Foreigner

I didn't wait for them to pull the boat closer to the landing we were standing on. Kuya Armelio made a near inaudible sigh as I flew down the stone steps and sprinted into the water. I curled my toes to keep the sandals on my feet and waded through the waist deep water to the edge of the boat. Placing my hands shoulder width apart, I was able to easily hoist myself onto the wooden logs connected to outriggers on either side of the boat.

Armelio and Harold finished pulling the boat in and dropped the wooden walking board. They stepped onto the boat and wasted no time in ordering me to my duties. I don't need to be told what to do, but I would never bother telling Armelio that. Working on this boat was rewarding—by rewarding I mean I get to ride a boat and swim every day—job to do, and I didn't want to be replaced. We busied ourselves with our work, barely noticing Ate Grace and Nanay Elodia getting ready on the stone landing. Within minutes we had prepared the boat and Nanay and Grace had boarded sitting in the middle waiting for the half hour trip that awaited.

Although I was only fourteen years of age, I was one of the men to push the boat away from the shore. I had been doing this job with assistance since I was the ripe age of nine. Since then my arm muscles had built up, and I could push the boat off on my own. As much as my muscles grew they would never reach the level that Armelio's arms were at. I was, however, proud to be the most muscular out of my friends and housemates. I picked up a pole resting on one of the outriggers and put it strategically into the water. I used my body weight and forced the boat to move backwards. It took me a couple minutes to push the boat back far enough for Harold to start the engine. Once the engine was running and the boat was turned around I put the pole back in its position on the outrigger and leaned on the canopy that covered the lower seating area.

I enjoyed getting to ride the boat several times a day, but my favorite time was early in the morning, like now. The darkness of the sky contrasted with the dotted lights of the city across the sea, and the breeze was a welcome sensation on my skin. During this time of the day most people were silent during the ride, or quiet at the very least. For example: Nanay and Grace spoke in whispers in English behind me. They were preparing themselves for Nanay's niece (and Grace's cousin), an American who has come to our country to visit, but did not bother learning the language. I stared off into the East where the sun had started to rise and enjoyed the light hues of yellow, orange, and red that tinted the sky. I'd have to say, all in all, I was a morning person.

The half hour ride was always 'me time'. Other than taking in the taking in the scenic views, I took this time to think. It wasn't hard to get lost in thought during a boat ride. The hum of the boat's engine would fade as the sounds of the splashing water took over. The cool breeze would give me a very slight chill, which my body accepted gratefully giving me a feeling of inner peace. When I was in my relaxed and calm state, I thought. The only thing on my mind this morning was the question if I was going to play basketball later tonight with Aven. I viewed scenes in my mind where I would shoot a basket, run around with sweat gleaming on my forehead, and I smiled thinking of how much fun I would have, if I played basketball this evening.

My basketball daydreaming was concluded when the boat reached close to the shore and I was forced from my spot in front of the canopy and into the shallow water in front of the boat. I grabbed an anchoring rope, dropped into the cool water and took it to a wooden pole close to the pavement. I tied the rope and fastened it tight enough that the boat would stay relatively still.

Early morning vendors were setting up their shops and offered me some of their products. As tempting as the foods were I had neither the appetite nor the money to purchase them. I declined and sat on the edge of the pavement, my feet reaching down and scraping the small amount of sand that made up the shore. Armelio and Harold helped Nanay and Grace get off of the boat and escorted them to the pavement parking lot just beyond the vendors. On the parking lot sat three buses, each a transport to or from Manila, the capital. A worker of one buses yelled, grabbing the attention of the riders and myself. I turned as its riders filed on and after a few moments the bus started its engine and drove off.

I can't wait to see that American go home. I thought. My 'brothers' and 'sisters' were excited to have the visitors come over. I however did not like the idea of letting a stranger, let alone an foreign stranger come live in my house. I did not appreciate the thought of them eating my food, conversing or playing with my 'family', or not helping around the house. The fact this foreigner had the nerve to come to my country and not speak any of our language infuriated me. If you can't speak the language, don't waste any of our air talking vile English words. I was not looking forward to the upcoming month.

I turned back to the sea, and I scanned our island looking for the sign that lead to our barangay. I could see it very faintly, since the distance was so great. It was easy to pick out the stone wall since I have looked for it dozens of times before but the writing on the wall was unreadable.

Armelio gave a sharp whistle that I recognized as the 'come here' signal. I jumped to my feet and brushed the sand from the pavement on my posterior off. Instead of running to Armelio as I normally would have, I took my time. I was in no way eager to meet these foreigners. I heard squealing of excitement as I neared the group, one sounded like Nanay. I slid in between Armelio and Harold getting myself a big full view of Nanay and Grace's backs. I could identify Nanay's delighted laughs without seeing her face. Nanay broke away from the hug and from my viewpoint I could see the elder foreigner, but her appearance wasn't that of a foreigner.

She had the same facial features that Nanay possessed, features only siblings would share. Thin, straight black hair was held up in the back of her head by a clip, tanned skin with dark moles flecked across her face and arms. She had the traditional brown eyes, and a flat nose, she looked like one of us. I should have suspected, I knew she was originally from the same place as Nanay; I got too caught up thinking about how they came from a different country. She only had one detail that made her stand out as a foreigner: her clothing. She wore what once was pressed button-up shirt, and dark grey slacks with a thin black belt. However because of the bus ride her appearance was slightly disheveled and the shirt was severely wrinkled.

Nanay moved aside to hug her niece, and Grace gave an awkward first meeting hug to her Aunt. Nanay moved aside to reveal the three men—us—standing behind her. I could see the crow's feet next to Nanay's eyes when she smiled at us introducing her American niece.

