chapter one; early july, year one
I fasten the grip around my backpack straps and look up, curious with a hint of caution. The sky looks like a wet blanket mixed with shades of sea and sky with occasional fluffy stains of grey. It hangs high above, as if I was figurine in a snow globe and the earth was a dome. Water droplets gather at the grey spots and take off, hitting the ground with graceful speed and leaving their marks behind on the pavement; the only visible sign that they were there.
It wouldn’t be long before the drizzle turned into pouring rain. I believe that a girl walking on bricks would look even stranger in the rain.
The coffee shop at block 143 beckons me, with its yellow lights, relaxed propriety and vacant, dry chairs. Already from metres away I can smell the distinct scent of the coffee shop; an amalgamate of its food and people, and slightly of chicken rice. It feels strange to be back at a place where I normally spend weekday afternoons in my school uniform. There’s nothing special about the tables or chairs, but the atmosphere is familiar.
In early mornings, when people are still shuffling to their stalls, the coffee shop wakes up slowly. Besides mine, there are about two or three other tables that are filled, but I know that there will be more soon. It is so quiet that I can hear the distinct banging of a metal spatula against a large wok cooking carrot cake, and the rain on the tarpaulin canopy. I would probably have fallen asleep right then, had it not been for the boy who approached me.
I look up, and his eyes flit away nervously. He’s tall; taller than me, I think. “Ah…do you wanna order anything?” He pronunciation is sloppy, the way many Singaporeans sound. Maybe he just woke up. Maybe he hopes I’ll say no. Then he can go back to sleep.
“Two kaya and butter toasts, please” I smile. “And two hard-boiled eggs.” This puts him slightly more at ease, and he nods and walks away quickly, back to the drink stall. A drink stall which also serves as a breakfast stall.
My food comes quickly and I pay, before noticing a wet towel hanging from his shoulder, and the sweat beads sticking to his neck. Before he scurries away, I ask, “did you just go for a run?”
“Uh…yeah. I did.” I nod, making an ‘oh’ shape with my mouth. He’s about to walk away, but he narrows his eyes. “Do you live around here? You look kinda familiar.”
“No,” I say, cracking my eggs with a tiny spoon. “I go to school around here, though. Just around the corner. I live in Yishun.” Now it’s my turn to narrow my eyes. “Was that meant as a pick-up line?”
He pauses, as if trying to contemplate. “Maybe,” he tries, raising an eyebrow, before breaking out of his awkward guise as I laugh. “Oh gosh, no. I really meant it. You come here for lunch, right?”
He sits down across from me. He sounds like he means it, not just guessing to make conversation.
“Yeah, sometimes.” I wonder how he notices me out of all the other faces in the sea of the lunch hour, and suddenly I feel flattered. “I hope you’re not stalking me or anything,” I joke, and he laughs good-naturedly. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before though.”
“I’m pretty unattractive during lunch hour,” he says with a straight face, pushing up his black-framed glasses. That warrants a smile from me, because I know he doesn’t mean it. “I’m glad you didn’t see me.”
“I’ll try to look out more, then,” I say. Then, upon second thought, I add, “hey, how old are you? You look too young to be working. I mean, even I’m not old enough to be working. Except maybe at Mos Burger.”
“I’m seventeen,” he scratches his hair, as if he’s not so sure. Maybe I’m making him nervous. Maybe I’m really one of those people who tries to bust underage teenagers who aren’t supposed to be working yet. “Old enough. My uncle runs the drink stall, I’m just helping him now that the holidays have started.”
“Ah, I wish I could get a holiday job. But I’ll be way too busy during the holidays.”
“You’re taking your O’s?” I nod. “So you’re sixteen,” he remarks, half statement half question. I nod again.
As I sip my liquid eggs (with lots of black sauce), I ask if he’s in Junior College and he says no. He tells me he’s in the normal academic stream and is taking his O levels this year as well. I ask him why he isn’t spending the holidays studying, and he tells me that he’d rather spend his time earning money and that he doesn’t like studying. He tells me I look just like the opposite, and I admit that I am. His smile are shy, showing no teeth, but they are genuine and appear in the most unexpected times. He seems conscious of his laughter.
Finally, as I finish off my toast, he asks me what I’m doing today. I begin to think he wants to hang out with me, but it turns out he’s just curious as to why I would travel 45 minutes from home just to have breakfast.
“I’m waiting for a friend who lives around here.” I finish my toast, and check the time, and in the silence our eyes meet. He smiles, which makes me smile, and the moment is gone. I stand up to leave, and then realize I don’t have his name.
“Isaac,” he tells me, beginning to clear my plates. “What’s yours?”
“Maeve.” I spell it out as I help him; I tell him he’ll see me again soon.
tender thoughts; 