Luxuries

Port-a-potties would have been a luxury. A hole in the ground and bucket of water did not seem sanitary to Mike, even for a private restroom. This is what was going through his mind. The uncomfortable feeling he’d felt when faced with squatting over a hole earlier that day returned in the pit of his stomach. He was stuck between a sweaty, sticky stranger and his sweaty, sticky cousin, Bohng, on a hard metal bench in a small motorized tricycle. Light breezes came through the open cab and hinted of pleasant foods and spices in the bustling world around the cab. Mike looked out of the cab at faded blue, green, and red tarps shading the carts and a card tables on either side of the street. Mike heard familiar American pop music and followed the sound to see that it came from a large silver boom-box on a table near the front of the market.

“This is it,” Bohng said and pointed to the sidewalk with his lips. The tricycle stopped and Bohng climbed out of the tricycle. He took Mike’s arm to help him out. Mike followed Bohng down the sidewalk for a few minutes. Brown faces and brown bodies lined the border of the popular market. Mike stiffened and tried not to get in the way. Not one white man was in sight and Mike felt out of place even though he should have felt at home. Each table showcased different items. Red and green fruits and vegetables, pirated DVDs and cds, hand painted dolls carved out of wood, fish laid out on buckets and coolers full of ice. It reminded Mike of a big yard sale. Bohng would look back at Mike and smile, anxiously hoping Mike was enjoying the trip into this part of town. Mike would lift his eyebrows and give a half smile back and then Bohng would continue on. They reached the edge where the market backed up against white plastered buildings.

Bohng led Mike along the buildings until they reach a small alley way. They turned and walked down the dirt path past a handful of doors until they reached an opening in the white wall. They entered a long room lit by several open windows. The air smelt of propane gas and fish sauce. Mike’s stomach churned and he held it with one hand. They approached a long white counter. Behind the counter a small brown man with gray hair put his reading book under the counter. He wore a sweat band around his head at the temples. His lightly colored and loose cotton pants stood out against the brown skin and a sweat soaked maroon tank top.

Bohng spoke to the man in a smooth and simple language that Mike loved to hear but didn’t understand. It reminded him of his mother and father back home in Florida. They very rarely spoke Tagalog because they were trying so hard to be American now. He loved it when he’d catch them conversing in their native Filipino tongue. Bohng turned to Mike and smiled brightly.

“Would you like to try coconut water?”

“Sure,” Mike said and shrugged his shoulders. He wondered what coconut water looked like. Bohng finished ordering and then pointed with his lips to one of two small folding tables next to the counter. Mike went and sat down. Bohng went over to a refrigerator, pulled out two drinks and came and sat across from Mike. He smiled at Mike and placed a soda can before him. It was tan and had a picture of a cut coconut on it. Bohng hesitated and stared at Mike. Mike awkwardly took the can in one hand and Bohng did the same. They opened their cans at the same time. Bohng snickered and quickly took a drink. Mike held the cold drink and then lifted it up under his nose. It had the faint smell of crisp and fruity coconut. Bohng watched him as he took a small taste. The cold liquid met his parched tongue and he swished it around a little before swallowing. It tasted like water with just a hint of sweetness but was followed by a musky aftertaste. He set the drink down with wide eyes. Bohng raised his eyebrows. Mike stuck out his tongue and Bohng’s smile drooped almost disappearing.

Both cans sat on the table for a few minutes and the boys didn’t look at each other. They examined each other’s shoes. Both wore sneakers. Mike’s were new and still very white while Bohng’s were muddy and fraying along the seams. They heard the whipping of a fan that sat on top of the counter and felt the air each time the fan moved passed. Mike looked at the clean cement floors and thought about how cold and empty the place seemed for a restaurant. They heard the chopping of vegetables and looked to see the crown of the little old man behind the counter as he bent over the chopping block.

A crisp white blouse and pink skirt walked into the shop. The boys’ eyes followed the brown, pink, and white curves that ran from the gold flip flops up to a dark brown bob that framed a young round face. Mike and Bohng looked at each other and smiled and then looked back at the girl. She approached the counter and the little man spoke politely to her. Bohng tried not to stare while Mike looked directly at her, waiting for her to look their direction. When she did, he smiled and lifted his chin. She looked puzzled and turned her attention back to the old man. Bohng stared at her feet and noted her gold bracelet and necklace. Mike watched her face until she left the shop. She never looked back at them. He looked back at Bohng confused.

“I hope you like the food. I think you will like it,” Bohng said nervously.

They heard popping and sizzling noises come from behind the counter and steam began rising from the hidden cook-top. Soon the air began to change. The smell was amazing. It filled the room with fresh spices and nose tingling heat. They could sense the quick bite of chili pepper in the air. The sweetness rounded the smell out. Mike and Bohng’s stomach’s growled loudly. They laughed at each other. After a minute, the old man appeared with a towel hung over one shoulder and a tray in his hands. He placed the tray on the table and his skinny arms moved the plates quickly and gently to the table.

Mike noted the beautiful brown morsels dropped among the cut green beans. They look perfect mounded upon a plate of white steamed rice. A light sauce tinted the rice just under the meat and beans. The stark white color against the crisp green and brown tempted Mike to grab a green bean and sneak a taste. The natural sourness of green bean vanished and a salty and sweet fullness overcame his mouth. It was moist and clean. He mirrored Bohng, who use the fork to pile the food onto the spoon. He lifted the spoon and took a large bite. The rice stuck nicely to the food and bounced along the tongue before and after being chomped by the teeth. The soft meat held a tiny bit of heat that released upon each bite. Mike and Bohng loaded up their spoons over and over with heaps and stuffed them in their mouths as quickly as they could make room for in their mouth for more. Their stomach called out in rumbles as it took it all in. When the plates were cleaned the boys sat back and enjoyed the feeling of warm scents filling the cavities of the nose and mouth.

“That was so good,” Mike said and tilted his head back. “I love this stuff.”
Bohng smiled widely at Mike. The little old man came out and Bohng thanked him. The old man smiled and nodded as Bohng complemented him. The sounds of the Tagalog language comforted Mike and he closed his eyes. He felt at ease. He heard clinking of dishes and opened his eyes to watch the little old man quickly clearing away the dishes on a tray.

“What do you call this dish,” Mike asked Bohng.

Bohng smiled and said, “adobong sitaw.”

“What?”

“Adobong sitaw. It means bean adobo.”

Mike smiled and relaxed. Bohng seemed pleased that Mike was so impressed. They stood up to leave and then a familiar feeling came over him. His stomach pressed upon his back and pressure was building in his bottom. He knew that he needed to visit a restroom rather quickly. Mike thought about what that meant and what the public restrooms might look like. Once again, he felt out of place and his stomach churned.