by Heidi Kling
“I tried.”
“What do you mean you tried?” This was news to me.
“Honey, I haven’t wanted to share this with you because I was afraid you’d blame her. And you shouldn’t. That’s the last thing I want.”
“Just tell me. What happened? Dad, I can handle it.”
“There was a storm that day in Thailand and it was getting worse. The roofs were flipping off the makeshift huts, the supplies were getting wet and ruined. It was a mess. Then we received this SOS call over the radio. Your mom answered the call. There was a school with a collapsed roof, kids were hurt. She insisted we go help them. The pilot of the small plane refused. He said in the storm there was no way. It would be too dangerous. I told her we’d wait out the storm. We’d go after it passed. She said the kids couldn’t wait....”
“Dad. What happened?”
“We got in an argument—she could be very stubborn. I insisted she stay—she said she was going. That she had to go. But I didn’t believe her. She was headstrong, but logical. I didn’t think she’d risk it. I was busy helping the villagers when I heard the engine. I ran after the plane but it was too late. She took off into the storm.”
“Oh my God.”
“I know.”
We were quiet for a while.
“How did she persuade the pilot to go?” I asked finally.
“She had a pilot’s license. She just took off.”
“Mom was flying the plane?”
“Yes.” Dad rubbed his face. “She was convinced she could help those kids. She was an okay pilot, but anyone in a storm like that ...”
I didn’t want to hate Mom. She only wanted to help. Still, I couldn’t stop the burning anger welling in my chest. That was too risky. She risked too much.
“That’s why,” Dad said, his voice breaking, “the only thing we could assume is that she went down on one of the many islands or in the sea. She was too inexperienced. The storm was too rough. Are you okay, Sienna?”
I swallowed. “Yeah, I am. I’d rather know the truth, Dad. And I promise you’re not going to lose me. I had to help Deni. Good things happened for him because I came. Really. But I won’t do it again. If I want to do something like that again, I’ll make sure it’s okay with you. I swear.”
I was not going to end up like Mom.
He studied me, then let out a long, low sigh. “I’m so glad to hear that. Speaking of Deni, where is he? Because he’s due for a nice long chat.”
I filled Dad in on all of it. On the mass graves and Azmi and Siti. On Amelia and then the story of Rema.
He listened, mouth agape, slowly shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he said.
“So he’s home,” I said. “Deni’s finally home.”
We met back up with Vera and Tom in Yogyakarta. Dad made me explain to the pesantren owner what had happened with Deni. Made me apologize for sneaking off. I was sorry. He could never know how sorry.
I gave Elli most of the stuff from my suitcase, promised to write, promised to send her more markers. I said good-bye to Nada and girls from the teen group. Talk-talk was at an all-time high. I didn’t care, though.
Mostly I was just numb.
All in all, Dad said, the family system was a successful trial, they helped the kids learn how to better deal with their PTSD symptoms, and, no thanks to me, we might be invited back another time. But like all these projects, they were baby steps. There was no cure-all in two weeks. Two weeks was not going to take away that much pain.
But at least it was a start.
I could barely stand being at the pesantren without Deni, and then we finally boarded our plane for home.
“Do you wanna watch something?” Tom said, handing me his headphones after the Fasten Seat Belt sign went off. “Indonesian game shows. Could be fun.”
Dad and Vera were sitting together, watching the same movie, laughing at the same jokes. For once it didn’t make me totally ill. At least one of us was happy.
“Maybe later,” I told Tom.
I excused myself to use the bathroom, where I finally opened Deni’s letter.
For my Rambut Kuning:
The words to the song about my home. Terima kasih, Deni.
The jeumpa flower is a famous flower in Aceh. It is fragrant and very beautiful. Its color is white and yellow and mixed with red; layered with petals, each one is very beautiful. When the moon is shining and the wind is blowing, petal by petal will fall. The flower is so fragrant when we perchance to smell it, the jeumpa flower is so beautiful.
