He used to drive around Virginia Beach, and from the passenger seat, I’d watch out at the trees to see if I could make out a face in the darkness. During that time, we were both a little lost – even if we were doing the same damn thing we had done for the past few months. I wasn’t even a navigator at that time, because I was so new to this type of freedom. When we were kids, we used to live near each other in our neighborhood in Italy. In Naples, all it took was going to each other’s front door and knocking on it. And most times, we were free to do whatever we wanted. Now that we were 19-years old and silently heartbroken with the lives we’d built, we faced forward as the CD-deck blared out hip hop.
Lynnhaven Mall was a place that we found ourselves on most weekends. He attended ODU, and I attended TCC during the week. I had shared a car with my sister during the time. On the nights when she shared a car with her fiance, I had a specific type of muscle memory to drive over to his place and park on the street in front of his house. Unlike our childhood days, I’d pull up then ring his doorbell. He had a dog now, and it barked anytime I came by. As he opened the door, the familiar smell of a Filipino home enveloped me. I walked in and I greeted his mother and father and his sister. They asked me how my parents were doing. After a little chit-chat, he’d toss on his hoodie and hat. “We’re going to go to the mall,” he said. On our way to Lynnhaven, the traffic picked up. He weaved through the lanes, and I kept a steady hand on the volume knob, choosing a specific soundtrack to our lives. We’d catch up during that 10-minute drive along the parkway.
“What are you studying this semester, again?” I’d ask.
“Accounting.”
“Oh yeah.”
He’d ask the same question.
“What about you?”
When he made it to the parking lot, he carefully turned into a spot. Locking the door behind him, we walked in unison toward the entrance of the mall. There wasn’t much that we saw. Other than picking up a few shoes or articles of clothing, we were still teenagers. I didn’t have a job, so I couldn’t afford anything there. It was a specific type of rinse and repeat without the backdrop of the Italian countryside. We were now just two Filipino kids thrust in the American landscape, pondering if we could recreate a specific type of magic that we had experienced in bubble of our simplistic military brat lives. Our being there was just another excuse to lose ourselves in the crowd and lose sight on the kind of strong men we could become.
At 31, I hadn’t talked to my friend in a very long time. We’re both married now. He’s out in the world tending to the duties of a sailor. Who knows where? I am still working to write a book and figure out if I’m doing it for the right reasons. I still wonder if somewhere in his story, those days we spent together were some of the best he’s had. I used to fear the future. Now that I’m here, all I fear is if heaven come a-knocking on either of our doors, and that once either of us passes through it, would ever see each other in this lifetime.
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