Page 11

CHAPTER 11 VI?T

The phone calls to his parents always disoriented him. The switch from English to only Vietnamese threw him off. Back home, he was never away from his family for too long, and so he code-switched frequently at his house and at Bao’s family restaurant. His languages coexisted harmoniously, ready to be used when the situation called for it. His Vietnamese was decent; he could answer his elders respectfully, but put him in front of an academic or an expert and he would freeze.

As he spoke with his mother now, the words stumbled through his mouth, dodging his tongue. A small part of him worried that soon enough, he would forget the language. He didn’t really speak Vietnamese with Evie. Couldn’t even imagine it. She knew the language, but… calling her “ch?”? It was like calling Bao “anh,” and no way was he ever going to acknowledge that Bao was older. It didn’t feel right.

If his mother noticed, though, she didn’t say anything.

“How are you?” he asked, only half listening. He was supposed to go to another Saturday dinner and ran through the belongings he couldn’t leave without: wallet, key, AggieCard…

Gazing into the wall mirror near the door, he listened to her steady breathing, picturing where she was right now: alone, in the kitchen, resting after work, arms and legs sore from her delivery runs. Maybe waiting for the rice cooker to finish.

“M?’s okay.” Her fatigue reached him through the phone, and underneath was sorrow. He guessed what likely happened.

“What did you two fight about?”

No answer.

Viet’s stomach felt heavy. It must have been really bad this time; she’d at least rant to him, telling him about his father’s wrongdoing, even if it was trivial. Once she complained he bought a more expensive bag of sweet potatoes, the wrong Vietnamese herb, and forgot two or three more ingredients she asked him to get from the supermarket.

“You want me to call him? Ask when he’s going to get back.” Another thing, the only thing, he could do to help his mom. Even if Ba didn’t pick up, he’d at least reply with a text. The most he could do being six hours away from home.

“Con kh?ng c?n lo,” she said, which was her usual way of evading his question when he’d comfort her in the past.

“I’ll call him right now,” he offered again.

“No, just stay on the line. It will all be fine.”

Viet skipped Saturday Sins dinner.

His mother’s sadness became his. He was her only child; he was always by her side after the fights, and all her turmoil turned radioactive. Now coupled with his mountain of schoolwork, the thought that he’d never catch up, a familiar darkness took root in him overnight, and became the reason he couldn’t muster the strength to get up from bed Sunday morning.

In high school, when he felt sideways—when the outside became dull, when his attention drifted, and voices turned monotone, and smiles felt invasive—he knew to recognize the signs of his depression and how to cope. Every bad feeling he had—it took a quick run and fresh air to lessen its heaviness. Or Bao would somehow know to text him to hang out. He went most of the time, only because he didn’t want his parents to see him like this at home.

He went to a school counselor, once. Only once. It was after three weeks of feeling down, listless, miserable, so he knocked on the counselor’s office, its windows covered in happy-go-lucky students with bright pearly smiles. He went in thinking there would be a way forward, but when he sat down across the counselor, he realized it wouldn’t be that easy. The counselor was his running coach’s cousin. What if, somehow, their conversation reached his coach’s ears? Then wouldn’t his parents need to be told?

So Viet chickened out, and instead asked the counselor if he could get his college application fees waived, which he incidentally needed.

He had found some distractions on campus this year: his runs with Evie and the forensics club, which he attended three more times since the first meeting. Viet had also gone to the past three Saturday Sins dinners, and as expected, the numbers dwindled each time. The last one, it was only the five of them and Beth, the sleepy vegan who flicked Kale off that first morning. The two of them were actually good friends; they shared the same humor and loved banter with a bit of bite but no true hate. Beth and Kale met in a culinary class, and on the days Kale didn’t feel like cooking, Beth treated him to her vegan meals. “He acts like he hates vegan cuisine, but he could really eat anything,” Tate had said with a fond smile.

The couple’s energies couldn’t be more different. Kale acted first; with cooking, he forged ahead without a recipe and instead let his imagination lead. Which meant he left chaos in his wake: dirty pans, food discard on the floor, opened cabinets. Conversely, Tate was rational and pragmatic, cleaning up Kale’s messes and convincing him to cook less because they would have too many leftovers.

The invisible wall had faded between him and Wren, and they also tried to have weekly hangouts watching videos of animals and other random YouTube clips. They didn’t grow their friendship beyond that, but he didn’t mind it much. They each had their group of friends outside their dorm. He’d once seen Wren sweeping their floor, using the straw broom his mother had bought from ABC Supermarket, deeming it a part of a first-year’s essentials. The boy marveled at its effectiveness. Viet let him appreciate his culture.

