At night, a Japanese traveler named Yoshi moved into the bed across the bedtable from Daniel, who greeted him in Spanish. Yoshi was from Nagasawa and was on a backpacking trip, just like the two of them. He had spent a year in Seattle as an exchange student studying English education. He wore a Hawaiian-collared shirt—the same one he had on in his photos from Egypt—and jeans.
Judas was in the kitchen making spaghetti, of course. Cay walked in to see if he could earn a share of the tagliatelle in red sauce. The only minor issue was the presence of meat in the sauce.
“I’m trying to cut out meat, just for the sake of health,” Cay told Judas as he inhaled more smoke from the cigarette balanced between the fingers of his left hand.
Complaining was futile—Cay was not known to have woman-like qualities, as some would say—so he just stared at Judas as he prepared the meal.
Judas instinctively offered him some of his portion, admitting he had made too much. Cay didn’t hesitate. He took the plate and moved to the table. Daniel and a girl from the same country were chatting while having ready-made meals bought from a convenience store. They introduced themselves to her—Melinda—who looked more like Daniel’s young mum than someone their age. Her English level was similar to Daniel’s, which put Cay at ease, letting him focus instead on conversing with Judas.
“I asked Daniel if he would like to grab a drink with us. He said okay,” said Judas.
Daniel turned his head slightly at the sound of his name, then returned to his conversation with Melinda.
“Where are we going?” Cay asked.
“I don’t know. He said he probably knew somewhere cheaper than the bars nearby. It’s like an all-you-can-cash-out-on-visitors’ eatery here.”
“I can imagine. This isn’t my first time traveling—though it’s only my second time with friends.”
“New Zealand?” Judas recalled the trip Cay had once mentioned, with a girl, to Oceania four years ago.
“Yeah. That trip saved me a lot of hassle when it came to finding places to eat,” Cay replied, implying family dinners while abroad.
“So where are we heading tomorrow?” Judas asked, leaving most of the planning to Cay since the latter insisted everything would go according to his schedule.
Cay brought up a few places: Largo di Torre Argentina (they had somehow missed it despite its proximity to the Pantheon), the Roman Forum, and the Colosseum. Plans for the night would have to wait until those spots were checked off.
When Judas seemed satisfied, Cay finished his pasta. It tasted delicious, he thought, and he washed both of their empty plates, stained only with red sauce and bits of hardened meat. Daniel was still speaking to Melinda about the places he missed in Mexico, from what Cay could gather.
We all lust for nostalgic moments, Cay muttered to himself. To escape to that temporal event, relive it, suspend time—even if it keeps moving forward.
However, these moments were also the most destructive. Jenna suddenly appeared in his mind, speaking incoherently but softly—like a lullaby.
Caynius Choy was not as physically adequate as he had been during his primary school years. Yes, he had been through both “thick” and thin—but the former always haunted him, even after he shed the extra pounds, all the way through university.
Classmates used to laugh at him—the fat, quiet kid sitting in the corner of the 5th-grade classroom.
“You know, you can lose weight faster if you don’t wear your jacket in this air-conditioned room,” one teacher told him.
Cay did try to lose weight before starting middle school. He skipped meals and ate only one red apple a day.
“I don’t like the sour ones,” he once told his mother, not knowing she was confronting a son who was literally starving himself.
The other children noticed and occasionally asked why he was doing it, why he was so motivated. His answers varied, but they always led back to how much he loved the juiciness of apples.
“But won’t you go hungry?” asked a boy with an almost-bald head, whom Cay considered a friend.
“No, I usually have heavy breakfasts before class,” Cay replied.
“Before 7:30 in the morning?” the boy asked with skepticism.
“Yes. My grandmother cooks—I just eat and leave.”
That last line didn’t sound as convincing as when he had practiced it at home in front of the mirror. As the half-bald boy turned away, Cay swore he heard the words “fatty,” “eats a lot,” and “snorts” murmured between the boy and a girl at the next table.
Cay knew the boy liked Cheryl. Everyone in the class had a crush on her. Her close female friends knew this and often teased her for being the center of attention—the pretty girl that every boy liked.
The pretty and handsome ones get the best attention, Cay thought.
He continued devouring his Fuji apple—the one his mother had brought back from Japan—with a silent hunger no one in the class could understand.
Just you all wait and see. I’ll show you what I’m capable of, Cay thought, eyes burning as he peered across the classroom.
He made a promise to himself: to tolerate the pain of hunger, to silence its cries. An apple became his favorite meal of the day.
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