How to Make Friends with the Sea Read online

  Miguel clapped his hands. “You got it, little man!”

  I wasn’t even in the water. Only sand. But I was triumphant. I was doing something I’d never done before. Something my father would be proud of. I couldn’t wait to tell him.

  “Pablito!” Mamá popped up out of nowhere. “You’re on the beach. On a surfboard!” she added, sniffing and scrunching her face as if she was about to cry.

  I froze. I mean, how was I supposed to react when my mother was getting all emotional in front of Heinz, in front of Miguel, in front of everyone?

  Then I spotted Chiqui. She smiled and waved at me from behind Mamá’s leg. Her egg-yolk eyes were back—wet and glossy, almost as if she was proud of me too.

  I smiled back. At Chiqui. At Mamá. At Miguel. At Heinz. Even though my cheeks must have been flaming-hot-pepper red, or ripe-tomato red, or whatever the reddest thing you could possibly imagine red.

  “It’s nothing. Really,” I insisted.

  Miguel was trying hard not to laugh; I could tell by the way his jaw wiggled. “Carmen. Why don’t you go ahead to breakfast while Pablo finishes his lesson?”

  “Oh, yes. Good idea,” she said, nudging Chiqui away. But then she turned around on her tiptoes. “I’ll get you some waffles. Okay, mi amor?”

  “Okay. Whatever. Anything.” I nodded and kept on nodding until finally she was gone.

  I exhaled.

  “Moms…,” Heinz said under his breath.

  “Yeah … moms,” I replied.

  Miguel threw his hands up and shrugged. “Ugh, moms…”

  All of a sudden, Lucky barked. Woof! Woof! Woof! And then he collapsed on the sand, covering his face with one of his paws, like he was agreeing with us.

  That’s when we stared at one another and lost it. Heinz dropped to his knees and laughed. Miguel was swaying back and forth, clutching his stomach. Lucky ran around and around, kicking up sand while I cracked up so bad my stomach hurt. It wasn’t even that funny. But for some reason we got caught up in the moment—a whirlwind—a spinning, dizzying, giggling whirlwind of hilarity. Before I knew it, Lucky had clamped onto my swim trunks with his teeth. He pulled and played with me as if I were an amusing chew toy. I couldn’t tell what was going on. What I was supposed to do. Where we were going. I just went along with it, chortling with happy tears rolling down my face. It was all fun and games until I realized my feet were wet. So were my ankles. I looked down and gasped. The water was four inches deep, and I was in it.

  I.

  WAS.

  IN.

  IT.

  The sea-foam bubbled and the wet sand crept between my toes.

  No!

  My sunglasses fell off. I tried to catch them but I was too slow. I reached for them. They floated away farther and farther, until they were just too far. “Heinz! Miguel!” I shouted, pointing at the water.

  Miguel squinted in confusion. But Heinz leaped off the sand, sprinting as if he were saving a life, not a plastic accessory. It all happened in slow motion. The puke gurgled inside me.

  No! No! No!

  I shut my eyes.

  You’re NOT going to puke, Pablo.

  I heard a splash.

  I opened my eyes too fast. For a second everything was kind of murky. And then slowly, the water calmed and cleared. Something glimmered—something shiny and pink. Whatever it was disappeared and then reappeared. My hand lunged into the water. Searching. Fishing. Sifting. A wave trickled in. Like magic, the object landed on my palm. It was a dainty little shell—pastel pink with polka dots. It was perfect. I knew it the moment I saw it.

  “I got it!” Heinz broke through the water with the sunglasses in his grasp.

  “I got you!” said Miguel, grabbing hold of me.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  That night, Heinz invited us to a get- together at his house. He said a bunch of his friends and surfer buddies would be there, and of course that included Lucky too. I kind of swelled up inside, fantasizing about being one of Heinz’s surfer buddies.

  Pablo—the surfer.

  But then my cheeks got all warm. I mean, duh, I’d only had that one lesson, and hello, it was just on the sand.

  Pathetic.

  When we pulled up to Heinz’s place it was dusk. There was this mellow, golden light still shining, as if the fading sun were kissing everything good night.

  “Precioso! Isn’t it beautiful?” said Mamá as she got out of the car.

