by Sarah Gay
The elderly man nodded his appreciation as Tori picked up a wooden stake and drove it into the earth. With the three of them working together, it took less than half an hour to set all the stakes in the ground.
The Bhutanese man washed his hands with water from the spigot at the end of the row of boxes, then wiped his hands on his pants. He reached into his shoulder satchel and produced a card printed with a blue, sacred being on the front.
“This is for you,” he said in a soft, Indian accent. “Thank you for your help today.”
“Beautiful. Who is this?” Tori questioned.
“Krishna,” he responded with a smile.
The skin of the god, Krishna, was a creamy, aqua blue; almost the color of Zee’s eyes, unique and captivating. Tori shook her head, willing Zee’s face to fade. She concentrated on the long, forest-flowered garland around Krishna’s neck.
Tori removed her gloves and touched the card with her fingertip. “These are beautiful flowers.”
“Lotus flowers. They are sacred.”
“Must smell divine.” That was silly of her. Gussie wasn’t there to verbally duel with.
“It is purity. Rebirth. The lotus flower comes up from dirty pond water in the morning.” He held his fingers together, pointing upward. He then slowly spread his fingers, representing a flower opening its petals. “It opens, pure and fragrant.” Although he seemed to struggle with the English language, he communicated well.
Scott came to the man’s side, slowly resting his hand on his shoulder. “It’s also therapeutic. The blue lotus contains the psychoactive alkaloid, apomorphine, which is used to treat Parkinson’s. It can raise dopamine levels; something that people with Parkinson’s disease are low in.”
“Wow, that’s amazing!” Tori exclaimed.
Scott nodded his head. “I like to think of these refugees as lotus flowers. They’re amazing, resilient people, who have risen above the filth of their environments, thus adding beauty and fragrance to their surroundings. Maybe they’ll tell you their stories someday.”
“I’d like that,” Tori said, gathering her things from the picnic table.
“Thanks for your help today, Tori,” Scott said with a wave as she exited the gardens. “And remember, the key is to rise out of the muck.”
As Tori approached her car, her cell phone chimed in her pocket.
“Hello.”
“Tori. Glad I caught you. I’m in town in three weeks to interview your mom again, and came across a few tickets for the chalk run at Thanksgiving Point. Wanna come?”
“Annie?”
“Yes.” Annie giggled her infectious laugh. “Has someone else been interviewing your mom?”
“I didn’t think you were a runner?” Tori said with surprise.
“I’m not. It’s only a 5k, and I plan on chucking colorful chalk on my brisk walk. Should be a blast. I love throwing things at people’s heads. It’s better than a therapy session.”
“Thanks for the offer.” Tori acknowledged that she could use a therapy session. “Text me the date, and I’ll see if I can make it.”
“Great. I’ll send that right over. Hey, do you mind if I bring my bodyguard along?”
“Ah…” Tori couldn’t think of a reason for him not to come. That would be rude. It was an obvious running joke that Zee was Annie’s body guard. He had been in town last for the film festival. What was his reason for coming this time? Tori second guessed herself. Perhaps Zee really was Annie’s bodyguard, and Tori had misunderstood the conversation. “Of course. You guys are kinda fused at the hip.”
“He is as dedicated as the day is long. Whoever lassoes that man will be a lucky lady. Cheers!”
Cheers? Was Annie’s fiancé Irish?
Annie’s reference to Zee had caused Tori’s mind to cloud and the uncouth habit of biting her nails to resurface. With the salty snap of her fingernail, Tori found herself on the far end of the parking lot, across the street from the gardens, and twenty-five yards past her car.
Tori had thought of Zee on more than one occasion over the past three months. Almost every day, in fact, something reminded her of how he had made her feel—weak and dizzy, but somehow more alive. It didn’t help that she now found herself addicted to Facebook to see what he would post that day. Then the guilt would surface. She shouldn’t be thinking about anyone except Jim, especially not a mere stranger—no matter how attractive he was.
