There was a girl that he liked since the sixth grade. She had really pretty long hair and a small kitten face, with huge eyes and a pert nose. Samran sat behind her in class for years and had no idea how to strike up a conversation. One day, he put a piece of gum in his mouth and chewed it sticky. When she wasn’t paying attention, he took the disgusting wad out of his mouth and stuck it on her head. Her lovely chestnut brown locks, all tangled up, became such a pitiful mess. When her friends pointed it out, she started crying, tears mixing with the black of her eyeliner and flowing as two streams down her cheeks.
And in that moment, he fell out of love.
She asked him what to do, and Samran said he could totally fix it. When she agreed to let him try, he took out a pair of scissors and cut the pesky gum out. In horror she stared at him, the sadness in her eyes turning into something sharper...hotter. He raised a brow as she came at him, slender fingers clenching into fists of outrage. Scooting back, he had just enough time and reflexes to catch her wrists.
“Hey-” Some of the guys in class warned him, but their sentences were cut short as the scene rapidly changed from one of violence to one of romance. Samran found the perfect opening and took it, landing his lips atop the girl’s. Embarrassment joined in with anger to color her cheeks, and she was so beautiful in that moment that he knew he fancied her again.
They went on two dates before he got her in bed and when she cried after he didn’t text back for a week, he realized he had fallen out of love again.
One after another, people came and went. His bed was cold, and then it was warm. Some of them were sweet, and others were spicy. A few were bitter, but he didn’t mind the unique flavor.
His mom called, asking him where he was, but Samran was too busy stuffing his mouth with candy canes. The excessive amount of sugar numbed the tip of his tongue, but put a rush in his head. He went from peppermint to mango, back to cherry where it all started. Boxes and boxes he put aside, and ignored angry voice messages from his father, telling him that he mustn’t live like this.
Should he feel something, confronted by his parents’ disappointment? Was there something inherently missing, or did he simply lock it away after all those lightless nights at the labor camps? He did give his parents chances back then, didn’t he? Once upon a time, hadn’t he some expectations too?
His lips were still crusted with sugar when his sister rang. This call he picked up.
“When you come home?” She whined.
Samran glanced at the clock, it was already past dinner time and he hadn’t even had breakfast. “Uh...Eventually. Maybe. What’s up?” His parents didn’t usually allow her at the phone.
“People are looking for you, Samran!” The little sister lowered her voice, as if she was telling him a secret.
“Who?” Sounded serious, so probably more along the lines of cops as opposed to spurned lovers.
“They said they are with an orga-nee-zee-tion of some kind.” She fell silent briefly, likely thinking. This was a rather big word for her limited vocabulary.
Ah, dang it. Guess those bastards heard about what happened during the Christmas party then.
“Umbrella, right?” Samran crawled out of the bed and searched for a pair of pants. “Yeah, tell them to wait right there. I’ll be home in an hour.”
