Jaz & Miguel (9 page)

"It's ... beautiful," she said, her mouth agape.

"It's Northcliff Ridge. It's about the only time I do get any
reading done, is when Sandile has one of his get-togethers with Elize—and this
is where I come."

Jaz was still motionless—as if someone had zapped her with a taser
gun—trying to take in all of the view, afraid to move her eyes from it as if it
would take all day for her to assimilate each part of it, not wanting to miss
any of it.

"Come on," said Miguel, stepping out the car.

Miguel pulled out a blue, woolen blanket from the trunk and laid it
on the ground, placing four rocks on it—one on each corner—so it wouldn't fly
away. When those four rocks had proven to not be enough, he went scavenging for
more, telling Jaz to stay on the blanket lest it flew away. Jaz was happy to,
her attention being more on her dress which was blowing up now like Marilyn
Monroe. Her hair was already a mess, and she wondered what Sandile and Elize
would think they'd been doing when they saw them again tonight.

Elize, no doubt, had brought a brush. But Jaz had not planned on
anything happening, so she was without a plan.

They stayed up there on the blanket for hours, Jaz having settled on
a romantic suspense that she knew had been up for free recently (so that didn't
mean Miguel was gay—he'd admitted that he blindly downloaded anything and
everything free on Amazon), and Miguel simply looked out at the city below,
every now and then flicking a small pebble off the edge. The wind had settled slightly,
but not much. She'd offered him the Kindle a few times but he refused, and she
could see that he was not bored, as if he were painting an exact duplicate of
the sky on a canvas in his mind, never once wanting to take his eyes off his
model.

She enjoyed the silence. And Miguel seemed to be at peace up here.

She'd read that somewhere (or seen it in a movie): that you know if
two people really love each other when they can spend countless hours of
silence together without a moment of awkwardness
between them.

Or had a friend told her that?

Eventually, Jaz put the Kindle down (the book having been a novella
and not a novel after all—and with a cliffhanger ending—which pissed her off no
end) and she, too, lay back on her elbows and looked out into nothing, the air
being the only whisper of communication that she could now hear.

Miguel's black hair (which reached to about his eyebrows and just
below the tops of his ears) was flying all over the place and his eyes were
partly closed because of the sun's glare as he lay back, saying nothing,
occasionally opening his eyes despite that glare and looking, looking, looking.

Looking. Out into infinity.

The wind turned suddenly and gushed up her dress, sending goose
pimples all over her skin. She shivered. Miguel got up without a word and brought
her a second blanket—warm and fleecy.

Then he lay back again, and looked out some more. How easy it would
be, she thought, to simply turn on her side now, as if moved by the wind
itself, and rest her head on his chest, the whip of the winds embracing them
like leaves to a bird's nest.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Miguel said, his voice fitting in
perfectly with the humming breaths of the earth, as if the two were one, and
the sound of his statement was merely a complementing instrument in this natural
orchestra.

She looked at him, a smile breaking on her face as she saw that
glint of Africa in his eyes. "Yes," she croaked, "it is."

Now would be the perfect time to kiss him, to just let her body drop
slightly forward while they sat there looking at each other, and then let their
lips meet, not a single question to it, not a thought of doubt having passed
between them.

But she didn't.

And neither did he.

Watching Jaz's jaw drop as she saw the massive hall which was the
inside of the Barnyard Theater was like watching a seven-year-old at Christmas,
faced with a package the size of the bicycle she'd always wanted sitting there
underneath the Christmas tree. She had said something earlier about Dinner
Theater, but the only "Dinner Theater" Miguel had ever heard of was
in a movie called
Connie and Carla
with that babe who did
My Big Fat
Greek Wedding
, and the Barnyard was certainly not anything like that.

Looking at the wooden tables around her which seated twenty or more,
in a theater that could only be described as the best that even London itself
had to offer, Miguel was sure that she had a different idea of it now, too.

"This is
awesome!
" she said.

Ahwsumm
. My, that accent.

"Yeah, it's pretty cool," said Miguel casually. By now, he'd
begun to feel a little uneasy at not even having worn a jacket or maybe even
just a button-up shirt. It turns out he was really starting to like this Jaz,
and all he could think of was how much of a slob he looked like.

