In This Life (4 page)

“It’s when two people promise to be together forever.”

“Very good,” I said, smiling. “Now, before we start to talk about each one, can someone name the other sacraments?”

“Anointing of the sick.”

“Reconciliation.”

“Confirmation.”

These kids knew their stuff.

“Okay, one more. Who can give me the last one?” I asked.

Silence. No one said a word.

“The sacrament of holy orders,” I offered. “Who knows what that is?”

A young girl raised her hand, snickering. “When a person promises never to have sex.” The class broke out in laughter.

Dude smiled and broke in. “No, Ashi, that’s not quite what this sacrament is,” he said. “This is the sacrament of priesthood. Celibacy is one of the requirements of this vocation, but its main purpose is to serve God through ministry just like his apostles.”

The children nodded their heads in unison.

“But they still can’t have sex,” Tony piped in. The same Tony. The wolf whistler and apparently mature fifth grader.

This time I weighed in. “As Mr. Grayson said, celibacy is just one of the many requirements of priesthood. We will be talking about all of the sacraments in more detail in the next few weeks. Let’s move back to our earlier discussion. Marriage. This is our sacrament for the day.” I was suddenly surprised by my reaction to that word. Marriage. Until a few months ago, I thought my parents were the perfect examples of married life. I hardly saw them fight, never heard them argue. When Mikey was born, I watched my mother immerse herself in the joys of motherhood. Somewhere along the way, there must have been signs that should have warned me otherwise.

Another hand shot straight up in the air.

“Yes?” I said as I turned my head to find a blue-eyed boy staring right at me while holding up his nametag.

“My parents are divorced. Does that mean they’re sinners?” he asked boldly.

I glanced at Dude, who patiently waited for me to respond.

“Okay, Jason. No, they’re not sinners. They’re just as imperfect as all of God’s children. Sometimes, we think we can be with someone forever but that’s not always the case. What your mom and dad decided to do has nothing to do with you, nor does it have anything to do with going against the church.” I hesitated to say more because the church did frown upon divorce.

Dude finally jumped in. “Jason, we will learn more about marriage in the next few minutes, so hold on to your question and let’s proceed. Everyone turn to page thirty-seven of your workbooks. Who wants to read the first paragraph?”

AFTER AN HOUR,
we dismissed the children for the day. The subject of marriage was more interesting to them than I’d expected. By the end of the class, we’d successfully made it clear to Jason that the church had many options for remarriage, and that all was not lost just because his parents were divorced.

I moved about the classroom, collecting the worksheets that the students had left on their desks and taking a seat to jot down some notes. Dude stayed by the doorway, speaking to two young boys about the blowfish that they found on the beach. I tried not to watch, but I couldn’t help noticing how at ease he was with them.

I started packing up to leave, once again lost in my musings over the conversation I had with my dad the night before. I made a mental note to get a ride to the main town to see if I could purchase a temporary phone.

“Spark, you ready?” Dante’s voice startled me and knocked me out of my thoughts. He stopped to align a desk that had been pushed out of its place before strutting on towards me. Mr. OCD.

“Oh, hi. Yes, we can go.”

Dude hurriedly brushed off the young boys as he darted towards the front of the room. And from where I sat, I immediately detected a difference in their demeanor. While Dude’s personality was peaceful, soothing and safe, Dante had a presence that always made him the center of attention. They stood side by side, towering above me, Dante about two inches taller and a little heavier in build.

“Hey,” he said to Dante, bobbing his head up and down in the macho way a man greeted another man. They both looked each other over then turned their attention back to me.

I remained seated at the desk while holding my palm up towards Dante. “This is my friend, Dante. Tey, this is…”

“Jude Grayson,” he greeted with an outstretched arm. They shook hands as I stood up and walked over to Dante, who proceeded to swing his arm around me immediately. Well, well. The joke’s on me. His name wasn’t Dude. But I didn’t know if it was any worse than Jude.

“You two know each other?” Dante asked, squinting.

“Yes,” said Jude.

“No,” I said.

Jude let out a chuckle. “We met last night.”

“I see.” Dante smirked. “Spark, we’d better get going. I’m starving—thought we’d try that place right outside of here that serves those great noodles.”

“Okay, I’m ready.” I gathered my books in my arms.

He took my books and turned to leave just as Jude pressed on. “I’m kind of hungry myself. Are their noodles that good?”

Dante piped up immediately. “There’s another place down the road that has even better noodles. You should try that place.”

“See you next week,” I said before Dante led me away. I never imagined how difficult it would be to walk away from Jude Grayson.

We quietly snaked our way past buses and motorcycles toward the little shack of noodles.

“You met him last night?” he asked, breaking the silence between us.

“Yeah. He kind of walked in on me just as I was having an episode at the beach.”

“What kind of episode?”

“Nothing too embarrassing. I was just drowning myself in two inches of water.” I laughed, feeling a bit mortified at myself.

“You were what?” He stopped in his tracks and gently nudged my arm. Two dogs and a chicken took the opportunity to dart past us.

“Yup! While you were making your moves on your Russian.”

“She was hot.”

“And I have to admit, he’s hot,” I jibed back. “And I thought his name was Dude.”

