Behind the Sun Written by Agusto Rivera
Chapter 1
I felt a little bad about leaving my dad and sister alone to deal with the remaining mourners back at the house, but the itch of nicotine craving was well on its way to becoming a very short fuse if I had to continue answering questions of invasive nature unique to Filipino relatives. I needed a new vape immediately.
I had thought that the lack of inquiry at my grandfather's funeral earlier was a sign that my titas may have found the self-respect to not pass judgement or probe into the details of my life after nearly a decade of not seeing me, but that was clearly asking too much. By noon, I had already been accused of being a drug dealer due to my full sleeve tattoo, of being too muscular and most aggravatingly, of being a bad son for staying away for so long and not helping my dad take care of grandpa.
So, I was now on a TTC bus headed for the local mall in our North York neighborhood, which despite gentrification efforts underway, still remained largely dominated by the working class. That's my polite way of saying we were hood-adjacent.
It had been years since I last used Toronto's charming public transit system, which used to be my gateway to a bigger and more seductive world in my youth. Gone were the rickety and grimey buses from decades past. Now, I was travelling on a relatively modern hybrid. However, what hadn't changed was how carefree Torontonians could be with their trash and mess, so the same detritus of plastic bottles, forgotten newspapers and leftover food covered the floors.
The bus lurched to pause at the next stop, and the passengers waiting started to board. I had mostly been absorbed in my phone and just so happened to look up, and then felt my chest tighten when I saw who had come onboard.
It had been over a decade since I had last seen him in person, but his face was clearly seared into the animal part of my brain that I would be able to pick him out in a crowd of thousands. His mahogany brown hair was casually styled sweeping to the left and the sides faded to just above his ear. He wore glasses with a simple but stylish thin square frame which I knew sat in front of jade-green eyes, even if I couldn't see them. In the gloomy fall ambiance and fluorescent lighting of the bus, his pale skin was somewhat luminous, and I noticed that he had finally been able to grow stubble on the lower half of his face. He wore a medium length black coat, but I could tell that he had filled out slightly, not by much, but certainly not in any detrimental way.
In short, David Guzman had become even more handsome in his 30s, and just like that, I was 13 years old again, perceiving the first love of my life.
My first instinct was to shrink into my seat to avoid being noticed. I wasn't exactly sure what to make of my drastic emotional reaction, but I knew that I was not prepared to have any sort of conversation with him.
Thankfully, the bus wasn't that full and he ended up sitting in one of the rows towards the middle, facing away from me while I was sitting in the elevated section towards the back. I sent a prayer up to the god I didn't believe in when he immediately pulled out his phone and started scrolling.
There were 6 stops to go, and it felt like hours passed in between each one. David hadn't raised his head once, engrossed with whatever he was reading. Once we reached the mall, I paused to see what he would do, and when he didn't move, I quickly shuffled off the bus and nearly sprinted towards the mall entrance.
Breathing a sigh of relief, the cold wind making me notice that I had been sweating slightly, I entered Veridian Mall.
Similar to the neighborhood, Veridian had sprouted some new, upscale offerings like a home goods store, a perfumery and even a Starbucks, but the majority of the shops were still boutiques that catered to the immigrant communities who were barely breaking into the lower-middle class. The faint echoes of nostalgia thrummed in my chest, but the anxiety from the almost-fiasco with David and my nagging nicotine craving didn't allow those feelings to really bloom.
I found the vape store, which was a neoned-out set-up among the mundane storefronts. Thankfully, they had a strawberry option in the nicotine concentration I needed. The attendant, who was some xanned-out twenty-something, barely looked in my eye throughout the interaction, which you know what? Fine. I had been navigating a social clusterfuck all day and welcomed the reprieve.
I was about to enjoy the fruits of my labor when the memory of fresh french fries coated in ketchup and mayo bubbled up to the surface and I decided to see if the Greek food stand that sold them was still around.
As I made my way through the mall towards the food court, more memories started to emerge like bubbles beneath the surface of a dark lake. Afternoons spent being menaces in the mall once school let out, scrounging up change to buy food to share, and yelling obnoxiously to other classmates we saw throughout the mall. Naturally, given that we were once part of the same friend group, David featured prominently in those memories.
