must be nice."
It was a slip that surprised them both. Usually, Xochitl would have ignored such things as she watched the other girl shuffle beneath her stares—acting uncharacteristically so. After all, she is frugal with her time and words. But, Hemera had been so helpful like a friend would, and she has so little of those. It wouldn't hurt for her to try to help. Or at least attempted to try, right?
"You are an only child?" The question came off more timidly than she expected. She hoped Hemera hadn't noticed. It appeared she hadn't.
A pause. "For my mother, yes. But I am the fourth for my father," Hemera continued, a smile to Xochitl as if to ease the current tension. "My mother is my father's second wife, you see."
Xochitl said 'I see'. Nothing, then, "You don't get along with the rest of your siblings?"
A shuffle, "I get along as much the age difference allows. The youngest is eight years my senior. He is currently in college."
"But Hitoshi is five years older than Ryuuzu and I, and we get along quite well. At times my father mistook us playing for little children."
"I guess that's the clear difference of being raised under the same roof."
"Oh," Xochitl wished she could say something else. To add to the current conversation or dispel it. She wrings her hands. "At least you have me—"(Hemera quickly looked up. It was a miracle that her head was still on her neck). "— and Henri, right?" Nothing. She regretted saying those words. The silence stretched on and she wished Hemera to say or do anything.
"I am sorry," Xochitl tilted her head in confusion. "The first time I talked to you was for a selfish purpose. The reason I talked to you was so that I may talk to Henri—"
"I Know," Xochitl interrupted.
Hemera looked at her, mouth ajar before closing it. It was so uncharacteristically so, her behaviour. The other girl was so usually put together. It let her wonder how many other details she had not seen about the other girl. How many times she had looked but refused to see her. Probably just as the same amount of time Hemera had looked at her and refused to see her, until now.
Xochitl also wanted to tell her that the first time that she talked to her, she didn't have much expectation of her. But she didn't say that. Or rather didn't get the chance to. Hemera smiled. One that bordered tears and relief. Nothing else was said. Not that it was needed. The silence between them had an air of peace and revelation.
"It's a draw," lamented Henri as he warmed his feet at the heater.
"You're such an idiot. You mustn't let my brother test you. Now he knows how easily tempted you are, he won't stop his torment," said Xochitl. She gifted him a pair of socks and in return, he said a haste 'Thank you' paired with a boyish grin.
"Well then, you better get used to my face since I'll be coming here regularly, to return his torment."
"Sadly, I am afraid that I already am."
A slap to her shoulder as he laughed. "You're a riot."
Xochitl rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She turned to Hemera, continuing their chatter.
"Y'know, I think this—" (his hands motioned between him and Xochitl) "— is tilted. Absolutely unfair."
Xochitl turned from Hemera who was discussing her latest club meeting.
"What is tilted?"
"Our friendship. You've seen me embarrassed myself just too many times and I have yet to see you unravel."
" That's because you're an idiot."
"It's because you haven't caught her at the right time, or rather the right person." Hemera sneaked a glance at Xochitl.
Henri looked between them two, eyebrows raised. "Uh?"
Hemera giggled and Xochitl tried to hush her. Face warm.
A coy smile graced the other girl's face as she tugged at Xochitl's sleeve, drawing her in to whisper in her ears. Permission: "Can I?" The girl in question moved her attention from her hands to Henri. She nodded her head.
"Xochitl here is budding into a flower. She has a crush on Shuji. A guy in Miss Taylor's Saturday class."
Nothing. Then, "Oh. Oh."
"I never know," his voice lost its earlier joviality.
"Of course, you won't. You're dense as a rock," her tone at the end raised in volume and acidity, before cooling down to the soft baritone Xochitl was used to. It sounded personal. However, she didn't dwell on the thought. She played with her braid while Henri continued to stare.
"When was this?" he asked.
A pause. "Some months now," she answered.
"Oh.Oh."
Nothing else was said. The two girls continued to talk. "There are some good cram schools in Suginami City. Why don't you register?"
She had considered the option momentarily, she still is. She was going to say this when Henri talked, interrupting her. " What do you see in him?"
It took Xochitl a while before she understood him. A hum in consideration. Shuji was tall, he had a nice face and a nice neck when he laughed, but—-
"I don't know," a pause. "Do there have to be a reason?"
A huff in exasperation, "If you want it to be meaningful…and last." He hesitated to add the last part.
"But why—why does it have to have meaning. We are just thirteen, besides love doesn't work that way." Hemera touched her shoulder. An anchor, but she ignored it.
"Love doesn't like anything we expect it to be," he said fervently.
