Orchestra rehearsal is cancelled because the conductor caught a cold. So the orchestra is divided into groups and the clarinets are left with no room to practice. Therefore we are told to go home or to class. I choose to go directly to the convenience store to relax and finish some homework.
The street is still empty as the white clouds doodle upon the light-blue canvas. In this district, the old and new world blend together. The five-storey apartments and small alleys are decorated by the colourful clothes drying on the long racks extended far beyond the walls. The fancy financial center shimmers as the glass windows line up all the way till the top where the entire city is visible.
My MP3 player gently pours in Debussy's Clair de Lune. The softness and tranquility in and between the notes carry me on. Walking alone, being alone certainly isn't enjoyable at all times. But at this particular moment, I allow myself to be in solidarity, having a conversation with myself while tasting the summer wind under the shades. As the music intensifies, it emerges into puddles of water lining up and bringing me towards the lake. There I see the alley, so narrow. I squeeze myself into it as I relax my body with the softened melody. The backdoor of the convenience store is open.
"Hey." James turns around facing me, "You're early today."
"Yes." I take down my earphone as the last phrase of notes lingers. The reality disappoints me. Moments with myself are so rare and precious. Suddenly, it is all about socializing again, talking to the people I like and dislike. It feels burdensome and heavy, like I am being dragged by some giants into a world I dislike.
"I didn't go to school today." James fills me in with some irrelevant information as I throw my clarinet into the locker following my school bag.
"Oh." I look back at him. He is dressed in a white cotton T-shirt and short denim-blue jeans, "So why should I know this?"
"I just thought that you might have noticed me missing in class." He looks down, uncomfortable from my gaze. Realizing that I give no attention to his presence or absence, he asks, "Since we are early, why don't we go and grab some desserts before work."
"I am trying to save up. No thanks." I reach into my locker to find To kill a mockingbird. Oops, my arm is stuck. I struggle and hope that he can just leave some private space for me to tidy up myself.
The hot summer wind rattles against my back which is drifting with sweat. Then, I feel a sensation of a hand. James grabs my upper arm and pulls. He is strong. With a tight grip, my arm escapes as the additional force plunges me backwards, landing onto his chest. I can feel his breath, it is soft and warm. I instantly pull myself away.
"Thank you." I glance at the floor, like I am counting the imaginary parading ants, "Although I can help myself."
"Haha, no problem." James clears his throat, "Well, if you want to thank me, can you come and I will get us some desert."
The way he uses "us" surprises me. If anything, I have never associated myself with him, or anyone of his status. 'Us' feels unifying, almost like we belong together in a certain context. I hear my own voice answering him, "Yes. Okay." while my body trembles. Not sure because of the unexpectedness of the event or the discomfort I felt when I stood that close to him.
----
The desert store he mentioned is just around the corner, right in front of the alley's entrance. An uncle older than Mom sits in a wooden chair watching football. When he sees us, he turns around and greets us cheerfully, "You kids are early today. What do you want?"
James leans his back towards my direction, gesturing to me to order something. To be fair, the menu here is quite affordable. Most are traditional foods that old people enjoy having. Confused, I turn over to James, he is squinting his eyes to check the menu.
With a deeper voice that I often hear in class, James orders, "I will have a deep-fried donut." He pokes my shoulder, "What about you?"
"I think I'll have the same." I realize, now that I spend more time with him, both of us seem more relaxed, softer in temper, outspoken. Almost as if we are friends.
"Sorry for the other day, I was rude." He leans his back against the brick wall, facing me. I stand an arm's-length away from him. From his expression, he looks sorry. His eyes render a kind of softness that I have never seen in school. Maybe, like me, he has a different side of himself. One that he can't control or understand.
"See, my parents are going through a divorce. My dad does not want to care for my family anymore. He is going to marry another woman who has a family of her own." He pays for the snacks with a five dollar bill and hands me the ready-made snacks, "I won't blame you if you hate me. I just don't know what to do. All of a sudden, I have to work part-time to help my mom with rent, since we are kicked out of the house. My brother has to go around to borrow money and find lawyers. Life has not been easy."
"Oh." I breathe. It's not like I know what to say after this monologue. I bite into my deep-fried donut and let the crunchy-chewing-noise fill in the silence between the conversation, "It's okay. Apology accepted." My life has always been this way, school, practice, and part-time job, and it wasn't that bad. But he obviously desires a better place than standing beside me.
"Thanks." He smiles slightly as we find our way back to the staff room.