7
The early morning, ocean breeze carried the call of the seagulls. Zee straddled his surfboard. His anticipation grew with every increasingly heightened wave. His wave app had forecasted that the big waves for Zuma Beach were due in just after sunrise. Zee was in his element, relaxing on his board as the eastern sky lit the foaming crests.
As Zee waited for the Santa Anna winds to kick in, the intoxicating scent of surf wax caused the edges of his mouth to curl up. It was the scent of his first stellar wipe out, but it was also the essence of his first kiss.
She was tan and toned that sweltering summer in Malibu. He was a shy, introverted teenager. She was not. She was a freshman at UCLA. He was still a junior in high school, but he never told her. Why would he? He was already six-foot-two and muscular. For all she knew, he was a junior in college. But the smell of wax soon turned to balmy danger. After the unforgettable kiss on the beach, she told him he smelled like pepper, and how she would like him to spice her body up.
He grabbed his surf board and ran, not because he didn’t think he would enjoy it. Something inside him yelled that she was not somebody he would want to just hang with during a flat spell, a no wave day. That, and his mom would have blown a gasket.
Girls frightened him for a long time after that. There were a few cute girls in there, and then he’d met Kathy. She was the one; or so he’d thought, until she decided she didn’t want to have children with him. It was her choice. She wanted a career in show-biz; not the body of a mom, or the added responsibility. She got her dream.
The ripple before the big one rocked Zee back into the present. He brought his legs up out of the frigid water, and, while lying on his chest, began paddling. Adrenaline surged through his body. Some surfers thought that the epic climax of the surf experience was catching the perfect wave, like a spiritual walking on water. But to him, it was the mounting anticipation. He felt completely alive in that moment. He had no problems; it was just him and the swelling wave, nothing more, nothing less.
As the wave fell, he quickly hopped up onto his board. Pushing his heels into the surf board, he commanded it to curve and ride up the curling wave. Zee then maneuvered his board back down the cascading wave as it tumbled along the shoreline. He continued to conquer the wave for five additional seconds. The brief ride relieved a month’s worth of tension. He was a new man, ready to face his daily stresses.
“Dude, you ripped it out there!”
Zee scanned the beach for Max, his morning surf buddy. They both surfed an hour or two before starting the grind. But, unlike Zee, Max didn’t decide his own hours. He was an investment guy with an accounting firm, popular amongst film celebrities living in the vicinity. Zee had given him a superb personal reference, and that was all it took. The crazy stories Max could tell; but he didn’t, and that’s why they adored him.
Max ran down the seemingly never-ending staircase cascading down from the homes on the cliff. “You didn’t wait for me.”
“How can I help it if you’re too lazy to get here early enough for the best waves?”
Max shook his head. “Did I really miss ‘em?”
“I’m sure you’ll still have a chance to rip a few.” Zee laughed as he set his board on the sand for a seat. He reached his hand behind his back and unzipped his wet suit. He then pulled off the sleeves, allowing the neoprene material to flap at his waist.
His chest and arms speckled with hundreds of goosebumps from the cooling wind, but all was soon made right by the heat of the morning sun.
Max took a seat next to Zee. “I was hoping you’d be
back today. Kathy’s been hounding me about you.”
“Seriously?” Zee didn’t want to think about Kathy, but his interest peaked. “Why?”
“My guess is she’s lonely. And your film did stellar at Sundance.”
Zee stared out at the ocean, gritting his teeth. “She was always after something.”
“You know, I’m a better husband now with my second wife. I learned to accept the bitterness of my ex leaving me, and now I really appreciate Lanna. Was it all my ex? Probably not. Even my ex says she wishes that she’d stuck around for me to wise up.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m not saying get back together with Kathy. But, figure out what went wrong. How you messed it up?”
“How I messed it up?” Zee clenched his fists. “She didn’t want to have my kid.”
“Why didn’t she?”
“Ouch. You’re a jerk.”