  I’d never seen anything like it. It was like a bamboo tree house, except it was an actual house with a huge balcony shaped like a wave. Surrounding it was a lush tropical forest. There were even banana trees with green and yellow fruit hanging in clusters. I could hear music and laughter echoing over the treetops.

  “C’mon. You guys are going to love it up there,” said Miguel, leading the way.

  We followed him past a walkway and some stairs, which zigzagged through the foliage, higher and higher. Every now and then, Chiqui would stop, clutch at her flowery dress, and glance back at me with enormous eyes. I could tell she was nervous. Heck, I was nervous too.

  “It’s going to be okay, Chiqui,” I mouthed to her with a thumbs-up.

  She nodded and continued on her way. Mamá reached for her hand. Chiqui hesitated. Her arm went limp. And then all of a sudden, she yanked her tiny hand away as if she’d been burned.

  I held my breath, wondering if Chiqui was finally going to say something.

  It was quiet except for the crickets.

  Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

  Miguel was nearby; it seemed his breath was on hold too.

  Mamá kneeled in front of Chiqui. Her hand was on her thigh, rubbing an invisible calming stone. After a second that felt like an eternity, she leaned forward and said, “Huwag kang matatakot, Chiqui … Aalagaan kita.”

  My body stiffened. I’d never heard Mamá speak full-on Tagalog like that before. It sounded weird, with her accent and all. Even then, I was impressed. Maybe Ms. Grace had been teaching her. Or maybe Zeus.

  I sidled over to Miguel and whispered, “What did she say?”

  He blinked and looked down at me. “Don’t be afraid, Chiqui. I will take care of you,” he said with a crackly voice.

  Oh.

  My gaze returned to Mamá and Chiqui.

  Still, Chiqui didn’t utter a single peep.

  Yet her pout had softened.

  Slowly, she reached out and opened her hand. Mamá stood and then curled her fingers with Chiqui’s, one by one.

  I exhaled.

  Phew.

  I was relieved. But also, I was feeling something else. Envy. As much as I didn’t want to admit it to myself, I was kind of envious that Mamá was making some sort of effort.

  Get over it, Pablo. Don’t be ridiculous. Chiqui’s just a kid.

  I inhaled and exhaled and tapped my fingers on my hip. Just a couple of times was good enough. The moment passed.

  “Let’s go, Pablito,” Mamá said from up ahead.

  We continued on. Finally, we reached an open-aired entryway with colorful paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling. When we passed that, there was a circular room with lots of floor pillows, low wooden tables, hammocks, and plants tucked into every corner. All sorts of people were lounging around, talking and laughing. Some were still wearing their trunks and swimsuits, some had shorts and T-shirts with rips and holes in them, some were dressier, in linen and cotton pants and shirts and summer dresses. Everyone was barefoot.

  Wow.

  “Hey! Pablo Picasso, Carmen, Miguel, Chiqui … Glad you guys could make it!” Heinz appeared from behind a bamboo divider carrying a big platter of grilled seafood. “Just in time for the Boodle Fight. Take off your shoes and come join us on the balcony,” he said.

  Boodle Fight?

  What was he talking about?

  I slipped off my canvas shoes and cringed the minute my bare feet touched the uneven bamboo flooring.

  Ugh.

  Creak. Creak. Creak.

  The flooring groan
ed and squeaked as we walked. Even before we got outside, I could hear Sam’s booming voice, “Another toast, mate! Another toast!”

  Clink.

  They were all clinking beer bottles. “Oy! Grab another beer! No, two beers! Oy, Pablo, you don’t drink beer, do you?” said Sam with a wink.

  I almost spat out my saliva. “Not that I know of.”

  There was a whole lot of hugging and fist-bumping and cheek kissing. I didn’t even know whose leg or arm or shoulder belonged to whom. Through the chaos, I found Chiqui’s eyes. She was hiding behind Mamá’s legs, looking scared and overwhelmed. I wanted to go to her. Tell her it was going to be all right. But there were too many people in the way. So I held her gaze. It was just the two of us.

  Woof! Woof!