But after hearing his mom over the phone, Viet saw himself as a car running out of gas as it edged toward its destination. Always a Toyota Camry, for some inexplicable reason. This seemed to be college: a cruise at one point, then an excruciating push through assignments, projects, and exams that promised an exit to something better. He knew his life wasn’t impossible to bear—not in the slightest. His mind and body just chose to think it was.

Viet didn’t desire death, but he wouldn’t deny it. He thought of it in terms of a game of What if . What if he went on a run and just kept running until his heart stopped? What if he lay in bed long enough—would he disappear from this world?

He ended up sleeping all of Sunday. Invisible chains kept him in bed. His phone was on silent. If Kale or the others were looking for him, he didn’t know. If Wren had come in and out during his sleep, he wasn’t aware.

He skipped his Monday classes, then his Tuesday classes. Ordered delivery. Slept. Rinse and repeat.

Wednesday was when he started to smell, so he twisted free from his blankets and sat up. Wren had left early in the morning, after asking if Viet was feeling sick, and after Viet answered “Yes.”

Right away, he noticed a banana nut muffin waiting for him on his desk. His roommate had left it; Viet felt a pang of guilt. He didn’t want anyone to see his dark moods, to notice how he couldn’t even take care of his basic needs. Viet had put everything that was meant to be on the floor on his desk—and everything on his desk on the floor. His chair held a pile of old and fresh clothes. Hiding away was unavoidable when you had a roommate, when you lived so close that you couldn’t fake your own happiness.

When he unsilenced his phone, he saw a tsunami of Saturday Sins’ group texts.

He groaned. The most recent ones were memes, so he had to scroll back to figure out the original message—a picnic, at the top of the Hutchinson Parking Garage, at around five tonight. A midweek pick-me-up, a sunset meal. It was one in the afternoon now.

He was about to reply and tell them he was busy, but then a new wave of texts landed—all of them containing his names, all caps, followed by explanation points. Kale won with the most. It turned out that they were looking for him before, and because he was dead asleep, their texts piled on.

He rubbed his face.

Viet: I’ll think about it. thinking of napping soon!

Lis: first-years aren’t ALLOWED to nap!!!

Kale: these first-years are SPOILED

He heard their playful and indignant voices inside his head. If he went to the picnic, he’d probably bring the mood down.

Against his mother’s wishes, after their phone call, he did send a text to Ba before getting to bed, who only texted that he was back home again and that everything was fine. Thumbs-up emoji. Viet knew better; there’d be a few weeks of icy silence, melting into polite interactions. Followed by some peace, only for another issue to push his parents apart.

His phone buzzed again. It was Evie, who had texted him separately.

Evie: didn’t you say that yesterday? and the day before? We missed seeing you at Saturday’s dinner!

Evie: come outside for a run with me!!! Weather’s nice and cool. it’ll wake you up.

Viet: idk maybe.

Evie: pretty please?

It took another half hour for him to kick off his sheets and slide down from his bed. He wolfed down the banana nut muffin, silently thanking his roommate, then left for a long shower. Admittedly, he felt somewhat better with all the physical grime down the drain, though the self-hatred came back when he looked in the mirror. Why did he look sleep-deprived, even though he’d slept for so long? There was barely any facial hair, which he guessed was a good thing since that was one less thing he needed to tame before feeling human. He spritzed himself with some Nautica Voyage—a gift from this past Christmas.

Once his shoes were on, his feet carried him the rest of the way. Spotting Evie at their meeting spot, seeing her warm smile, another wave of guilt hit him. How could she be so nice to him, when he was the one avoiding her and the others?

Why did Wren give him food? Why did Kale, Lis, and Tate try so hard to befriend him, when he was the one who wanted to waste away in bed?

The third-year met him halfway. “Long time no see!”

Viet inhaled. He didn’t deserve her concern. “Sorry for ghosting everyone…. I wasn’t feeling well.”

She nodded, peering at him.

“Are you really okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“I said I’m fine, didn’t I?”

A painful silence followed his words, their harshness lingering in his ears. His gaze went to the grass. This was why he stayed away. When the darkness hit him, his words became slippery down his throat. Ironically, he knew that he might feel less burdened if he talked about this black cloud. His parents probably wouldn’t get it, or not understand how he, who didn’t have much to complain about, could be depressed. What was even the Vietnamese word for depression? He’d never heard it come out of his parents’ mouths. And Evie… she’d probably just pity him.