As the day had gone by, he'd struggled to prevent himself from
holding her hand or even, gently, just moving in and kissing her. It would've
been so easy. He knew he liked her. He more than liked her.

But then what? She was leaving in December. Did he really want to
put himself through the torture of letting her go if it did turn out to be
something serious in the end? Could he face that loss? On the other hand, he
also had to make sure he liked
her
(it had been two years after all—and
a man could like anything after that amount of time). No. Even if it turned out
he did like her, he'd already decided that he would have to let this one slip
by. It just wouldn't be worth it in the end.

Jaz got into the
African Footprint
play the moment it began, shimmying
her shoulders to the rhythm of the African drums and clapping along with the
beats of the Zulu Dancers, all her senses engaged in the show.

Miguel, however, was torn between the curvilinear dancers on stage,
and Jaz's own vibrating body, his mind lingering more and more on the idea of
her dress caressing her skin underneath it every time she moved.

The thought was intoxicating.

Jaz smiled and danced (and even sang), lifted up on the euphoric
waves of the African music undulating through the elated air. But didn't
African music do that to everyone?

A penny-whistle began, the distinct sounds of South Africa's
Sophiatown—what had once been the Jazz and Blues capital of the African
continent. And with the penny-whistle came the rich mellow tones of a baritone
sax.

And there he saw it: Jaz's head leaning back, her eyelashes
fluttering as her eyes closed, and the sensuous sway of her head—left and right—in
sync to the swinging music.

So Jaz likes jazz, it seems.

Had it been a sign?

Caustic exhaust fumes abraded Jaz's olfactory nerves at five a.m. on
Monday morning as they approached the bus that would take them to Rustenburg.
Thandie (looking about as sleepy as Jaz felt) was bumping into her as they
walked.

Inside the bus, Jaz's senses were further accosted by the soup of
perfumes, early-morning shampoos, and an unmistakable odor of what could only
be described as plastic (maybe from the seats themselves?) She and Thandie
lugged over to the back as if they'd just drunk two bottles of Jack, falling
into the nearest available seat that wasn't too close to the front. Jaz's head
dropped on Thandie's shoulder; Thandie's fell onto the window.

The sun had not yet risen and Jaz's skin broke out in goose bumps from
the chill, yet, somehow, a large chorus of students—both local and foreign—had
already taken it upon themselves to start singing joyously at the prospect of
their upcoming trip to the middle of nowhere.

Did these people not require
sleep
?

In her daze, she thought she saw Candy, maybe Stefan. Then she saw
Sandile.

And Sandile was with—

What the—?!

Was that Miguel? Jaz's curiosity forced her eyes open despite the
anvils of her eyelids pushing down on them. She rubbed them and looked outside.

Yes, it was … Miguel. She frowned in confusion and elbowed Thandie,
rousing her from her attempted sleep.

"Hey!"

"What the hell is Miguel doing here?" Jaz whispered,
looking out the window where he was sauntering over to the bus with his bag.

"What do you mean? He's coming on the trip like the rest of us."

The faint recognition of truth alighted upon Jaz's tired mind:
Miguel
is in the IHRE program. Shit! I mean, sweet! What do I mean, actually?

Somehow, all the conspirators of the badly concocted plan (so far)
to bring Jaz and Miguel together had conveniently forgotten to mention to her that
he had also enrolled in the program—which meant he'd be accompanying them on
their trip to Rustenburg of course.

Would that not have been the simplest way to have brought them
together?

Jaz didn't bother trying to answer the question. So far, anything
about Miguel had been all
but
simple.

Miguel dawdled into the bus and flicked an oh-so-smooth "Hey"
in her direction with a raise of the chin and eyebrows. He was
half-walking, half-sleeping toward her when Sandile's hand came out from behind
the seat he'd fallen into in the front and yanked Miguel down by his arm to sit
next to him.

There was indeed one thing this guy was going to have to get
straight: if he was interested in her (which she assumed he was), then he was
going to have to try a lot fucking harder than a "hey" and an
eyebrow-raise to impress her!

Jaz shook her head, folded her arms and, eventually, as the rocking
sway of the bus moved in sync with the endless chanting and singing of kids
behind and around her, she fell asleep.