  Lucky poked his nose through the crowd, sniffing here, there, and everywhere. He stopped beside Chiqui—sniff, sniff. Then he sat down and leaned his head against her chest. For a second she seemed confused. It wasn’t for long, though, because as soon as Lucky nuzzled her some more, she relaxed. She raised her tiny hand and stroked Lucky on the head with a sweet smile.

  It was true—Lucky was a superhero.

  “Everyone! Kain tayo! Let’s eat!” announced Heinz.

  The crowd parted. My breath halted.

  What the …

  I was in complete and utter shock.

  There was a long and low table with sixteen floor cushions. There was no tablecloth, no place settings, no napkins, no coasters, no platters, no serving ware. Nothing. Instead, there were huge, shiny green leaves covering the table. Along the center, from one end to the other, there were mounds of food plopped directly onto the leaves—grilled meat and seafood, tomato, onion and eggplant salad, sautéed greens, boiled eggs, red and white rice, watermelon and mango slices, and little coconut bowls filled with condiments and water. I didn’t see a plate or a fork or a spoon or a knife in sight.

  How am I supposed to eat?

  People settled onto the floor cushions, and then they dipped their hands in water before helping themselves to the food. With. Their. Hands. The only ones left standing were Mamá, Chiqui, and me.

  Chiqui was mesmerized. She had this look of recognition in her eyes, as if what she was seeing were something familiar.

  Mamá was glancing at me and the table—back and forth, with her mouth open.

  I just stood there feeling helpless. Every part of me felt simultaneously itchy and numb, which I wasn’t sure was even possible.

  “Chiqui, why don’t you go ahead and start eating?” Mamá said, pointing at the food. She ushered Chiqui to a seat next to Miguel. Almost immediately, she began grabbing pieces of food, slurping on a shrimp, smooshing rice between her fingers and shoveling it into her mouth.

  It was like second nature to her. She didn’t seem to care one bit that there were no utensils or glasses or plates, and that everyone was touching one another’s food.

  Mamá went over to Heinz and whispered in his ear. I knew more or less what she was saying.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Heinz. It’s just that Pablo … He cannot eat this way.”

  I closed my eyes. I couldn’t watch them. I couldn’t watch any of it.

  “Hey, Pablo Picasso.”

  I peered through my eyelids. Heinz was in front of me with his usual dude-like grin. Mamá, on the other hand, was pale; she was squeezing her hands, searching for her calming stones again.

  “Do you want to go back to the hotel, mi amor?” she asked.

  “No,” I blurted out.

  She reached for my arm. “I can go with you … It’s okay.”

  “No.” I stepped back.

  I didn’t want to leave.

  I didn’t want to be the weirdo kid anymore.

  What I wanted was to be Pablo—the surfer.

  Miraculously, Heinz was still grinning. “Carmen, why don’t you go ahead and sit? I’ll bring Pablo to the kitchen.”

  She hesitated, bouncing from foot to foot. “Pablito, are you sure?” she finally said.

  I nodded.

  “All right. I’ll be out here if you need me,” she said, walking away.

  When she was gone, Heinz slapped my back as if nothing had happened. “Come, I just cooked up some monggo. I think you’ll like it.”

  I was still numb and itchy, but I trailed behind him anyway, feeling kind of like a ghost. Like I didn’t exist.

  Pablo—the ghost.

  The kitchen was small and simple, with its concrete counters, metal sink, two-burner stove, and wooden shelves. There was a table by the wall with two chairs. I somehow got my butt into one of them. Heinz grabbed a bowl, the entire cutlery tray, and a pile of napkins and placed them in front of me. He took a pot from the stove and then proceeded to ladle some sort of lentil soup into the bowl. After he put the pot away, he sat on the other chair.

  “That’s monggo. My mother’s recipe,” he said, pointing at the soup. “Usually, there’s meat or seafood in it. But my mom likes it pure. Only veggies.”

  “Thanks.” I took a spoon from the tray and scooped a bite into my mouth. “Mmm. It’s good,” I said after swallowing.

  “Of course it’s good!”

  I looked at Heinz, feeling kind of awkward still. My cheeks turned hot just thinking about it. “You can go back to the party. I—I can eat by myself … I don’t mind,” I mumbled.

  “Nah. Don’t worry about it. I see those people all the time,” he replied.

  I smiled at him, and then took another spoon so I could keep on eating.