“Well, it’s better than Jude.”

“Which is better than Dante.”

He dropped my books on the street and ensnared me in a body lock. A large yellow sign with bold Thai lettering that read “Pork-Beef, Meatballs & Chicken” stood a few feet away. “Take that back or I’m going to…” He squashed me with his arms and began to tickle me. Ambulances and cars zipped dangerously by us. It was a wonder how these food stalls could remain standing in the middle of such a busy road.

“No! Stop! Please!” I squealed with uncontrollable laughter. “You’re going to get us killed!” I kicked and screamed until I broke his grip by biting his arm.

“Ouch!” He laughed and set me back on the ground.

“Ouch? You? I just broke a tooth biting into that rock,” I teased, punching his arm at the same time.

We stood together for a few seconds until his look turned serious. “Spark, are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

My mother, the man I just met… there were so many things in my head.
“Not right now. But,” I said as I reached over to touch his face, “I do want to thank you for staying with me last night. I’m just so lucky to have you in my life.”

“No worries,” he answered lightly. “I’m always happy to interrupt my sex life for you.”

“That wasn’t the first time, I know. You have way too much sex.” I giggled, offering him my hand at the same time.

“Let’s not talk about way too much sex, Miss Liberated Woman.”

It was time to change the subject. “Let’s go order our food. I really need something to help get me out of this bubble.”

WE SPENT A
couple of hours with the group, slurping Thai noodles and drinking warm tea in one of the boat noodle shops, along the streets of Ban Nam Khem. Thoughts of my mother still lingered in my head, anger and disappointment now somehow replaced with the desire to have her back in my life. I told myself that I would figure it out by the time I returned to see her.

I glanced around more than once, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jude. These were uncharted waters for me, the thrill of something new and spontaneous—a far cry from the discipline that ruled my life for the past four years. There had been no time for relationships, and friendships were cast aside in favor of my studies. The struggle to keep up with the demands of a frenetic schedule was part and parcel of my life. Still, I looked forward to seven more years of school, determined to change people’s lives, close the gap between human disparities, and discover a cure for the ailments of the world.

Dante was busy picking pieces of chicken from my plate. The sweeping motion of the chopsticks between his fingers was hypnotizing. Plate, dipping sauce, Dante’s mouth. Plate, Dante’s mouth. Tap, swoosh, crunch. There I was, thinking about him again. I’d never seen dark eyes surrounded by so much color. Last night at the beach, they shone like they were blue. Today at the school, they were outlined in grey.
Sectoral heterochromia. Different colors of the iris, hereditary.

“Spark, Delmar just asked you a question.” Dante brushed his hand against mine to bring me back to earth. “And did you hear what I said about Maggie?” My beautiful friend, second in my small inner circle of two.

“Huh? What? Sorry,” I said while spooning noodles into my mouth. I was just comparing him to Jonathan Rhys Meyers in my head. Or Ian Somerhalder. No, it was that model. The Spanish one. He looked just like that dark-haired Spanish guy. Why couldn’t I think of his name?

“Maggie,” Dante stressed. “She left me a message, asking what happened to your phone. She’s been trying to call to check in from Rome. Something about her fifth date with some guy named Donato and that she’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“Oh.”

“And me, I asked whether you were coming to the beach with us tonight,” the determined French guy interjected. Aha. There it was. My welcome diversion for the rest of the evening.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” I answered.

The sun had gone to sleep by the time we were once again scattered around the sand, listening to loud hip-hop music, drinking, smoking a joint, and dancing around the fire. There was no place on earth more beautiful than this. The yellow sand glowed under the deep dark sky, and the sound of the waves crashing subdued us all into indifference. What we’d seen and witnessed in the past few days taught us so much about life, and bonded us together. The frailty of the human body, the resilience of the spirit. The abundance of hope or the lack of it, the ugliness of destruction and the randomness of circumstance. Just as expected, we began to couple up, Dante and Paulina, the English guy and Milena, and me and Delmar. This was the perfect set-up—a two-week trip, a two-week guy, no strings attached. I was ready to just go with the flow.

“
Mon dieu
! You are so beautiful, American girl,” Delmar whispered into my neck as he pulled me closer. The art of seduction with this guy was just that. An art. He was smooth, his voice decadent like strawberries dipped in Debauve chocolate. His eyes never left yours, they seduced you into thinking you were the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes upon. And his hands—oh, his hands—they emitted some sort of heat that left you wanting more. Never mind the fact that his fingers were short and thick.

“Let’s go,” he ordered as he pulled me to my feet to lead me away from the group.

We stumbled through the sand to a secluded area away from the others, behind a large palm tree surrounded by beach grass. We kissed and grappled until my dress was down to my waist and his head was between my breasts.

“Are you ready for me, American girl?” He slid upwards while unbuttoning his jeans so that his lips rested on mine. My eyes remained closed—I was high and drunk and certain that I was in love with the cloudy dusk emanating from his eyes. “
Je vais te baiser
,” he whispered. That sounded so much sexier than “I’m going to fuck you,” didn’t it? There is no lewdness in French; everything sounds so fluid and chaste.

The weight of his body as he started to push inside woke me up, and I was roused by a beautiful pair of eyes looking right into mine.