How to Make Friends with the Sea

by Tanya Guerrero

  I tried to smile in an effort to put her at ease. “Hello, Tintin. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Pablo,” I said, sticking my hand out.

  She stepped back and shook her head. “Hindi! Hindi! Chiqui. I, Chiqui … I, Chiqui.”

  I dropped my hand, confused. Why wouldn’t she want me to call her by her real name? Was she scared of her past? Did she want a fresh start? I opened my mouth, but I didn’t know what to say. I was stupefied. All I could do was keep on watching her shake her head until tears dropped from her eyes.

  “I, Chiqui,” she repeated over and over again.

  I had no idea why she was getting so upset.

  Do something, Pablo!

  I glanced around the room in desperation. My bed. My bookshelves. My dresser. My windows. My computer … my computer!

  A-ha!

  I crawled over to it and jabbed my fingers at the keyboard. The Google translate box appeared. I selected “English” to “Tagalog,” and typed, “I … will … keep … your … secret.”

  There it was.

  Success!

  I grabbed a piece of paper and jotted down exactly what it said. And then I flung myself from my desk and kneeled in front of Chiqui. She was still bawling. My eyes skimmed the piece of paper a couple of times. When I had it down pat, I opened my mouth again. But this time, I had something to say.

  “I-ta-ta-go … ko … ang … i-yong … li-him, Chiqui,” I said.

  The Tagalog words felt strange on my tongue, as if I’d just eaten some unfamiliar food and I couldn’t figure out if it was good or not.

  Sniff. Sniff.

  Chiqui tried to breathe through her stuffed-up nose. She heaved, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “Itatago … ko … ang … iyong … lihim, Chiqui,” I repeated.

  “I, Chiqui,” she murmured.

  I nodded. “Yes, you’re Chiqui.”

  She wiped her eyes again. Little by little, her feet inched toward me. When she was close enough, she stuck her hand out again and said, “Hewo, I, Chiqui.” This time, she said it louder and clearer. With conviction.

  I reached out and held her hand, even though it was wet with tears and snot and god knows what else. “Hello, Chiqui. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Pablo.”

  And for some strange reason it felt like a pact.

  She would keep my secrets.

  I would keep hers.

  THIRTY-TWO

  We were outside readying ourselves for our daily stroll to the sanctuary, when Happy suggested we go to the palengke instead. Ms. Grace was immediately smitten with the idea. Her face lit up and she got all excited, as if we were taking a trip to Paris. “Excellent idea, Happy! We can go on a cultural food tour and have merienda,” she exclaimed.

  I didn’t really get what the big deal was. The palengke was a market. So what?

  “We’re going to have to take two tricycles to get there. We can’t fit the four of us in one,” said Ms. Grace. She leaned into the road and stuck her hand out. Almost immediately, two tricycles pulled over and stopped.

  I took a step back and shook my head. “Um. I don’t think so. There aren’t even any seat belts.”

  “Come on, Pablo. It’s going to be fun. I promise,” said Happy.

  Why was I the only one worried about this? The tricycles were basically rusty sardine cans with wheels. On one side was a motorcycle and driver, and on the other, a decrepit-looking sidecar barely big enough for two people. Instead of doors, there were filthy pieces of plastic. And the seat was a piece of plywood covered in moldy and torn vinyl. The two guys driving had on basketball shorts and flip-flops. Not a helmet in sight.

  Ms. Grace led Chiqui toward the first tricycle. “Tara, Chiqui,” she said, motioning for her to get in. For a moment Chiqui paused and glanced at me; her expression was pinched with worry. She was tense. She was suspicious. She was unsure if I really was going to keep her secret. But as soon as she saw that my lips were sealed tight, she relaxed and ducked into the sidecar.

  I must have still had a look of dread on my face, because Ms. Grace stared at me with her signature head tilt. “You know, Pablo, when I was your age, I used to take tricycles to school every day. Sure, they’re a bit … well, unconventional. But it’s just part of life here in the Philippines.”

  That’s when Ms. Grace and Happy got into their respective sidecars. I was the only one left on the sidewalk. The tricycle guys looked up from their cell phones long enough to give me a curious sort of glance. I wondered if they thought I was a weirdo, which was bizarre, since clearly they were the weird ones.