We had met when I started at the local Catholic elementary school, St. Phillip the Apostle, in sixth grade, although we had called SPAT back then because we were stupid kids. I was an immigrant kid from the Philippines who was being homeschooled until my paperwork was finished.
On the first day, I was introduced to a small class of 15, and it was my first time being in a diverse group of kids. Naturally I was shy and apprehensive, but also intimidated given that the kids were a bit more raucous than the private school kids I was used to back in the Philippines.
David, I quickly discovered, was one of the loudest, his voice starting to settle into a deeper teenaged tone. He was also one of the tallest in the room, and was obviously the class clown. We were seated in a u-shaped desk arrangement, him directly opposite me on the other prong. He wore a jersey and shorts with sneakers that day, and one of the first things I noticed about his body were his full calves that were dusted with hair. You could also see hair peeking out from under his armpits.
For all intents and purposes, to me, he was a man-becoming in a room of girls and boys.
We didn't really interact for the first few days. I found that along with being one of the loudest and funniest in the class, he was also one of the smartest. He would regularly answer questions, which usually came with a silly quip. His main competition was Dina, a skinny Italian girl who somewhat resembled a jittery flamingo.
In English one day, our teacher, a yoga mom type woman named Ms. Delpino asked the class what the different types of verbs were. There was a hushed silence, with everyone looking at each other apprehensively.
It just so happened that I was very good with English and grammar, having had an English teacher for an aunt back home, and verbs were my last lesson before I moved.
I raised my hand and was called on, and promptly rattled off the definitions for indicative, imperative, interrogative, conditional and subjunctive moods in rapid fire. I was sure it came out very squeaky and unintelligible.
Ms. Delpino, beaming, said, "In all my years, I don't think I've ever had a 6th grader understand verbs at this level. Well done Jason!"
I could feel everyone's eyes on me, but saw David with a particularly stern look on his face. After nearly a minute, his mouth widened into a shit-eating grin. He turned towards Dina and said, "Well, it looks like you have some competition, Dina. Jason's coming for your spot!"
I felt very embarrassed, but also very pleased with myself. Being noticed and praised by David made me feel things that were foreign, and I didn't know what to do with them, so I just sat there and waited for the room to move on. And we did.
In the coming months, it would become apparent that that English class was the first step towards me and David becoming rivals, and eventually, best friends.
As I sat in the makeshift cafeteria in front of the food kiosks finishing my fries, a memory of me and my friends playing basketball on the playground at recess unfolded in my thoughts. David and I were on the same team, and we were losing. Badly. I was no athlete, but I did my best to keep up.
The memory segued into the part where I happened to have the ball in my possession and I could hear David's voice calling out to me, urging me to pass the ball to him. His voice broke screechingly in the way boys' voices do as they went through puberty as he yelled my name over and over again.
Suddenly, the voice I heard dropped down in timbre, and its source didn't feel contained within my thoughts. It also sounded like it was coming from somewhere to my right. At this point, I was approaching the mall's exit and then turned to the right.
And, in my memory and in real life, I felt as if the basketball had slammed into the side of my head, because now a very adult David was waving his hand and walking towards me.
"Yo Jason, is that really you bro?" he said, bespectacled eyes glinting, his wide smile revealing the small gap between his two front teeth I had memorized so well, his stature taller and more full than I had ever seen him.
I fumbled to pull my AirPods out of my ears, awkwardly fiddled with the case to put them away and missed that he had his hand outstretched for a bro-shake for a few beats.
My eyes met his, the green in full luster, and I felt my breath catch in my throat before I was able to utter "Oh-oh my god, no way man," and grasp his hand in mine.
He pulled me into himself with my hand and reached around with the other to thump me on my back in a half-hug. This caused me to exhale and inhale suddenly, and I took in scents of peppery wood lingering on his neck. I think my eyes may have rolled back into my head briefly from intoxication.
As we separated, his hand, his very large, veiny hand which did not look like that when we were kids, continued to hold mine in a firm grip. His eyes had a slight quizzical look to them as they assessed my full body, causing me to reflexively contract, if only mentally.
"What the hell have you been eating and lifting, you're like, low-key swole now," he said. "And this ink? How did you finally convince your dad not to disown you after getting this?"