Now at first glance I could tell this girl was American. Her skin was lightly tanned, and her wavy hair was a caramel color instead of black. Like her mother she had moles speckling her skin; the most noticeable was a pair close together underneath her right eye, on the top of her cheek. Her nose came from her father, it was (what we considered) long and straight, with a slightly rounded tip. The most giveaway feature on this foreigner was her sea blue eyes. They seemed to shine a bright hue of cerulean, as if she took two crystal clear orbs, and filled them with the water from the Caribbean Sea. I hated to admit it, but she was stunning. No wonder everyone makes such a big deal over mestizos.

She greeted us with a smile, an average smile, and moved to hug her cousin Armelio. I stepped aside and eyed her, scrutinizing her every move. I noticed she gave tight hugs and dug her fingers into your back. Armelio smiled and hugged her, lighter than what she was giving him.

"Hey, I'm so excited for this vacation! Are we riding on that boat? Who's this Aunt Lodi?" the foreigner asked pointing to me and Harold.

There she goes, wasting our air. I thought. Harold and I exchanged glances and remained silent, neither of us spoke a word of English. Nanay moved in between me and Harold, putting a hand on each of our heads.

"This is Harold, he lives close to us and helps Armelio with the boat. He's a little older than you," Nanay spoke in English and patted Harold on the back, "and this one is Isaiah. He's one of the orphans that lives in the orphanage. He's a good kid, he's a little younger than you." She spoke rubbing the hair on my head. Out of all that Nanay said, I could only make out Harold's, Armelio's and my name. Harold gave her a small wave, and I looked away. It did not matter if her eyes were pure drops from the ocean itself, it did not matter that her lighter skin was a beautiful shade that made my dark tan seem like a leather hide, nor did it matter that her hair was the shiniest and most beautiful shade of brown I have ever seen; I did not want anything to do with the foreigner.

Unfortunately Armelio forced me to help put her bags onto the boat. As suspected of an American—how I was coming to dread that word more and more—she had a large suitcase, a hiking backpack, two tote bags, and a handbag that she kept close to her at all times. Her mother only had two bags. Sometimes the movies we watch in the orphanage are accurate.

I had to get off the boat to retrieve the rope I tied earlier and I noticed the American was struggling to get up the wooden plank from the sand below. I inched toward the edge of the boat readying myself to jump off the front, instead of waiting for her to climb up.

"Excuse me? Isaiah? Can you help me?" the foreigner asked. I stared at her blankly, her eyes sending a plea of help. One foot was halfway over the edge now. As much as I willed myself to jump off the boat, get the rope and climb back on without so much as another glance to the foreigner, I felt somehow drawn to her.

What are you doing? I silently asked myself as my feet moved away from the edge and towards her.

She was only up one fourth of the way and I held out my arm to her. She gripped my hand tightly, her bag straps wrapped several times around the other. I helped pull her on deck and she thanked me—I think—in English, and left to sit with Nanay and her mother. I practically slid down the wooden walk board and ran to grab the rope. I untied it from the log, dropped it, and made my way back to the walk board. Once on top of the deck, I pulled the board back on deck and put it in its usual spot. Behind me Harold grabbed the rope and began to pull it back on the boat, putting it in the cavity where we kept passenger's luggage and the wooden board.

Once Harold completed his task I picked up the pole from the outrigger and stuck it into the water. I forced my body weight against the pole and the boat started away from the shore. After a few more pushes, and turning the boat around, Harold started the engine and we started our way back home.

I took my usual spot in front of the canopy, and perched my elbow on the peak. I heard some girlish giggling coming from Nanay and her sister. I smiled, Nanay seemed to be having a good time, and she deserved it since she took care of all of us at the orphanage. Soon the breeze was grazing my skin and the familiar feeling of tranquility washed over me. My usual thoughts fled my mind and one conflict remained, the only thing left to ponder.

I bit at my lower lip thinking about her. There was the part of me that was sticking to my original decision. Americans were trouble and I didn't need any from her. Then there's the part of me that was curious about her. This part that thinks that she is okay, despite the fact she's American. I shook my head, getting frustrated. What was I really thinking?

I turned my head slightly to look behind me and there she was, leaning partway off the boat a big chunky device in her hands. I squinted to realize the item is just a big fancy American camera. I turned back looking at the island that was slowly nearing. I took in a breath of sea air and relaxed a little bit.

I almost jumped off the boat when a head popped up underneath my arm. She—there it was again, the anti-foreigner me—held out her camera and slowly steadied herself against the pole that held up the canopy. With one hand she took pictures of the water, and off distance islands.

Tourist.

She turned to me and pointed the big round lens at me.

"Cheese!" She chanted. Not knowing what that meant I stared back at her, unsure if I was in the way and should move or take this time and shove her into the water. She peeked out from the other side of the camera and gave me an expecting look. I shrugged and took a step to the right, trying to create some distance.

She shook her head and grinned at me revealing her perfectly straight white teeth. Was it me or did her smile get exponentially better? She used a finger and pushed one of her cheeks up. I realized what she wanted me to do and debated whether I should oblige or not.

Why are you even thinking about this? Ignore her! She'll leave and find something else.

I turned my head towards the island and gave her no second glance. From my peripheral vision I could see her adjusting the camera and pointing it at me. Her finger twitched and she took a moment to examine the results. She pursed her lips slightly, most likely disappointed I did not smile for a picture. She stowed the camera into the bag she was holding and stared out in the same direction I was pretending to.

Against what my mind told me to do, I twisted my head to get a better look of her. She was smiling, as if relishing the breeze, her smile now gleaming and her cerulean eyes dancing with pure excitement. It was entrancing and disgusting.

How can one be so drawn and repulsed by a person at the same time?