Hands

We were to write about a happy childhood memory... this is mine.

July, 1994

            "If you don't hurry up, I'm leaving you at home." 

           I hear the scratch and jingle of keys being swiped off the counter and the thick plop! plop! of rubber soles hitting the hallway floor - shoes about to be slipped on. 

            My bare knees press into the cold kitchen tile leaving the faint imprint of a grout line in my skin. I was about ready to climb inside the damned kitchen cabinet; I was in a panic. I know that was no idle threat. She would leave me if she had to. I feel around in the dark until my hand comes upon what I was looking for. I wrap my little fingers around it's smooth contours delicately, feeling the coolness dissipate as the warmth from my hands infuse it. With the front of my denim jumper I wipe the thin film of dust that has accumulated since the time I had saved it for a day like today. This afternoon was going to be great. I slip it into the little leather backpack my brother gave me for Christmas where it rests safe and snug against the red plaid lining. It looks comfortable amongst my other things - my folded extra shirt that I brought in case I get sweaty and I need to change; it's the one with the picture of a pair of sunglasses on it in glitter paint. I've also got my copies of The Babysitter's Club Book #10 Logan Likes Mary Ann! and my Calvin & Hobbes Lazy Sunday Book. I had saved my lunch money for weeks to order it from the monthly Scholastic Book Club catalogs they pass out at school. I love the mornings when I walk into the classroom to find my new books on my desk! It's one of the best feelings in the world, I think. Also in the bag are my arcade ticket stubs bound together with a rubber band. I'm collecting them until I can trade them in for a bigger prize. There's a set of color pens that I saw in the glass case at the mall but I need 300 tickets to get it. I only have about 50. Oh, well. I'll just have to play more games at the arcade to get more. I always get high scores with the bowling game, that one's my favorite. I'll go tomorrow maybe, Mama lets me stay there to play while she goes grocery shopping at the store next door.

            Right now my stomach is a bundle of giddy knots, alternately tightening and loosening. We are going out. The endless possibilities are swimming about in my head. Who would I see? What would I do? What would I have to write about when I got home? I settle the straps of my bag over my shoulders and look around for my sneakers. I briefly consider going out in my rollerblades, but I know Mama won't let me. And besides, it would hardly be suitable for what I intend to do later. I look up to see my brother walk past. Clack, clack - the familiar sound of rackets moving against each other in his giant tennis bag. 

            "Hey Katrinka, could you carry this for me? "

           I take the handle of the water-filled Coleman from him with a sigh and follow him out the door. He's always making me carry stuff, you'd think he didn't have hands of his own. It kinda makes me want a kid brother, I'd make him carry the stupid thermos, it's heavy, you know. I wear my shoes like slippers cause I didn't have time to put them on properly and I hope Mama doesn't see. She just bought them for me and she's always saying I break all my things too soon.

            Thwack! goes the aluminum screen door against the frame. 

            "Your face is peeling." I said to my sun-burnt big brother.

            "Yeah? You've got a booger hanging out of your nose." he replied.

            "Shut up." was my clever retort. I lift my chin and flare my nostrils at my reflection in the car window. There is no booger.

            "Don't tell your brother to shut up." my mom says absentmindedly as she opens the car door.

           We pile into the gray station wagon we've had since I was two. My brother and I sit in the backseat because Mama says the front seat is dangerous. If we get into an accident I'll fly through the windshield and die, she says. In our rooms, she doesn't let us put our beds near the window 'cause if there's an earthquake and the windows break, we'll wake up with glass shards in our skin. Or in our eyeballs. And I'm not allowed to wear spaghetti straps or dresses with openings in the back or paint my nails with polish because they're slutty and sluts end up pregnant and disgraced.  I don't quite understand the connection, but I know that's how it goes in her mind. 

            I would have liked to sit in the front to look straight out the windshield and see what the adults see  during car rides, but the back isn't so bad. Brian and I play the thumb wrestling game and sometimes he lets me win. We usually play best of 5. He taught me how to cheat by using your index finger to hook your opponents thumb forward so you can pin it with your own thumb. Sometimes we look out and into the other cars, trying to spot people picking their nose when they think no one's looking. It's fun, too, because when the car turns a corner he pretends that the turn is sharper than it actually is and he makes a screeching noise like the sound of brakes, and pretends to be thrown across the back seat, flattening me against my window. It's rather funny. He makes me laugh. He's cool sometimes. Other times he's a douchebag. I don't really know what that is, but I know it's not good. (Note to self: Look up the word douchebag in the dictionary.) 

               We get to the hotel where Brian's tennis meet is being held today and pile out of the car. He goes to the back of the car to get his tennis things out of the trunk and I bend down to fix my shoe situation. As I tie my shoelaces I look over my shoulder to see my brother's friend Nathan get out of their car. I keep my eyes trained in his direction until I spot who I'm looking for. There he is. Nathan's little brother Kristoffer is standing off to the side looking forlorn. I tie my other shoe and get up to follow my brother to the courts. Mama trails behind us talking to Tita Flora, Nathan and Kristoffer's mom. I start to run ahead but stop dead in my tracks when I realize I forgot my bag in the car. 