By the time she awoke, little had changed in the immediate
atmosphere except that the rising sun was now hurting her eyes, and the singing
had faded into talking and joking, many of the initial participants now
sprawled across seats or sleeping with their heads against the windows. When
she turned her head, she saw that Stefan was surrounded by a group of African
girls, showing them photos on his phone. By the way some of them were acting
around him (and unless Jaz was dreaming) she could swear they were flirting with
him.

Thandie was awake.
"Good morning,
sweetie!" she said perkily. She must've been up for a while now.

Jaz glanced briefly forward, trying to make out if Miguel was also
up, but saw nothing.

"Did you sleep well?" asked Thandie.

Jaz made some sort of grunt, not really understanding herself if
that meant yes or no. She stretched her neck, trying to click it.

"So, I need details!"

"Details of what?" mumbled Jaz through a yawn.

"Of Saturday, of course!"

Shit. Saturday. What had she agreed with Sandile? Right—he was never
there.

"Well, it was cool. I mean, we hung out at this mall and then
went over to this cool place with an awesome view."

"Ach, girl, I don't want to know about any of that shit! Did
you—you know?"

Jaz sat up, cleared her throat. "N—no, we didn't." Would
Thandie stop there? Or would Jaz have to come clean on the fact that they
hadn't so much as even held hands.

"So, what
did
you do?"

Jaz scratched her forehead. "Actually, nothing, really. I mean—I
don't know why."

"So you only kissed then?"

Damn it, this is embarrassing
. "Uh—no,
not even that."

From the way Thandie shot back in her seat (as if she'd smelled
nothing less than a week-old dead rat) Jaz could feel the lie being pulled from
her like the Jaws of Life ripping away a car door and extracting its lifeless
passenger out of it.

But then Thandie eased up, her shoulders relaxing, and she sighed. "Well,
I can understand it," she said.

What did she mean by that? "You can? Well, that makes one of us
at least."

"He's just not ready, I guess."

And that's when Thandie told her—everything.

It was hard for Jaz to swallow. So hard that she was glad she had
skipped breakfast, an actual physical lump forming in her throat and a sour
flavor making it into her mouth. And she wasn't sure if it had been the story's
utter horridness, or Thandie's blithe comments about it that had done it, like
such things were a part of life and
just the way things are around here
.

It was the boys who'd found them—both their mothers and sisters.
Beyond "raped," "boiling water," and "a Doberman,"
Jaz had forgotten the rest of the details, or chosen not to hear any more of
them, as if her mind could not bear to face the moral depravation to which some
people—some
animals
—could sink to and still call
themselves human. She simply switched off, Thandie's voice becoming nothing
more than a hollow sound in a hidden chamber. 

Freaking insane
!

There'd been Sandile's story about Elize's neighborhood, and those
riots before she'd left, and all that poverty in those townships. And who was
that guy with the gun when Sandile had picked her up?

It was just too much. How could anyone live down here? She started
to think about back home, about waking up early and standing in the dew-covered
yard, able to look out onto the street and not at walls that were eight feet
high with electric fencing around them. She thought of strolls on Alki Beach
and Discovery Park and of casually buying a greeting card at Melrose Market
after a great cup of coffee just down the road.

Had she ever been even slightly worried for her life while doing those
things? Not really.

Now she understood Miguel's quietness, his silence, and why he'd
enjoyed sitting up at the top of Northcliff Ridge, looking out into nothing
where everything was peaceful and quiet. Who wouldn't need peace after having
suffered something like that?

Her mental notebook was full, but this she would not forget: she
would never bring this subject up with him. Ever. If he chose to bring it up
with her, fine. If not, she'd leave it. It cannot be easy for someone to have
another pry about something like that. People should be ready to face it
themselves before they get forced to talk about it.

Thandie was still talking coolly about robberies, rapes, carjackings
(which she termed
hijackings
), farmer-killings, xenophobic
murders—

God!

"Honey, I'm just gonna go say hello to Miguel," said Jaz,
desperate for air.

"Oooh, you go girl!" replied Thandie, and then turned to a
friend of hers behind them and started chatting it up in a language Jaz didn't
understand but which she knew was not Afrikaans (Elize's language) but one of
the other African languages.