“I’m an accountant. It’s part of the job to tick people off. We pretty much tell people that the money they make doesn’t belong to them. Uncle Sam and the state of California own me, and you.”
“That’s why I’m moving to Costa Rica, or Texas.”
“Costa Rica.” Max’s eyes grew wide. “Then I can come hang with you, and we can ride those gnarly waves you’re obsessed with. But, you’ll still have to pay taxes.”
“Not if I’m not making anything.”
“You? Not make anything?” Max huffed. “Your investments make you money when you sleep. I set those up for you and your cousin, remember? That’s what I’m good at. Sorry to tell you this, but you’ll always be paying good old, Uncle Sammy.”
Zee lowered his head in defeat. “I need another go. You ready to rip it?”
“My maniacal plan succeeds!” Max cackled. “Let’s hit it!”
The aroma of fresh lime and cilantro drifted down to Zee’s stomach, causing it to tumble and grumble. The taco truck had arrived in the parking lot fifteen minutes earlier. He’d been sitting patiently at the edge of the lot on a peeling, red painted picnic table for half an hour.
Zee enjoyed the industrial center on the outskirts of town. This is where the blue-collar employees came to eat and greet for lunch. Not a place Kathy would normally frequent; but Zee loved their steak tacos, and it would be an easy escape if their conversation turned south.
His palms laced with sweat at the first glance of Kathy stepping out of her cherry red Beemer. He wiped his hands on his khaki pants, and lengthened his back as he smiled. If he could face the challenges of the unforgiving ocean, he could face a steel-hearted woman.
She wore a black, fitted tank dress. It resembled one he had complimented her on many times in the past, ten years in the past. Had it really been that long since they’d dated? He’d seen her on several occasions at mutual friends’ parties, but they were never more than cordial to each other. She was still beautiful. Her sleek blonde hair came to a point at her chin, grazing her jawline. Her face was as perfectly polished as a shiny new pair of patent leather Oxfords.
“Zee, you look amazing!”
He pulled her in for a hug. “You beat me to the punch, as always.” He inhaled her airy perfume, the last gift he’d given her.
“They say that you can tell how a man feels about you by where he takes you for dinner.” Kathy shifted her pale blue eyes to the taco truck. “Guess I’m still on your D list.”
“That’s something I’ve always admired about you—your ability, within a matter of seconds, to bring it all out onto the table.”
She nodded. “I’m happy you asked me here today, Zee. But why?”
He cleared his throat. “What could I have done differently?” he stuttered. “To make you happy?”
Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
“One hundred percent.” He kept her gaze.
“I thought you hated me for choosing my current career path, and for not starting a family with you.”
“I have tried to understand your perspective on that. I admit, I still struggle to understand it. But, that’s not why I asked you to lunch today. What could I have done better?”
“I’ve never had anyone ask me that before. Give me a minute,” she said, rising to her feet.
She disappeared behind the taco truck. Should he follow her? Was she safe on this side of town, and away from his protective eye?
He ordered them a few tacos, then sat and sipped his fresh squeezed lemonade, hoping that she wouldn’t be abducted. His muscles relaxed when Kathy returned a few minutes later, and sat in front of him with an unreadable smile on her face.
He took a bite of his taco. Maybe with some food in his stomach he could withstand any forthcoming blows.
“I felt like it was a child that you wanted, not me. Does that make any sense to you?”
That is not the response Zee was expecting. He needed clarification. “If I’m hearing you correctly, you think that you were just a baby mama to me?”
“Tell me I’m wrong.” Moisture slowly formed in the lower lids of her eyes.
Confusion was the only word that came to Zee’s mind. “You never trusted my affection for you?”
Kathy rubbed her forehead. “You really loved me? Maybe I would’ve…”
Zee’s stomach dropped. Would she have married and had kids with him? Was telling him she never wanted kids a test of his love? Why would she do that?
“I’m so sorry, Kathy. I did love you, tremendously.” Zee walked around the table and sat next to her on the bench.
“I’m sorry too,” she said with a sniffle.