She had never seen him so riled up before. His chest heaved as though he had just finished running a marathon. Or he had just lifted some weight. Or rather, a weight had been lifted off his chest. They let the minutes between them pass. Xochitl waiting for him to come around. For that idiotic smile, for him to say ( and put her to ease) that he was just pulling her leg. No worries. But the minutes continued to drag on and the air between them grew to like the river in the November or April rain. Growing and growing until it 'come down' and it becomes too dangerous to touch it. Unless you wanted to be swept away in the current. Forever lost. Dead.
Henri got up. Nothing was said as he leave her room. When she was sure he had left her home she turned to Hemera, "What's wrong with him?"
"It's not my place." The old Hemera said. Finally returning and Xochitl wished that she didn't. She wished that the old Hemra had remained quiet. For her to continue behaving uncharacteristically so.
He answered the phone after the fourth ring. They let the static speak between them. He must have known it was her, although she had used the landline instead of her mobile phone. Xochitl didn't want this to continue. They haven't talked since that day. She still believed he was being rather indifferent. Childish even. However, she had to admit school had become unbearable. Work and home too. Henri had been her first friend in Japan. Perhaps, the first, she bit her nails at the thought. (That can't be). She searched her memories for friendly faces, and all she had managed to conjure besides her family was none. None, but for him.
She decided to talk first. The conversation was empty but it filled the void or rather delayed it until…until what?
"I think I understand now," he interrupted her anecdote. Xochitl half believed he wasn't listening anyway.
"Understand what?"
"Your brother."
She wanted to ask which one but she pursed her lips. It was an answer she already knew. Who else was he referring to? Her hand tightened on the phone. Unnerved.
"You don't understand, or rather you refuse to see those around you. To notice how much your words weigh."
The static speaks between them.
He continued to talk on much lighter matters and she let him do so. For one she didn't trust her voice and secondly, he sounded so much like before.
"Do you have any plans for Saint Stephen's Day?"
Xochitl shook her head. She soon realised her mistake (laughing into the phone at the realisation. Henri returned her laugh) and said, "No."
"Good, because I know a place."
"You look nice."
Her kouhai was the first to speak—like always. They haven't said a word (nothing but pleasantry of course) to each other after meeting at the rendezvous spot. Xochitl was even thinking about whether or not she had made a mistake in agreeing to spend the Saturday at the music store. However, at every such thought, the memory of earlier that week resurfaced. With this unfathomable joyousness in her kouhai's eyes when she reaffirmed the date with him. It made her a little sad if she must be honest. Xochitl doesn't think she deserves this much bouquet of attention from him. What could she have possibly done to arouse such emotions from him? The other reason for thinking like this—albeit selfish in origin— was that she was afraid that one day such excitement would wane. After all, the only reason (sensible reason, Xochitl concluded) that he talked to her was that she was a foreigner. An oddity.
But to the question. She tilted her head. She didn't put much thought into her mode of dress today. Her hair combed in a braided crown, a huipil (which she made herself. She was rather proud of this!) and a khaki pants. Perhaps he was just being nice.
"Thank you."
"I really like your blouse. My friend thinks the same too. He loves sewing you see, and he thinks your embroideries are rather beautiful. How do you make them?" he answered more quickly than usual. Which was saying something as her kouhai was always rather prompt in his conversing with her. It made her pity him a bit. Pity that she doesn't have much savoir-faire to match his fervour rapport.
When Xochitl had gone over his words she felt brightened as she let herself trace the patterns of the embroidery flowers on her collar.
"Thank you," she continued. "I am happy that you and your friend like my huipil."
Her kouhai titled his head in bemusement and she decided to explain, "This is what we called these blouses, huipil. I started to sew with my mother at a tender age. Most of the techniques we used are rather tested?—ancient. And I am sorry my current vocabulary doesn't allow me to explain properly," she paused, going over her words. Satisfied she continued. "But I make this through the loom. There are other ways. However, my mother and I pride ourselves in doing it in the old way of our people."
"People?" He pursed his lips before looking up at her. "What do you mean by people?"
Xochitl let herself smile. "Mayan. I am Mayan, K'iche' Maya to be exact." She continued to ease the 川 character engraved between his eyebrows, caused by confusion. "Mayans are indigenous people of the Americas. Just as the Ainu people are of Japan."
"Sochito," she hummed, telling him she was listening. "Where are you from?"
One thing she liked about her kouhai was that he was always the first to ask her these questions. Although, at times, it can be quite irritating (such a nosey kid!). But there are moments wherein she appreciated it. She tell him this, that he was the first and he brightened. Most locals don't. Although she should take into consideration that many of them didn't linger too long for meaningful discussion to form. Again she blamed her social skills for this.
"I am from Belize[1]. It is in Central America, beside México and Guatemala. Oh! My mother is originally from Guatemala if you must know." Her heart thumped against her ribs, wanted to burst forth, to bloom.