Miguel's eyes were closed and he had white earphones in his ears,
holding an iPod Touch languidly in his right hand, looking like it was about to
fall at any moment. "Hey," said Jaz, not worried about waking him (actually,
it's exactly what she'd wanted).

When he opened his eyes, he smiled. "Hey! Nice to see you!"

Was it? Then why had he been so offish when he got in?

"I was so fucking tired this morning. I mean, who in their
right minds leaves for Rustenburg at five in the morning? It's not like it's
that far away, you know?" he said.

He had a point. "Right."

"I brought something for you." He got up and pulled his
bag out from above, then dug inside it. It was very badly packed, and no doubt
his clothes would all be creased by now. "Here," he said, jutting his
Kindle over to her, "just in case you can't sleep at night. Oh, and I got
some of those books from those authors you said you liked, just in case the adventure
stuff on there bores you."

She almost fucking cried. The whole thing had just been too much.
This boy who'd been through so much—suffered so greatly—had taken the time to
load up some friggin romance novels for her to read in case she got
bored
?

She hugged him. She threw her arms around his friggin neck and
squeezed him so hard and didn't let go because a goddamn tear (yeah, she had no
control over it) broke through her left eye in the meantime, so she couldn't
let go because if she did she'd look like an idiot. And she didn't know if she
was crying because of what he'd given her or because of what Thandie had told
her or simply because she'd wanted to ever since she'd heard that horrible
story about Elize's neighborhood and those poor people who'd been killed.

All she knew is that she'd probably just embarrassed herself.

In front of Miguel.

Again
.

And that's when the cheers started, way up from the back where Thandie
was sitting. "Ayayayayayayayay!" she said, and the rest of the African
girls started chanting and then the white girls joined in—all for this supposed
couple (which wasn't a couple). They were cheering and edging them on and friggin
celebrating.

Shit
. Now she was
really
embarrassed.
Even Candy and Maxine were excited, rousing from their slumber and immediately taking
photos with their iPhones or whatever-phones.

She sniffled. "I'm sorry," she whispered in Miguel's ear,
glad that it had only been one tear and not more that had broken through. "Disease
of the romance-reader, I guess."
Damn, that was a stupid thing to say!
Now he'll
really
think I'm desperate!

"Nah, it's OK," he said, and she noted that he was
blushing, the tanned skin on his cheeks now a leathery red. "Hey, why
don't you sit down here with us?" he said. "You and Thandie?"

Sandile started shaking his head and mouthing the words,
No no
no, broe. No!
It had suddenly become clear why they had sat so far down.
Sandile was obviously not in the mood to suffer Thandie's advances with no
explanation better than
I'm just not interested
.
Thandie didn't know about Elize, after all.

So, the impish side of her called Thandie over to come and sit with
them.

"Ach, white women," said Sandile, turning his head to the
window and pretending to sleep.

Jaz wanted to retort and say,
Well, you'd better get used to
this
white woman, because she plans on getting very close to your best friend
, but realized she was probably being presumptuous.

Thandie came over and was more excited about the Kindle (not owning
one herself) than Jaz had been. She insisted on having Jaz show her how it worked
and it took long enough that Miguel soon dozed off again. Now, being the only
one without anything to do (Sandile was still pretending to be asleep), Jaz got
Thandie's agreement that they could read together. But Thandie soon got
frustrated because she was a much faster reader than Jaz—
much
faster—and also had to look up less words.

"How do you know so many words?" Jaz asked.

"You've never seen
The Great Debaters
, with Denzel
Washington?" asked Thandie, incredulous.

Denzel. Now he was a babe. Hmmmm. But she hadn't seen the film. "No.
Should I have?"

"Ach"—it was that throat clearing sound again, showing
irritation—"it's only one of the greatest movies ever made. It's based on
a true story about an African-American debating team. Their teacher explained
to them that there was a revolution going on at the time, and the revolution
was being led by poets."

Jaz was not entirely certain she was getting the point, so she
simply said, "I see."

"The point is, if you don't know enough words, how can you ever
learn anything? Or, more importantly, how could you ever teach anything? I
mean, for example, poverty is not just a 'bad thing,' it is an 'abominable
catastrophe' or the 'famished mouth of every gun any victim of crime has ever looked
into.' See the difference?"