When the bride and groom sit on their throne and the jeumpa flower decorates her hair, the fragrance will be as heavenly as musk. Ladies of Aceh always yearn for the fragrance of the jeumpa flower. In the light of the full moon, the night wind will blow and the petals of the jeumpa flower will fall. Ladies of Aceh are content when they remember the fragrance of the jeumpa flower.
I will find you. Deni
He wrote the note before he knew about Rema.
My tears fell on his words, smearing the ink, until I had to hold the paper away from my eyes to keep from ruining it.
He wrote that when he thought I was the girl who could maybe one day become his bride.
How am I supposed to forget you?
I woke up to the flight attendant’s voice. “We’ve started our descent into San Francisco International Airport. Please make sure your seat belts are fastened and your trays are in the full upright position. Thank you for flying Air Ethelia.”
It was funny how little I cared about the landing. Or the flight at all.
My seat belt was on, and I just figured we’d land okay.
You will always land in one piece, Deni had told me when we were in the airport waiting for our flight to Aceh.
The whole flight I’d been replaying Deni’s words in my head.
Maybe Deni was right.
I imagined Mom waiting for us at the airport.
Her thick blond hair tied in a loose bun. She’d be wearing faded blue jeans and a tank top. Her arms long, thin and tan from hours working in the garden. She’d run up to us, her eyes dancing, and swoop me into a hug. How was your trip, Sea? she’d say. Tell me everything. And then whisper, Especially the juicy parts.
And I would.
I’d tell her everything.
I’d tell her about Deni and me climbing the ancient temple of Borobudur, the smell of the warm sweat of his back, the pulse of my heart as I wrapped my arms around him. How I leaned into the turns on the motor just like she taught me on my pink body board when I was a kid.
I’d tell her the sad parts too, the wall of death, the headless doll. I’d tell her about bringing Rema to Deni and leaving them together.
The clouds outside my window were turning cotton candy pink again. It was sunset in California.
On the way to Indo, the colors were leading me somewhere, to the street kids, to the other orphans at the pesantren. To Elli.
To Amelia, Azmi and Siti. To Dad and Mom. To Deni.
I held my warm palm against the ice-cold window, remembering.
The Orange Popsicle Haze lighting my way back home.
KISMET HOME
DAY ONE
Oma and Bev were waiting for us at the airport with a handmade sign that read, TEAM HOPE and TEEN RUNAWAY SIENNA JONES.
“Very funny, guys,” I said, buried in a group hug until Bev shrugged me off.
“Wait. Do you have any infectious disease, missy?” she asked.
“I was exposed to the bird flu,” I deadpanned.
“Seriously?”
I shrugged. “I was around lots of caged birds. And they don’t want to put them to sleep there, even the sick ones. They’re pets, especially the doves.” I remembered Deni’s story about his mom and her pet songbirds.
I couldn’t believe I was back in California.
Oma laughed and hugged me again while Bev examined me closely for foaming of the mouth or oozing sores.
“Bev, I’m kidding. I don’t have the bir
d flu. But it’s true about the birds.”
“Well, you’re lucky. I was about to put you in quarantine!” She nailed me playfully with her sharp elbow. “And if you’re wondering where my brother is, he gave up waiting for you and went surfing in Mexico.”
Gave up waiting for me? Spider was waiting for me? “Whatever,” I said.
They asked about the flight, the food, our adventure. I told them if we were in Indo, we’d be having this conversation over spicy hot tea.
“Ready to go, kiddo?” Dad asked me. “We could stop for pizza on the way home.”
“No, thanks,” I said. There was only one place I wanted to be, and I needed to go there alone.
I heard the music first, the strumming of the sitar.
On this side of the world there were no spices in the air, not that kind anyway, but it was a sitar all the same. When he saw me, he stood up. “Why, if it isn’t Sienna Jones,” he said in a fake cowboy drawl, dangling the wooden instrument from one hand.