He asked her what's Belize like and Xochitl felt as if she could spend a century talking to him. Yet at the very same time would not be able to tell him everything. She tried to be concise: Xochitl told him about the rivers, the hills and the mountains. Of the towns. She told him about the bird season and crab time, of them spending hours in the bush trying to capture the crabs in the crocus bag. She told him about summer—oh! And February. When they burned the canes and the black straws would float for miles in the air, all the way to Tikal in Ponten, she reckoned.
"Belize sounds beautiful," he said after she had slipped in a moment of silence at the end of her recounting. Her mouth was dry and her heart had swelled to the point it threatens to burst: overflow the cavities of her chest and come upwards. Leaving her body in the form of tears.
Xochitl hummed. A smile to her kouhai who had listened so wonderfully to her stories. "It is."
The music store her kouhai invited her to was larger compared to Haikara and have some rather interesting clienteles. She could see where the boy had drawn his inspiration from with his streetwear. The store attendee greeted them with a smile, his piercings glistening when the light touches them. When he talked it gave her the privy to see another piercing on his tongue.
"And who is this?" he asked her kouhai.
"I am Hasegawa Xochitl." She only repeated it when she noticed the confusion on his face.
"Sochiru-chan?"
She nodded. It was close.
A hum as he inspected her. Then a laugh, " I see, now I understand the sudden change in genre."
Xochitl had never seen her kouhai so flustered. Ears red he pushed past the attendee (with more force than needed) leaving the other to continue laughing. "Youngster these days."
When they were out of earshot he finally turned to her. Hands in his pockets, eyes on his shoes. His face was still painfully red. "Onee-san is such a jerk, but he has the largest music collection in Shibuya. Second to none. It's the only reason I haven't ditched him."
"Onee-san?" Xochitl found herself asking. She wished she never did, his face deepened in colour.
"He's cool when he wants to and gives us discounts—my friends and me. He's truly second to none."
There was more to it, but she didn't push it.
"Second to none in music collection, I will be the judge of that."
She was happy when he caught onto her jest.
She had to eat her words.
Xochitl almost shouted, perhaps she had. A group of college students paused what they were doing to look at her. Bewildered. But, for once, she didn't care as they stared at her. They have it! They have it! Buena Vista Social Club, Violeta Parra, Omara Portuondo, Mercedes Sosa—ah! Even Linda Ronstadt. She turned to her kouhai to tell him her disbelief but he seemed confused at her words. She soon noticed that in the rush of excitement she had talked in Spanish. She had to repeat, however, her words failed her. What should she say?
"Thank you," a smile. "Thank you," she had difficulties in getting this one out. Emotions filled her up, till her throat burned. He smiled and she said 'Thank you,' once more.
Xochitl made the motion to hug him but didn't. Too forward, most locals don't like it. Her hand was still in the air and she watched how he stared at it fervently. She turned it into a motion of invite (he seemed disappointed at the outcome).
"Want to listen?"
A pause. "Yes!"
She hesitated. Where should she begin? She let her fingers slide over the cases. "Oh, lets listen to this, Buena Vista presenting Omara Portuondo . No me llores Més and ¿dónde Estabas Tú? Are my favourites." She placed the CD in the Discam and gave him one of the earbuds.
The opening song starts with the strings of violin then the beat of the conga drums, thumping softly in the background. If Xochitl was to close her eyes she could picture home: on the verandah, the hibiscus her mother tend to each morning. She could smell the breakfast, the sweet condensed milk her mother continued pouring in the oats porridge—the nutmeg and cinnamon simmering. The burned the brown sugar over her neighbours, before placing the pieces of coconuts, ginger and peanuts in. Before dropping the clump of brown sap on banana leaves to cool. She can hear it, the bleating of the goats as Boysie herds them to his ground[2]. She could cry. She could—
They stay like this, for most of the time, side to side. Only every breaking the quite soothing enjoyment between them, when Xochitl explain a title or tried her best to translate a song. Her kouhai listens religiously. As though to miss a word was sin.
"I think you'll love this one. El Hombre que yo Amé, The man that I love—" (the boy blushed) "— it has the similar jazzy tone of the songs you listened to."
He said nothing, then, "You remember?"
"Of course! I think I am becoming a fan of Japanese eighties music. Talking of such, I was thinking, why don't we visit Haikara, just you and me, again."
"Next Saturday?"
"No."
"Oh."
"..."
"In January, then perhaps, every other Saturday after that." She didn't look at him when she said this. Her eyes inspected her nails. He didn't respond. Maybe, she was asking for too much. Xochitl replaced the CD with Rubén González.
"I will love that!" he shouted. Other customers stopped to share and she could hear the attendee laughing.
"That's great. January is a beautiful month. Between my parents and I, we called it 'The Great Contemplation'" She laughed at the memories.
"Why so?"