  I wanted to throw my hands up in the air and say something cool and casual like, Why not? You only live once, right? But truthfully, I had no words. There was this scratchy lump in my throat. My limbs were limp. Not to mention the itching, which started at the tips of my toes and spread so that even the insides of my ears felt like they were covered in mosquito bites.

  “Pablo?” Happy popped her head out.

  I breathed deep, but not too deep, because it stank of diesel exhaust. “Okay, I’m coming.”

  Happy’s eyes almost disappeared, that’s how big her smile was. She scooched to the outer seat and pulled her legs in so I could pass. “Get in. You’ll feel safer on the inside seat,” she said.

  I didn’t want to touch anything, so I kind of just shimmied through the tarp into the sardine can. Thank goodness I’d worn long pants instead of shorts, otherwise my calves would have rubbed against the dirt and rust and germs from thousands and thousands of passengers. Happy slid closer to me. Then I heard Ms. Grace shout, “Kuya, sa palengke tayo. Salamat.”

  My head nearly slammed on the metal awning as we lurched forward. Chiqui squealed and giggled from the other tricycle.

  “You better hold on!” said Happy as she gripped a rubber handle that was hanging nearby. But I had no such handle, and even if I did, I wouldn’t want to hold on to it anyway.

  The tricycle zoomed over so many potholes I lost count. My butt bounced off the seat, landing hard every single time. “Ugh,” I grunted. It felt like my bones had disconnected and reconnected in the wrong order. Happy laughed. There was another bump and our limbs smashed together. Her cheek pressed against my chest. All of a sudden, it got really stuffy.

  “Sorry,” she said as she straightened herself out.

  I didn’t mind, actually. The smell of strawberries from her hair somehow made the rusty sardine can more bearable.

  Screeeeeech. The brakes were deafening. The fumes were making me choke. But at least we weren’t moving anymore.

  Happy elbowed me. “We’re here!”

  “Finally,” I replied under my breath.

  As soon as Happy got out, I practically dived from the rusty sardine can/deathtrap. For a second I checked the different parts of my body to make sure nothing was broken. Thankfully, I was intact. Then I looked around.

  Big mistake.

  I wanted to dive back into the rusty sardine can/deathtrap.

  Except it had already gone.

  The market was huge and crowded and dirty and everything that a market wasn’t supposed to be. There were black flies so big I could have thrown a collar and a leash on one and walked it like a dog. And there were actual dogs and cats—skinny, mangy ones. I looked at the rows and rows of animal carcasses and meat parts hanging from metal hooks.

  I would have cried, but I was too shocked.

  “No. No. No. I’m not going in there,” I said.

  Happy glared at me with her hands on her hips. “But we’re already here, Pablo. Just give it a chance.”

  Ms. Grace was already walking away, pulling Chiqui’s hand. “Come on. It’s better on the other side where the eateries are. You’ll see.”

  I’ll see? What was she talking about?

  By the time I’d recovered from the shock, Ms. Grace, Chiqui, and Happy were already ahead of me. Even from behind, I could tell Chiqui’s legs were too stiff, as if she was hesitating with every step. She was nervous. T
here were people all around, cutting ahead, falling behind, zigzagging from side to side. Thankfully, though, nobody seemed to notice her or her cleft lip. They were too preoccupied checking out all the wares and haggling. After a minute or so, her strides loosened up. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at me.

  Whew.

  I chased after them, skipping over bloody puddles and piles of fish guts. I was grateful for the sneakers I’d decided to wear that day. Just the thought of wearing flip-flops gave me the heebie-jeebies. At least we’d left the bloody scene of the crime behind and hit the fruit and vegetable section, which was much more like a market should be. There were loads of things I’d never seen or even heard of. Ms. Grace would stop every so often and point stuff out.

  “These are mangosteen. They’re sour and sweet and taste like heaven,” she said, buying a dozen of the dark purple fruit.

  “Oh, and these are the famous durian. To some, they smell and taste like perfume, but to others they stink like sewers. Go on and give it a whiff!” The vendor lady held out a piece of the cut-open fruit. Even from a distance, there was already a hint of something rotten. I covered my nose with my T-shirt, causing Chiqui to break out in a fit of giggles.

