May 10, 2007

It was in the midst of a rain-soaked afternoon when Julian first laid eyes on the boy who would come to mean everything to him as a friend.

The wet brown sand clung to his clothes, yet he sat by the shore anyway, arms wrapped around his knees, thighs huddled to his chest. His gaze wandered to the churning waves, eyes carrying a quiet loneliness and surrender as though he wouldn't resist if the restless sea reached up and swallowed him.

Why was he so sad?

Julian recognized every face in their town, but this boy was a stranger. He was too pale-skinned, untouched by the sun. Most importantly, no one who lived there carried such sadness.

At just six, with his seventh birthday still a distant five months away, Julian was filled with the kind of energy that left no room for hesitation. He hopped off his bike and hurried toward the boy, the rain pelting his skin without care. As he took the steps down to the beach, he figured that the boy might be crying under the rain.

"Why are you sitting here? You might get sick."

He looked up, surprise registering across his face, before turning back to the stormy waves.

"I'm okay."

"You sure don't seem like it."

The boy didn't stir. He looked a little older than Julian, but why was he acting so clueless? He should know better than to sit in the rain—it would give him a bad cold.

"Hey, we should go," Julian insisted, scanning the deserted shore. There wasn't a storm, but the rain was strong enough to keep people away from the water.

"I'm fine."

"No. My Mama said to head home when the weather is terrible."

The boy's scowl deepened. "Then go home."

Julian was stunned—how could someone be so rude? Whoever raised him didn't teach him much. Fine, let him stay and catch a cold.

But Julian couldn't ignore his mother's advice—be kind, especially to those who seemed in pain. The boy looked anything but happy. Reluctantly, Julian plopped down beside him.

"What are you doing?"

Julian groaned as the wet sand stuck to his legs. "I can't leave. My mother would give me a lecture if she knew."

"I thought she said to head home?"

"She did, but she also said to be nice to people."

"Why do you keep bringing up your mother?" hissed the boy.

"And why don't you?"

The boy sniffled, his teeth grinding together. He couldn't understand why this younger, slightly taller kid, whose skin was a warm sun-kissed brown, was sticking around. Even with the overcast sky and steady rain, his large, round eyes resembled pools of sunlight, and he glowed in a way that was irritatingly bright.

The boy's frustration mounted just by looking at him.

"You're new here," Julian stated. "I'm Julian. I'm almost seven. How about you? What is your name? Where did you come from?"

Resigned to the fact that Julian wasn't leaving, the boy murmured, "I'm Joaquin. I'm from Manila–"

"Manila? Wow!" Julian burst out. "I've never been there! They say the buildings are super tall, like really, really tall!"

Joaquin blinked, caught off guard—and a little amused. Was this kid for real?

"Uh, yeah, I suppose."

"And? And? How old are you? You're kinda shorter than me."

Joaquin's irritation resurfaced. His jaw slackened, eyes dropping to the gritty sand littered with pebbles. "I just turned eleven."

"Ah, so you are older."

"Yeah, so show me some respect."

Julian studied Joaquin as the rain subsided, easing into a light drizzle. Despite the gentler wind, the air was cold, and Julian shuddered from the chill. Joaquin finally glanced in his direction.

"Just go. You're the one getting sick, not me."

"No," Julian insisted firmly. "I'm not leaving without you."

Joaquin stared at him, bewildered. He didn't get why this boy, a total stranger, was acting like this. Julian still knew absolutely nothing about him.

If Julian could read his mind, he'd know it wasn't that Joaquin wanted to be here, getting drenched like a lonely stray dog. He just didn't have the nerve to go home. His mother had been drinking, and when she did, she always spiraled out of control, looking for someone to hurt.

He sniffled softly.

Joaquin missed his brother so much, but he was gone—locked away in prison. With no father listed on his birth certificate, social services found and reached out to his mother. Then, they put Joaquin on a ship, ripping him away from the only life he had ever known.

And he despised this province, this town. It was nothing but trees, beaches, and a scattering of people. Even worse, everyone spoke Bisaya, a language that was foreign to him. At times, he swore they were talking about him—like he was a prodigal son who had left, only to come back by choice.

Like he hadn't been abandoned.

Joaquin gave Julian a sidelong glance. He was different, immediately switching to Tagalog.

Hah. He was surely intuitive for a kid.

"Hey, want to come play at my house?" Julian offered, pointing toward his bicycle. "We can ride my bike. It's just around the corner!"