             I straighten up and try to walk more dignified as I head back in the direction from which I came. 

            "Ma, can I borrow the keys to the car?" 

           "What for?" I hear the slight warning note of irritation. 

           "I forgot my baaag." I whine. 

            She sighs. 

          "Hahai, ambot ani'ng bataa. Here. Don't forget to lock the door when you'r done! And give the keys back to me right away, ha?"

             "Okay, okay." Then when she's out of earshot, "Sheesh." 

             I get my bag out and put it over my shoulders. As I'm locking the doors I hear the scrape of gravel being shuffled around by shoes directly behind me. I spin around so fast my bangs flutter and I find Kris standing there. 

             "Hey," he says. 

             My eyes widen; my pupils dilate. 

             "Hey." I say. Awkward pause.  "Gotta go."

         Then I run. Fast. My feet flying, my backpack slapping my backside I sprint toward the courts,  craning my neck over the other kids and parents, looking for my mother. I find her with Tita Flora who is still young and pretty and always smells like her name, with perfectly black, perfectly blow-dried hair and gold bangles that twinkle and catch the light when she makes elegant gestures with her hands. She is part Filipino, part Japanese, with the mark of the latter clear in her complexion. I have always like her. She always gushes over how big I'm growing and how pretty I look even if I'm wearing one of Brian's old Budweiser T-shirts and probably look more like a boy than anything else. I toss the keys into Mama's lap and run off to find a good look-out spot, where I can watch people unnoticed.  

          I make my way around the courts, trying to find an elevated spot, when I walk smack dab into Kristoffer. He is practicing his volley against the wall, bouncing a tennis ball against it with his racket. Thump. Thump. Thump. He stops when he sees me. 

              I feel knots in my stomach again, but they're different from the ones I felt in the car. Kinda the same in that it was because I didn't know what would happen next and was excited to find out, but laced with something else, something different I don't know what. 

              "Hey," he said. "Why did you run away earlier?"

             "Oh, that, er.. Hehe. Sorry. I had to get the keys to my mom."  I put my hand up to my face to push my sweat-matted bangs off my forehead.

              He looks at my inquisitively. "So.. did you bring one? You wanna go today?"

             I can barely contain my excitement. I forget the knots. I thought he'd never ask. 

             "Yes!! Let's go!" I squeal. 

             "What, right now?" he raises one eyebrow, but looks like the idea appeals to him .He grins, squinty-eyed and toothy.  

             Thump. Thump. Thump. 

             I quickly stow away the image of his smile in the glass case inside my mind. It's kind of like the one at the arcade but instead of prizes, the one in my head is full of my favorite memories. I like to think that whenever I'm feeling bored or lonely, I can take them out of my case and look at them again, hold them in my hand, polish them, feel the things they made me feel when I first added them to my collection. 

             "Yess, now. There's no time like the present," I preach, taking him by the sleeve and giving him a tug.  "Let's carpy dee 'em or something like that. I read that somewhere. Come. Onn!" 

             He shrugs and puts his racket and tennis ball on a nearby chair. We make are way out of the court area and around behind the hotel's main buildings, leaving the noise of the other people behind. There is a garden and then a section of unkempt, undeveloped land. The hotel is fairly new and they have yet to landscape the entire surrounding area. We call it the 'boonies', but it's hardly that. More like just some tall weeds and what used to be a marsh. But further down the winding dirt path, as we had discovered on our previous trips there, there is a clearing. And in the clearing a 'sometimes lake'. A pool of brown water that will dwindle down to a puddle when the summer heat evaporates it, that will probably disappear completely by the end of the summer when school starts up again.  But right now, it's alive in all it's murky glory. Dragonflies whir about, kissing the surface. Toads ribbit along the edges, and lily pads float atop the water looking thick enough for us to use as stepping stones. 

              I set my bag on a grassy knoll far from the water and I kneel down to open it. I reach in and pull out the empty Best Foods mayonnaise jar I had taken from the kitchen cupboard earlier. It was the largest jar I could find and I had scrubbed it clean of the label and it's adhesive weeks ago getting it ready for it's purpose today. I had had Brian drill a few small holes in the top so that air could get inside. I hold the jar against me and I unscrew the lid. I look up to see Kris taking off his shoes and rolling up his pants. I laugh at his spindly legs and then for some reason stop myself from laughing some more. I honestly don't know why he subjects himself to me. He's three years older than me, for goodness sake. 

            I stand up and hold out the jar to him with both hands. He takes it with the solemnity of a parish priest. His hands are bigger than mine so he can wrap one whole hand around the glass without dropping it. He moves towards the water and wades in. I follow, but just to the edge. If I get my shoes wet Mama will smell it in the car and wonder. He goes out  slowly up to his shins at first, keeping his eyes peeled on the water, on the lookout for the groups of tiny black creatures we have come here to catch - tadpoles.