  Heinz leaned back on his chair all casual-like. “So, Pablo Picasso. Are you going to come back to Baler and surf with me sometime?”

  “Um. I hope so.”

  “Good. Make sure you bring home a souvenir to remember us by. Sam has some awesome stuff at the café,” he said.

  That reminded me.

  I stuck my hand inside my pocket and pulled out the pink shell. “I found this on the beach today. I was thinking of giving it to … a friend.”

  “Ahh.” Heinz inspected it with a glint in his eye. “A friend, huh? Does she have a name?”

  I coughed.

  Busted.

  “Happy. She’s my neighbor.”

  Suddenly, Heinz jumped off his seat as if a firecracker had been lit underneath it. “Wait!”

  He disappeared. A couple of seconds later he was back with a piece of gold twine and a small cordless drill.

  “May I?” He reached for the shell in my hand.

  I had no clue what he was up to, but Heinz was a cool dude. I trusted him.

  “Here,” I said, handing it over.

  He went to the counter and put the shell on a wooden chopping board.

  Reer. Reer. Reer. Reer.

  The drill was super noisy. I covered my ears. Then it was quiet again. Heinz fiddled with the gold twine—pulling, tying, knotting.

  He sat back down and held up the finished product. “For Happy,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  It was perfect.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The beach trip was like one of those unbelievably beautiful postcards. Somehow, those postcards always made the places look way better than they really were. But in my case, it really was that beautiful.

  It seemed impossible that I had experienced any of it.

  Finally, things were changing. I had some real memories. The kind I could talk about when I was a grumpy old man. I’d tell my grandkids about them and they would ask me a million and one questions. Eventually they would tire of all my stories and roll their eyes and pretend to listen.

  I was contemplating those imaginary grandkids when we arrived home—to the same old, boring house. For some reason, all I felt was disappointment. Three days ago you couldn’t get me anywhere near a beach. And now it was all I could think about. Maybe I did have a bit of my father’s DNA somewhere inside me.

  I unpacked, which took longer than expected. The dirty clothes went in the hamper, and the clean ones back in the closet. Then there
were the toiletries—every item had to go back to its respective place. After that, there was the sweeping of sand that had managed to stow away in my bag. When I was done, it was as if I hadn’t gone away at all. Not a speck of evidence was left. There was nothing left to do. I sat on my bed tracing the plaids on my blanket, wishing the lines could lead me back to Baler. To Sam’s corny jokes and Heinz’s easygoing smile and Lucky’s crazy dog zooming. I even missed the kind housekeeping lady and her impressive array of cleaning supplies.

  I sighed and spotted my laptop. Maybe I’d feel better after talking to my father. Maybe he’d finally be interested in what I had to say. Maybe he’d invite me to spend some time with him on one of his expeditions. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. There were just too many maybes that needed answering.

  I flung myself at my desk. My hands were kind of shaky. But eventually I managed to turn my laptop on. If he was still somewhere in South Africa, it would be after lunchtime, at least according to Google. I stared at the video-chat icon with my finger hovering over the touch pad.

  Just press it, Pablo. Quit being such a scaredy-cat.

  So I did.

  Ding. He was online.

  Ding ding. Ding ding.

  “Well, hey there…” My father was even tanner than the last time. His blond hair and chest were wet like he’d just gotten out of the water.

  “Um. Hi. Hi, Dad.”

  “How’s it hanging, Pablo? I wasn’t expecting you to call. But it’s good, man. It’s nice to see you,” he said, flinging his head from side to side.

  Beads of water must have hit the camera, because all of a sudden my father looked kind of warped and blobby.

  I took a deep breath. “So I went on a trip to Baler. It’s a beach, a really nice one, and I met a surfer, Heinz. He even gave me a lesson, and there was this dog, he was blind but so awesome, he could swim and everything, and there was this guy—”

  “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Slow down,” my father said.

  I gulped. “Sorry.”

  “This guy you mentioned. Who is he? Your mom’s new boyfriend?”

  Even through the blobby image on the screen, I could tell my father was tensing his jaw like he was bothered by the idea of another man. Maybe he had some sort of amnesia. Had he forgotten that he was the one who left Mamá? Who left me?