"Oh!" Xochil laughed again. "Of course, you wouldn't know," she continued. "My birthday is in February and my parents usually spend the last week in January thinking of a gift for my brother and me."
His hands gripped her shoulder, steering her to face him, "When is it, your birthday?"
Xochilt delayed with her answer, swaying to the sounds of the piano and tapping her fingers on the shelf, "Oh, I love this one." Her kouhai continued to wait, his feet tapping and she decided to give in.
"The eighteenth."
"Which year?" There it was, such a nosey kid. He gave her no time to rest, and neither did himself. It surprised her that he hadn't bitten his tongue as yet.
" 89'. When yours?" Xochitl thought it was only fair to return such question.
"Mine already passed, it was on November the third."
Oh. Oh.
Why hasn't he told her then? Albeit, they didn't know each other as they know now.
He continued," I was born in the '90. Then you're just a year older than me?"
Xochitl looked up thoughtfully. "No. It's almost two years. One year and nine months."
He frowned. She raised her arms in the air. "No more discussion of this then?"
He answered heartedly with a yes.
When they have finished at the store—each with a purchase of their own. Xochitl stopped at a nearby food stand and buy him a grilled squid.
"What's this for?"
"A belated birthday gift."
He smiled. "Thank you."
The Christmastide season was drawing closer. Her last exam was a day ago and now on a cold night, she decided to spend the first day of her holiday with Shuji. After he had called her earlier, reminding her of the invite. Her father had insisted that she should pack. Since they were spending Christmas eve and Christmas with his parent. Her mother had made sure to make contact with their sister church and already have plans for them to observe the day in the company of a fellowship. Xochitl, however, was not looking forward to such an event. More than happy when her mother told her that they will return to Tokyo on Boxing Day.
The last visit was still present in her mind, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. They have told her that her hair was the most beautiful feature she had. They decided among themselves after carefully picking her apart. Her nose was wrong, lips too large, face too sharp not feminine enough, skin tone too dark. Should only drink and eat substances that are light in colour. No more dark chocolate or coffee. Xochitl doesn't think she could go through another dissection.
The loud burst of the fireworks interrupted her thoughts. The street they were on, though void of people ( as expected of a back alley like this one). However, gave them the perfect view of the fireworks as they light the night sky the cityscape a dark silhouette in the backdrop.
"It's beautiful yes—"
She didn't get to finish her sentence. Not that she could, with Shuji's lips on her. It was haste, but she could feel the chap from the cold along with a taste of something else, something bitter, ashy. When Xochitl looked up, she meet his eyes, their colour bright in the sudden darkness. The place brightened and he went in again, this time deepening it.
When they part she finally found her voice and asked, "What was that?"
A smirk, "A kiss."
The fireworks continued one, two, three. All in different colours. This time she could hear people in the background. She licked her lips. It tasted like him.
"Isn't—isn't this happening too fast?"
Then he laughed. The unsettling kind: "Kya!"
"Why the wait?"
He asked if she enjoyed the movie and Xochitl said she don't know. Her hands were cold but she kept them in her pockets. For Epiphanytide, she was going to spend it with friends she decided. The fireworks continued to clap in the background.
Author's Note
1: Belize, Xochitl is from Belize! They were hints, for one in Chocolate, Coffee and Small talks, she said that the tallest building back home was an ancient temple built by her supposed ancestors. And the tallest building in Belize is the Caana temple, well a pyramid built by the Mayans. In Los Finados the treats she gave them such as Cassava pone, peanut cake, tambran ball and cutubrute are popular treats in Belize and the Caribbean. If you did type in cutubrute you will see Belize pop up. Other hints were small, the flowers in chapter two, black orchis is Belize's national flowers, and the Toucan is Belize's national bird. Again small hints. The other was that she talked in both English, Spanish and the creole stories. Belize, despite being located in Latin America official language is English, they talk in both English and Spanish and creole. Stories such as Kwaku or Br'er Anansi are quite popular which is common in most (Anglophone) Caribbean countries. Oh, ye, another fun fact, Belize despite being in Latin America is Considered a Caribbean country along with other Mainland countries such as Guyana, Surinam and French Guinea. The reason is because of being in the CARICOM the West Indies EU and along with other reasons. In school (Caribbean Studies) many scholars had come to an agreement that defining the Caribbean is rather difficult so, therefore, instead of just classifying it as those countries washed by the Caribbean sea (the geographical definition) they come up with others such as geological which deal with the plates tectonics, cultural, historical, political, and diasporic. The one which we like to use is an amalgamation of the last four. Sorry for this rant but I get really passionate talking about home.
2: Just means farm, but I don't know if you know...so.
This is the last chapter for the introduction arc and I will be going on a break because of exams. I had this chapter for a while sitting in google docs but I was nitpicking the hell out of it, I am still nitpicking the hell out of it, but it's about time I update. see you in June...