He traced the sleeve on my arm with two fingers on his free hand, and they left invisible burning trails over the colored skin. The burning traveled up my arm, shot straight through my chest and then raced down to my dick and detonated. I was very lucky to have been wearing boxer briefs under loose pants.
"Um yeah, I guess I've been going to the gym more recently. And to be honest, the tattoos ended up not being that big of a deal with dad," I said, my voice wavering and decreasing in volume with each passing word.
"We had much more complicated shit we were dealing with," was the unsaid context I couldn't muster up the will to add.
It was strange how I both wanted to confide in him like we used to when I thought he alone was the only person on the planet who could understand my dysfunctional relationship with my dad, and at the same time panicked at the thought of letting him into my innermost thoughts.
"I mean it's fucking dope. My mom nearly tore me a new asshole when I came home with this," he said before he lifted up his shirt to reveal a medium-sized tattoo of a few palm trees standing in front of the outline of a mountain range.
As I examined the tattoo, my eyes couldn't help but wander to the middle of his torso, where the slightest hint of ab definition was covered by a dusting of hair that swirled around his belly button and trailed towards the edge of a bush which was peeking through the garter of his underwear.
I felt my mouth going slack, so I pried my eyes away and looked him in the face and managed to ask, "That's a sick tattoo dude, what is it? Was it painful?"
"The trees are the Quindío wax, Colombia's national tree, and that's the Cocora Valley in the back. It's close to the town where my abuelo on my dad's side is from. And yes, it hurt like a bitch. I definitely let a few tears out."
It might be basic of me, but hearing him pronounce Spanish words always sounded sexy. And hearing it in his deeper adult voice was not helping stoke the raging fire inside of me.
"Nice, how's your mom doing?" I cringed immediately after asking. Talking about his mom was a sore spot for him, but in my unnerved state I latched onto his mention of her in his previous response.
He regarded me for a moment, looked down pensively before answering, "You know, I'm not really sure. She moved back to Medellin when I was 25, and we don't really keep in touch regularly. I think the last time I spoke to her was like, 3 months ago."
His tone was muted as he said this, which I knew meant he was trying to hold it together on the inside. I had been there when things would become too much and all the emotions he was holding back came spilling out.
I remembered my social skills, finally, and attempted to redirect the conversation.
"Well I hope she's doing well over there. What are you doing back in our hood? I heard from someone a while back that you had moved downtown."
"Yeah I live in Cabbagetown now by Allan Gardens. I'm just here because it's my Tia Mimi's birthday and I totally forgot to pick-up a card, which is why I'm here. I don't know about you but I feel like this place never changes." He gestured with his hand to the surrounding area as he said this.
"I know what you mean. I just got some fries at the Greek spot and that shit hit the exact same way it used to."
"Shit, that's a good idea. I'm already late so I might as well grab some. You got time to join me so we can catch-up?"
The idea was tempting, and David seemed to be sincere in asking. But I simply could not imagine sitting down and having a normal conversation without spending time examining my feelings. I didn't trust myself to keep my guard up in my current frenetic state.
"Damn I wish, but I gotta head back to my dad's place. We had the funeral for my grandpa this morning and we're having some sort of wake there. It's been a bit of a day."
I could have sworn I saw his face drop for a second, but it quickly morphed into concern, his eyebrows knitting together. "Fuck, I'm so sorry to hear that man. I hope your family's doing ok." He gripped my shoulder as he said this.
How is his hand so big now, I thought to myself as I experienced what was probably a small stroke.
"It's a bit weird now, I'm just trying to help dad get through it," I said, hearing the heaviness in my own voice.
His hand was still on my shoulder as he looked at me sympathetically.
"Why don't we chill in a few days? I'll be here for a few weeks to help dad out so we can definitely catch up then," I added, trying to sound more chipper.
His eyes lit up slightly as he nodded and said "Yeah, man, that would great. It really has been too long."
We exchanged numbers and then had a small hug where I was able to get a whiff of his scent again and committed it to memory.
I watched him walk off and go down the escalator, and proceed to walk towards the bus stop.
The wind should have chilled me, but I felt warmth radiating from inside of me, and the place where his hand rested on my shoulder may as well have been the surface of the sun.
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