Nectar Behind the Clouds

Chapter 11 - The Pool

I felt like the leaves fluttering towards the ground after a cold blast of wind from the mountaintops. It felt like I'd been keeping songs inside me for so long; melodies that were dormant, as if held by a long-distant dream. The sounds of the province were playing back that song only I could hear. It was in the breeze bouncing on blades of midsummer grass, playing through hollow reeds and bamboo, skipping on hillsides.

I knew how to laugh, after all. Once I began, it was hard to stop. The joy in me joined the doves in their morning chorale. The carabaos stomped along to the beat, their hooves pounding the mud as they pulled their farmer's plow. I was alive. My heart had finally begun to beat with the blood that was sleeping.

"Take me somewhere," I said to you. "Somewhere. Anywhere."

I watched the wind breathe life throughout the golden fields. I didn't worry as much about being laughed at when I stared into the distance. I kept watching you dive for oysters on the beach. On the hillside, our heads lay upon clean, dewy grass, looking at clouds for however long we wished.

Was this what it felt like, to be normal? To be at ease? To be a child in summer.

When I stepped away from myself, I enjoyed every moment as it came: kissing my grandmother on her cheeks, watching the sunlight play across the marbled floors, its setting embers lighting the floorboards on fire.

I felt like I could sing any song with you on the radio, and lola clapped and shook her head when we belted out "Bato sa Buhangin".

We stuffed our faces with salted porridge made from day-old rice mixed with carabao's milk. We slept in the afternoons. You taught me how to climb our mango tree, the bark almost skinning my knees and thighs.

You taught me how to be free, to be a child. To swim in the shallow part of the beach and poke at coastal fish peeking from the sands. My grandmother laughed at where my sando outlined my tan. If baking under the sun was proof of a childhood well spent, then let me brown, like the shade of your skin.

You made me feel real and at home in my own body, I hope you know that. You made me realize what my body can do. The world opened up to us when we opened ourselves to it.

___

You took me to a small waterfall feeding a pool. That is where you taught me how to swim. I was safe in your arms. I shivered when we dipped into the clear water, my skin turning into gooseflesh. I sank before I learned to float, your arm lifting my head above the pool. You let me go once I bobbed on the surface of the water like your favorite fish bait. I closed my eyes, finally light, the water holding me up. We circled each other, listening to water crashing on boulders.

Faded red and yellow strings were braided around a group of bamboo trees nearby. Yellow for friendships. Red for lasting love. You showed me where my grandmother tied her red string to my grandfather their initials still there. You showed me the single red string of your mother. You said, "My father isn't a good man. I cut his string away. His name will not haunt my mother. I'm glad he's away. I don't want to ever see him again."

You dove back into the pool. I waited for you to resurface. There was no one here but us. The trees stood tall, hiding us from the world. The wind skimmed the topmost leaves. Under their shade, no one will hear us. I held your eyes as I told you that you can tell me every detail of your day and would never get bored of it.

I kept you from sinking deeper into the pool when you told me of your father. I knew the type. I kept shaking my head. Some men were not meant to be fathers, as some women were not fit to be mothers. You looked at me, then you looked away. You told me that you were jealous that I get to live in a city where one can decide who he can be, when they get older. You told me you were jealous of the family that I have.

"You will grow up to be someone wonderful. I have no doubt in my mind," you said.

"You sound like my grandmother," I said.

"She's right." You stared at your reflection in the pool. "Sometimes, I think that children bear the pain their parents didn't fix in their youth. And then the whole family suffers. And then that child grows up to be like their parents." You look at me, scared. "I don't want to end up like the people around me."

I said, "You won't." I gripped your arm. "You won't."

You breathed, hard. "Seeing the foreigners around here, meeting you, hearing about your life... it got me thinking that, maybe, there could be a better life for me too, somewhere." You splashed the pool with your feet. "We're so small compared to them. You think we can go far if we try?"

That was an easier question to answer. My lola spoke through me. "Yes."

You smiled. I felt guilty. I shouldn't have told you about my life in the city. I thought I could talk to you about anything. Now it felt like I was boasting. I imagined slapping myself for my insensitivity. Some kids have the luxury of reading comics during summer. Some kids have to work to eat. I thought that all children should enjoy being children. I looked down at my distorted image in the pool. This province was a safe haven, but its charm did not erase the reality of being poor.

"Someday, life will be better," you said. You looked determined. "I'll cook and I'll clean and I'll study hard. Then I'll get to go wherever I want." You scoffed. "And I'll finally be able to afford the expensive beach houses that they set up on our own beach."

You chuckled and splashed me with water. I smiled back, but I vowed to keep some parts of my life to myself. I would only share them with you if you were in it.