              I smile at the sight of him - crouched over the water, jar held at the ready. He's up to his thighs now, having, in his concentration, become unaware of the depth of the water. Suddenly, in one swift motion he swoops the jar below the surface and comes up with a thick swarm of them, water dripping down his arms and splashing on to his shirt

              "I got 'em!!" He beams up at me triumphantly as he shakes his hair out of his eyes, and I grin back. "I got 'em I got 'em! There's a whole school of them over there to the left." 

               He starts to head back toward me holding his one arm far out to the side to keep his balance while cradling the jar in the other. 

              "The mud is so slimy," he mutters. And it does indeed look like he's slipping and sliding a bit. He gets to a point a couple of meters from where I'm standing when I sense that something is wrong. He is getting  closer to me but it looks as though the water is getting deeper. I see the dark wetness climb up the front of his shirt in menacing slivers. The sharp panic in his eyes is contagious and I forget about my shoes, my clothes, the scolding I'm going to get later on and plunge forward into the water.

             "There's a deep spot!" he shouts. "It's like.. quicksand or something,  help!" He tries to climb out of it, but it's hopeless. 

               I plow through the water causing deep ripples to emanate from my sides. I stand in front of him, not knowing what to do. There is no one nearby to hear me if I yell. I feel as though I will anyway.

             "Grab my hand!" he says, extending his free arm to me. By now the panic that was there a moment ago is dying from his eyes and I see that he is no longer slipping further down, he's just stuck, immobile. I actually detect the hint of a smile playing around his eyes. 

                I reach for him and he takes hold of my hand in a tight grip, warm palm pressed against warm palm, his fingers laced around my wrist. I grab hold of his wrist with my other hand and pull. Hard. Too hard. I try to right myself but it's no use. I scrunch my face up in preparation for the impact and fall butt-first into the dirty water. 

              "Aaarghrgleck! My mom is going to kill meee!" I spluttered, trying to get back to an upright position.

            It's his turn to pull me up by the hand and it's this way, hand in hand, we make our way to the embankment. We're both breathing heavily from the exertion of trying to walk in mud determined to swallow your ankles, we flop down on the grass, weighted down by our wet clothes, but not before the jar was safely placed on the ground and the lid screwed back on tight. 

              We look each other up and down.. I look down at his shirt pulled sideways on his body, almost completely dark with water and I look down at my own clothes, there are green water weeds coming out of the front pocket of my jumper and I'm soaked through and through. I look back up at him in wonderment and... incredulity. Then we start to laugh. Hard. The mirth seems to start somewhere deep in our bellies and rises up and up ton escape from our throats. We laugh so hard our eyes are watery slits and we're doubled over and clutching our sides. I fall to my side clapping my hand over my mouth and gasping to catch my breath. I sigh, spent, and close my eyes. The moment is over. This is where I will cut it and wrap it and add it to my shelf. 

                 "We better get back, they'll be wondering where we are." He is trying to wring the water out of his shirt. 

                 "My mom is going to kill me. I begged her to get me these shoes and now I've ruined them." 

                 "At least you've got these guys." He picks up the jar of squirming tadpoles and hands them to me. And the cute little spermy creatures wiggle in agreement. 

                   I look up at him while cradling the jar to my stomach. 

                  "Thank you." And as I say it I hope he sees how much I mean it.  

                   "You're welcome." He smiles, blinking the afternoon sun out of his eyes and I take action shots.
             
                   " Thank you for saving me. " 

                 Later on in the car, Mama is yelling at me from the driver's seat, shooting me her 'look' through the rearview mirror. I suspect the power of 'the look' is diminished when it's just a reflection and not a direct exposure, because I can barely feel it. I can feel the jolt of the stops and the turns. I can feel my wet clothers squish-squishing against the car's seat. But her words are just background noise to the thoughts in my head, the memories I was poring over, finding places for.

                    I look at the jar in my lap and find myself wishing the tadpoles would stay tadpoles, not grow any older. And for a long time thereafter, my favorite memory was the one of Kristoffer's hand pressed in mine, holding on for dear life.


 Kath Bloom - Come Here by ChapterMusic

             

*This is my first post for the Happy Blogging Challenge that Citibuoy and Spiral Prince put me up to. . Haha. Click on the links and read theirs. Citibuoy's proves that happiness is truly subjective, while Spiral Prince takes us through a more traditional sense of the carefee happiness of childhood. Anyways, apil pud na si Cludiopoi pero ambot asa iya entry. Naa pa'y uban :Line of Flight's Sampaloctoc, and Manila Bitch...

**As for the story, all the people are real (a name or two might have been changed) but this really did happen, it's just the little areas where my memory failed me did I have to resort to confabulation. All the little details - the stuff in my bag, the books, rollerblades - really are some of my favorite things from childhood. The story still feels clunky and unwieldly, I'll fix it later. ;-)