“Sorry, that was harsh,” Viet started. “It’s—”

“Let’s just run.” Her voice was cheery. He gazed up at her and saw a kind look. No judgment. She then smiled. “You’ll feel better, I promise.”

The sun was blinding, the sky blue, the breeze light—everything outside was obscenely, stupidly perfect and beautiful—then here he was: a mess. Oblivious to his tangled feelings, to his leaden body, nature was there to receive him with open arms. And Evie ran straight into their embrace, picking up speed. She sprinted ahead of him. Farther and farther away, and suddenly Viet was desperate. He needed to catch up. He wanted to . But his legs, his mind, his heart—

He felt it happening before it happened: eyes burning, chest tightening.

He stopped right there, stumbling toward a row of grass and collapsing on his back underneath a large tree. “Damnit,” he said, voice trembling. He threw his right arm over his eyes. As if that would stop the tears now.

Evie had come back for him; he heard her fast breathing and the scrape of her sneakers on the ground.

“I didn’t want to cry,” Viet mumbled.

“Don’t give me shit like ‘Boys aren’t supposed to cry,’?” Evie warned him.

“No, I’m just worried my mascara’s going to run,” he attempted to joke. This was embarrassing. He hadn’t cried for years. He always stopped himself. Why the hell did it have to be now? He was pathetic. Still, he remained where he was, letting the tears come. His arm was wet, the tears tracked down to his ear.

“Runners can’t really control their bodily functions after running, right?” Evie sounded much closer. He guessed she was lying down next to him, her mouth by his ear. Soon enough, there was nothing left but the rapid rise of his chest. He slowed his breathing.

“Yeah, that happens to marathoners and long-distance runners for the most part.”

“So that means they can accidentally pee or… the other thing. When you think about it, tears aren’t that bad, compared to those two.”

A gurgling noise escaped his lips, a sound close to a laugh. He finally let his arm drop to his side. “I guess that’s a good point.”

“Look,” Evie said softly, “you probably don’t want to talk about what’s bothering you right now, and that’s totally fine. But if you ever, ever need extra ears, I’m here. If you just need to cry, fine, I’ll stay here and say nothing.” Her words were slow, hesitant. “And Kale, Lis, Tate would say the same if they were here. They like you, you know; they were worried when they didn’t hear from you.”

“Sorry.”

Evie waved away his apology, then kept her hand up to block the sun from her eyes.

“I’m sure Lis and Tate are fine. And if Kale is ever offended, he’d tell you right away. Actually, I think he’d take revenge first.” She cracked a smile. “And so far that hasn’t happened, so I think you’ll be forgiven.”

“Sometimes I wonder why they even like me.” They were happy and strong. He was not.

“Well, why do you like them ?”

“They’re fun to be around. They don’t care that I’m a first-year and have been kind to me. I like Kale’s cooking. Lis and I both like forensics. Tate’s a bit quieter, like me.”

“That’s why I love them too,” Evie said. “Being around them is easy. See, Lis and Kale are so chaotic, and Tate can be that or chill, depending on things. I always felt like the calm one in our group, but then when I’m with them, I feel more alive than ever. I’m laughing more. I forget my worries.” Viet heard a smile in her voice; she was no doubt remembering moments the four of them shared. “I can’t speak for them, but I think you complete our group. Kale was always frustrated that we told him his food was delicious—but you give him actual notes that are both complimentary and helpful. Lis has tried hard to recruit more people to the FSC, and she was so happy that you joined. And Tate—he told me he was glad that you and I were normal.”

He shook his head. “I’m a mess.”

“Who isn’t?”

And that was all, she didn’t try to pry. For that, he was grateful he left the dorms, and that she was the first person he saw outside.

“Come to the picnic, but only if you want to. We don’t mind, really, and we never want to force you.” She was offering him an out.

A picnic… Hours earlier, he would have just lain in bed. But Wren had come by and dropped off a muffin. His friends had sent through random pictures to share what they were up to. The weather was unabashedly perfect. And his run with Evie had turned out better than he expected.

“Thanks. I’ll go to the picnic.”

Her eyebrows jumped before a smile bloomed. “Everyone’s gonna be glad you’re coming.” She got up, offered her hand, and pulled Viet up when he accepted. She brushed away grass from her shirt. “And I’m glad there’s another sensible one who will be there. Inside at night, they are okay, but under the sunset, they get rowdy. It’s a strange phenomenon.”

“Sounds fun to me.” And he really meant it.