Joaquin's eyes flicked over to the bicycle, lying on the pavement, all rusty and old. But his concern was something else.

"That bike's way too small for both of us."

Julian pouted, his cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk. His patience was running out—he was trying his best to be nice, but he was still just a boy.

Joaquin let out a small snort, "Fine. Stand behind me. I'll do the cycling."

Julian was fine with that—he'd never had the chance to be the passenger anyway. Besides, with the chill settling in, he was more than ready to leave the beach.

"Come on!" Julian shouted, bolting toward the stairs and into the street, where expansive rice fields sprawled under the distant mountain ranges. Joaquin trailed slowly, unsure if he should really be heading to a stranger's house. But anywhere was better than home.

Julian pulled up the bike and gestured enthusiastically for Joaquin to take it, patting the seat with glee.

With a reluctant sigh, Joaquin sat and cautiously pressed the brakes, just in case. He barely had time to test the pedal when he felt the bike dip under Julian's weight, his hands grabbing his shoulders.

"Go, go now!" Julian shouted.

Julian's energy was too much—his voice too loud, his excitement too strong—but for Joaquin, it was a useful distraction from the noise in his own head.

They cycled through the winding road, passing through endless rows of trees. Julian's voice led the way until they arrived at a cottage, the smell of grilled fish inviting them in.

It wasn't until then that Joaquin realized he hadn't eaten anything all day. The reminder of his basic needs made him feel more vulnerable than he liked.

"Mama!" Julian yelled, dismounting from the bicycle and dashing toward the door. But then, he stopped in his tracks and turned to Joaquin, who was trying to park the bike next to the chicken coop.

"I have a friend with me! Joaquin! He speaks Tagalog!"

Joaquin stood still, his feet shuffling nervously. What was he supposed to be doing here? And why was Julian making such a big deal out of it?

"What are you waiting for? Come here!"

Joaquin paused, unsure whether to follow or back away, but before he could decide, the screen door slid open. A woman emerged looking almost identical to Julian—her eyes soft and kind, her long hair neatly clipped back with a clamp.

"H-Hello," he squeaked out.

"Hurry up now," she said, stepping out and gently ushering Joaquin into the cozy cottage. "Julian, you're about the same size. Find him some clothes. And you both need to get warmed up."

Julian raced off to fetch the clothes, returning with two sets as instructed.

"Joaquin, is it?"

He nodded.

"You can call me Tita Lina," she said, her hand smoothing his hair in a way that felt unfamiliar but comforting. It had been so long since anyone had looked at him with such kindness, as if he were more than just an extra mouth to feed.

"Did you just move here?"

Joaquin bit his lip. He didn't want to admit it. He didn't want them to ask too many questions, to figure out who his mother was and what had been happening back home. Joaquin had only been there for a minute, yet his stomach twisted in knots at the thought of them rejecting him.

Lina took a quiet moment, observing the pale-skinned youth carefully. He was older than Julian, yet smaller and thinner, his frame barely more than skin and bones. It made her heart ache.

"Um... uh... Amelia... she's..." he mumbled anxiously.

Ah, Amelia.

Lina didn't let her sympathy show. Rather, she hid her thoughts behind a serene smile.

"Let's get you both changed," she said with gentle authority, leading the kids to the bathroom. A pail of lukewarm water and a water dipper were neatly set up.

Julian beamed. As expected of his mother.

"Rinse off the rainwater first. I'll start dinner. Go ahead, it's ready for you."

As Lina returned to the kitchen, the sound of her footsteps grew distant. Julian waited patiently for Joaquin to go first, but Joaquin hesitated. His brother used to take care of him in moments like this. Should he, as the older one, take charge now?

Julian seemed like a smart kid, but he was still younger.

Bored, Julian dumped the water over his head, soaking himself completely, with clothes and all. He let out a delighted, "Woo!"

The sight was so ridiculous Joaquin couldn't help but snicker. And when Julian passed him the water dipper with a grin, Joaquin felt something he hadn't in weeks–the faintest smile appeared on his lips.

******

Quick FYI: Showers and bath tubs aren't common in the Philippines, especially in lower income families. We use water dippers and pails (google them!).

Author's Notes: I will be updating once a week for now as I'm trying to write advanced chapters. This gives me time to plan, edit, and give you quality chapters (at least, that's what I think!). Once I have enough, you can expect two to three chapters a week. Rest assured that this work will be finished. I won't leave any of you guys hanging!

Let me know what you think! Thanks so much! xx