I couldn’t help but grin. “In the flesh,” I said, adopting the same tone.
As he stood on Sunny Cove’s towering cliff, Spider’s back was against the moonlit sea.
He hugged me, and it was totally awkward for a second, but in one of those funny ways, so we both laughed.
“I thought you were in Mexico?” I asked, by way of small talk.
“I was. Just got home a couple hours ago.”
“Me too. I mean, I just got home too.”
“I know,” he said. He played a few more notes on the sitar and then set it down.
“This is cool,” he said, looking at the sitar.
“You like?”
“For sure. No one in the history of twelve-year-old musicians has ever butchered ‘Stairway to Heaven’ worse than me,” he said, referring to his old guitar.
“I figured on the sitar, you could pummel it even worse,” I joked, surprised how easy it was to be with him again. Remembering after such a miserable past few days how nice it felt to smile.
“I have no doubt,” Spider said.
“I’m glad you like it. Haggling with street vendors and then mailing something from Indo is no small task. I had to drag Dad with me to help.” I remembered that day going into town, finding the perfect thing to send back to Spider.
He avoided my eyes, looking at the sitar instead. “So how was your trip?”
I wasn’t sure how much he’d heard, so I shrugged. “Good. Bad. Crazy.”
He eyed me closely. “You look different.”
I felt different.
“Jet lag?” I guessed casually.
He shook his head, his sandy blond hair moving in the sea breeze.
“That’s not it. Something else.”
“So, am I taller? Shorter? Wiser?” I teased. It was nice to see him. I had planned on coming down here, crying, moping alone.
“Wiser.” He nodded. “Certainly. Taller?” He shook his head. “Still way shorter than Spidey-Man.”
We were standing really close to each other. It seemed so weird, after being with Deni, being so close to Spider again.
“So ... how was Mexico?” I thought about that whacked-out irony. Spider was out chasing waves while Deni and his friends were dealing with the trauma of running away from them.
“Okay. I hit the road right after you left. Too boring here without you.”
“Really?” I smiled, disbelieving.
Spider scratched his head and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “But you weren’t bored, right? In Indo?” His eyes narrowed slightly. “I heard you ran off with some guy.”
I bit my lip. “That’s not really the whole story.”
“What is the whole story?” Spider raised his eyebrows.
“Um.”
“You don’t want to tell me, do you?”
“It’s not that I don’t.... I just feel weird telling you. About another guy, I mean.”
He moved closer to me. The ocean breeze was cold, and I shivered.
He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Why do you feel weird?”
“Because,” I said, flushing in the chill. “You know.”
“I know what?”
“I don’t know. Because of us. I mean, it’s not like that with us. I mean, we’re just friends, but still I feel weird.”
Now he was rubbing my arms. “Want my sweatshirt?”
He didn’t wait for an answer before pulling off his hoodie, exposing his tan stomach. I tugged his T-shirt down before the whole thing went over his head, my fingers accidentally touching his skin.
“Here,” he said, sliding the sweatshirt over my head.
“Thanks.”
He held on to my arms again, this time tucked snugly in his sandy sweatshirt. He bit his lip and then let me go. “Before you run off again, I have something for you.” Picking up a small comics-wrapped package from a crack between the rocks, he grinned. “Your birthday present—it wasn’t ready before you left. Sorry ‘bout that.”
“A birthday present? Wait a minute, did you know I’d show up here tonight?”
He smiled shyly. “Well, Bev told me what time your plane would land and I just thought, ‘If I’ve ever known her at all, the first thing she’ll do is walk to the cove.”’
I will find you. Maybe Deni and Spider weren’t so different after all.
“So open it.” Inside, sitting in perfect lotus position, was a tiny clay Buddha holding a flat tray. “It’s a candleholder ... for your room.”
I couldn’t believe it. “You made this for me? It’s so ... perfect.”