He pulled her into his chest. “And the next meal will be at a five-star restaurant.”
“I was so young and selfish. But most of all, scared. Looking back, I shouldn’t have been. I had you.” Her eyes lifted to meet his as she straightened her back. “I have walked a tough journey to self-realization over these past ten years, but I’m stronger because of it.”
Zee popped off the bottle top of Kathy’s Mexican Coke with the edge of the picnic table and handed her a taco. “I would love to hear what I’ve missed these past ten years on your journey to finding yourself.”
He was ready to listen. He hadn’t actively listened to Kathy when they were dating. He hadn’t asked what her needs were.
Zee would start listening and demonstrating his affection. If Tori had the depth of character and internal beauty to match her exterior elegance, then he would need to be prepared to offer her his best self.
After two hours of catching up, Zee was emotionally spent. He helped Kathy into her car, and, as she drove away, so did the years of bitterness and anger.
8
Tori arrived at the gardens two hours before dusk. She was sure to find a few refugees gardening their boxes after work that Friday evening. Scott had told her that Friday, late afternoon, would be the best time to catch people.
That statement proved true. With the gravel parking lot full, Tori needed to park across the street. The bird-chirp of the cross-walk got Tori hopping. It was a comforting sound; giving her permission to travel north or south, as a bird’s migratory flight pattern. She walked south toward chatter and laughter.
Tori delighted to find the garden overflowing with chipper movement. Unfortunately, she felt like a leper, with an unsightly cold sore burning into her lower lip. It was on the mend, but still reminiscent of a boil on the face of the Princess Bride’s torturer.
As she slowly wound her way through the maze of boxes, Tori was ushered by a broad-shouldered, sixty-something-year-old man to the benches under the training pergola.
“I’ll tell you my story,” he said in a Baltic accent.
“Okay,” Tori smiled, nodding. Everyone seemed to be watching her attentively.
“They had us down on our knees. They stood behind us with machine guns pointed at our heads and yelled, ‘Shoot!’”
“Shoot what?” Tori’s voice grew squeaky, and her hands trembled.
“Our own people. If we didn’t shoot our brothers,
then they would shoot us from behind.”
Tori placed her twitching hand over his and looked him in the eyes. “Where are you from?”
“Bosnia.”
A tall African man, with dotted, raised scars on his forehead, sat next to the Bosnian. Tori nodded a greeting to him. “And where are you from?”
“Sudan. Every day I pray when we walk from Sudan to Kenya. The soldiers try to protect us, but government still attack us from the sky and land. Many die while we walk, and many rape. UN drop food for us. We pray to thank God for this. We stay in camp for ten years.”
“Isn’t Sudan, like—a thousand miles from Kenya?” Tori’s heart felt as if it were being pulled apart. “Ten years? In a refugee camp?”
“Good story.” He smiled. “God help us get here. Now we happy, healthy. Healthy with garden,” he said, raising his arms, and motioning to the gardens surrounding them. “Now we thank God every day for helping us be in this country. We have peace.”
The Bosnian patted the Sudanese man on the shoulder and nodded.
A dark, beautiful woman with a colorful head wrap came to the Sudanese’s side. “Husband, what are you talking of? This nice woman come to help in garden. I met interview lady yesterday. This is volunteer.”
The Bosnian stood. “You are not here to write book?”
“No,” she admitted. Her mind sparked with understanding. The business card that she and Gussie had found in her study belonged to Annie. Annie was the one the refugees were waiting for to tell their stories to. Tori acknowledged the unwitting bombarded of the wrong woman with a nod of her head.
He shrugged his shoulders with reluctant acceptance. “Okay.”
And with that, the men were gone.
The colorful woman took her by the arm. “Come, see my box.”
“Yes! Can I help you plant?” Tori would get her hands dirty.
A deep laugh oscillated through the cheerful woman’s handsome skin. Her body’s motions resembled the shaking dance moves of Shakira, the world-renowned vocalist.