  After we passed the fresh produce section, we arrived at a wide-open area with lots of stalls and communal seating. There was a sign that read KAINAN SA PALENGKE, which Ms. Grace translated as “Market Eatery.”

  “Yumm … barbecue!” Happy dragged me to the nearest stall. My eyes went wider than wide—I didn’t even recognize half of what was on those little wooden sticks. Ms. Grace poked her head between our shoulders, browsing the nasty tidbits. “Adidas, Helmet, and Betamax. As you can see, Filipinos have a strange sense of humor.” She chuckled.

  Adidas? Helmet? Betamax? What was she talking about?

  Happy laughed so hard, her ponytail swished from side to side. “Adidas are barbecued chicken feet,” she said, pointing at the charred feet on sticks. “Helmet are chicken heads, and Betamax are chicken blood cakes. So which one are you going to try?”

  I glared at her. “I’m vegetarian.”

  She frowned. “Oh. Well, then maybe you’ll like the fish balls. Everybody likes fish balls.”

  I backed away from the stall. “Fish aren’t vegetables.”

  “Come, Pablo. I know what you can have,” Ms. Grace said with a sympathetic smile.

  I reluctantly followed her. Happy was chomping on a stick of god-only-knows-what. Every few steps, the sauce dripped on the floor. I desperately wanted to call her attention to it. But I guess nobody really cared about messes in such a place. Besides, I didn’t want to make a bigger stink than I already had.

  Ms. Grace stopped at Manang Rose’s Bakery stall. There was a display of desserts—little cakes with grated cheese on top, all sorts of buns and squares, some purple, some yellow and white, sticky ones coated in coconut and crunchy ones with caramelized sugar.

  “Here. Try this.” She handed me what looked like a crunchy egg roll, except it had a hard melted-sugar coating and sesame seeds sprinkled on top.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Turon.”

  “Turon?” I repeated suspiciously.

  “Just trust me.”

  I glanced at Happy, who gave me the thumbs-up. And then at Chiqui, who was busy munching on her own piece of turon. Whatever it was, she seemed to like it.

  You can do it, Pablo. It’s only a pastry. It’s not going to kill you.

  The tips of my fingers were sticking to the sugar and grease.

  Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it.

  My head and chest leaned forward, and my hips and legs leaned back. It was my way of protecting my clean clothes from messes.

  Crunch.

  I took a bite, and a flurry of crumbs dropped like snowflakes.

  Munch. Munch. Munch.

  Swallow.

  Everyone watched me, and it seemed as if their breaths were on pause.

  “Well?” Happy finally asked.

  “It’s good!”

  THIRTY-THREE

  I glanced at my alarm clock: 10:37 P.M.

  Ugh.

  I was tired. More like comatose, really. But it was time for Speak Cartoon, Learn English for Kids, Episode Two.

  Chiqui was sitting at my desk staring at the computer. She barely moved. It was almost like she was a sponge dressed in a striped pajama dress. If I looked hard enough, I could see the bubbles of knowledge drifting from the screen into her brain. Every once in a while she’d jam a fistful of seaweed snacks into her mouth. There were bits and pieces scattered on her dress, on the desk, on the chair, on the floor. At first I felt the telltale prickles. I twitched. The urge to clean up the mess nagged me. I imagined all those little pieces getting lodged into crevices, getting lost underneath the furniture, getting sucked into vents and holes, getting stuck on every surface in the room.

  But then she would repeat a phrase from the video, something like, “I aym hungray. My I peas hab somtin to ayt?” And all of a sudden I’d forget about the prickles and twitches and crevices and holes and surfaces.

  It was weird. I hadn’t felt that way since we lived in California, when my parents were together and life still seemed somewhat normal. Things were calmer. Even though the twitches had always been around. In those days they were easier to ignore.

  “Tenk yo. Eeet wus dewaysus!” Chiqui said to the screen.

  I grinned. The prickles returned. But they were warm and fuzzy and not at all unpleasant. The video ended, and she hopped off the chair, holding the last piece of seaweed in her hand. “Dewaysus! Dewaysus!” she chanted.

  I sat up and slowly mouthed, “DE-LI-CIOUS.”

  “DE-WI-SUS,” she repeated.