He waved off my compliment, but I could tell he was pleased. “I’m sorry it wasn’t ready on your real birthday. I had to wait in line for the kiln, which was totally annoying, and blah, blah, art geek talk.”
“I didn’t even know you were into sculpting. It’s really cool,” I said.
“Hmm. Well, maybe you should stick around,” he said. “Who knows what else you might find out?”
“You know, I went to an ancient Buddhist temple in Indo. It was so amazing. I took a ton of pictures. There were these stone Buddhas that you could only see through these tiny cutouts in the wall.” I held up my fingers in the shape of a diamond to give him a visual. “It was one of my best days there, so this gift is just so ...”
Apa? I heard Deni’s voice in my head, searching for the right word.
“Perfect?” Spider helped me remember.
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“I didn’t know you were going to a temple.” He shrugged. “I just thought you’d like it.”
Neither did I.
“It’s really sweet. Thank you so much.” I held the candleholder to my chest like I was cradling a Buddha baby. “I have something to show you too.” I pulled the shell Spider had given me out of my sweatpants pocket. The wind whipped my hair around my face. I was suddenly so hot, and the cool air felt refreshing.
“You still have that?” he asked, surprised.
“Can you believe it? It survived the whole trip—and so did I, so I think you were right on about the luck.” I set the sand dollar in his palm and he examined it.
Waves lapped against the cliff. In the distance the light-house curled on its slow, translucent rounds. I chewed on the skin next to my nail. Don’t lose it I thought. just because you’re home, don’t chicken out. Tell him the truth. “Hey, Spider?”
He looked at me gently. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I was so weird before I left. I’m sorry for a lot of things, but mostly ... I’m sorry because I didn’t let you know me anymore. After my mom died, I should have let you help me.”
“That’s okay.... That was a long time ago.”
“No. It ... That was dumb. I just didn’t get how dumb it was until I was in Indo. I was afraid if you knew how scared I was of everything, you wouldn’t like me anymore ... and I just ... couldn’t deal with losing someone else.”
“But that’s not what I thought at all. I knew you were scared, and you had every re
ason to be. If that had been me? I can’t even imagine. I thought you were so brave.”
“You did?”
He stepped closer. “Yes.”
“But then ... why did you always ignore me?”
“I didn’t ignore you. I just gave up ... trying. And it was stupid. I shouldn’t have given up on you. And hanging out with you before you left just reminded me how awesome you are, how I’ve never known anyone else like you.”
“Like me?”
He pulled me into him. “Sea, give me a break. It’s always been you.”
Spider and me. Spider and Sea.
Then it suddenly dawned on me why we couldn’t be us before, why it was so much easier to be with Deni, not just because we shared something, but because he didn’t know the old me, what I was like before.
And Spider. Well, he knew it all.
Even the stuff I tried so hard to forget.
In the quiet we both watched the waves. Sneaking looks at each other.
Then finally I whispered to him, “Spider?”
He looked at me. “Yeah?”
“I saw it, you know.”
“Saw what?”
“The Orange Popsicle Haze—from the plane window at dawn and in Indo, except it was more like the Fudge Popsicle Haze over there, the air was so polluted....”
Spider raised his eyebrows. “Told you it was real.”
“You made me a believer.”
We looked at each other for a second, almost daring the other to chicken out and look away. Neither of us did.
“So I’m going out at dawn, if you’d like to come along,” I said nonchalantly.
“Going out where at dawn?”
I pointed out at the ocean—the moonlight reflecting on the frothy waves.
“Out? Out surfing? You’re going surfing?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You didn’t surf with that dude in Indo, did you? I’m a mellow guy, but that might piss me off just a little bit.”
I laughed. “Deni didn’t even know how to swim.”
“Really? I thought Indonesians were really into surfing.”
“I think that’s mostly in Bali. He told me no one swims for recreation up in Aceh. The sea is strictly for fishing and boating.” Then I stopped.