  “DE-LI-CIOUS.”

  “DE-WI-SUS.”

  “Okay, okay. Good enough,” I said with a chuckle.

  She gobbled the seaweed and crawled into my bed. Part of me wanted to send her off to the other room with Mamá. But the other part—the part that was lonely and kind of confused—wanted her to stay.

  Go. Stay. Go. Stay. Go. Stay.

  “Let’s sleep, Chiqui. It’s late,” I said, patting the pillow.

  She burrowed under the sheet, crumbs, seaweed grease, and all. I exhaled and laid down next to her. By then, I was too exhausted to care. Her eyelids fluttered, and she smiled sleepily. It was sweet and innocent. My heart swelled. I reached out and touched her lip with my finger.

  “Smile,” I said softly. “Chiqui’s smile.”

  Her arm moved just a bit. Her brow furrowed just a little. I could tell that for a second she’d wanted to hide her mouth with her hand again. But she didn’t. Instead, she smiled even more.

  “Ngiti,” she said, touching my lip back.

  “Niti,” I repeated.

  Chiqui giggled. “Ngiti.”

  “Nigiti.”

  “Ngi … ti…”

  “Ngiti.”

  She nodded.

  Yes!

  Ngiti must mean “smile” in Tagalog.

  We both exhaled. And then she moved closer so her head was resting on my collarbone. “Gud nayt, Kuya Pabo,” she whispered.

  “Good night, Chiqui.”

  The warm fuzzy prickles spread. I just let myself sink into the cozy pile of sheets and blankets and pillows and Chiqui’s feathery-soft hair. Everything dimmed and blurred.

  The door clicked open.

  Mamá.

  Her smile. Ngiti.

  She watched us. For a moment.

  Then her smile faded.

  The door closed.

  Slowly.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  I hadn’t planned on going to the hospital for Chiqui’s checkup, except when it came time for them to leave, Chiqui had an epic meltdown. There weren’t enough calming stones in the world to help Mamá keep her cool. How could she, with Chiqui spread out on the floor like a sack of fallen potatoes? Her arms and legs were a tangled mess, kicking and swinging and slapping the air. And her face—geez—it wa
s bright red and swollen and dripping with an endless supply of tears. There were no words, only cries and shrieks and moans. Mamá would try to pick her up off the floor, but Chiqui would arch her back and wriggle out of her grasp every single time. “Shh … Shh … Shh…” she kept on repeating. But all her shhing was doing nothing to help the situation. At one point, Mamá stood and stormed off into the kitchen. I heard her whispering to someone on the phone, sighing every so often.

  All the while, I’d been watching from my bedroom, unsure of what to do. But there was one thing I knew for certain.

  Chiqui needed me.

  And so did Mamá.

  I tiptoed into the hallway until I was beside her.

  You can do this, Pablo.

  I knelt down and captured both her hands in mine. “Chiqui,” I whispered.

  She stopped her squirming and stared at me through puffy eyelids. “Ayoko … Ayoko,” she croaked.

  I couldn’t understand exactly what she was saying. It was pretty clear that she didn’t want to go to her doctor’s appointment, though.

  “It’s okay, Chiqui. I don’t like hospitals either … But I’ll go with you. I’ll hold your hand.” I got up and took my hoodie off the coatrack and put it on. Then I held my hand out to her. “Come. Let’s be brave together.”

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  Chiqui gripped my hand and pulled herself up. She buried her sopping-wet face into my hip just as Mamá returned. She exhaled, looking all sorts of relieved.

  “We’re ready,” I said.

  Mamá mouthed, “Thank you.”

  Beep. Beep.

  Zeus arrived just in time.

  We were off to the hospital.

  Great.

  * * *

  I was at the waiting area. I felt guilty—really, really guilty—for leaving Chiqui’s side. When Mamá walked off with her, Chiqui’s eyes drooped, and her jaw tensed. It was the look of betrayal. Disappointment. My hand twitched. I was supposed to be with her. But the nurses wouldn’t let me. I had to hang out in the stupid waiting area for god knows how long. It wasn’t just a standard checkup. There would be blood tests, which meant needles. According to Mamá, she was also having a dental X-ray done with a giant contraption. All of this and more, to prepare for her upcoming surgery.