Authors: Autumn Cornwell

Carpe Diem (21 page)

BOOK: Carpe Diem

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Freshly Brewed

A
fter getting ready for bed and using the bamboo outhouse, we climbed the hut stairs to the sleeping loft. The mats were rolled out, each topped with a thick, fuzzy blanket, compliments of Mr. Vang. We laid in a row: Bounmy, Hanks, Grandma Gerd, me. The Vang family slept in the two enclosed rooms down below. Grandma Gerd's whistling snores and Bounmy's rhythmic breathing soon filled the air. Which didn't thrill Hanks.

“Got any more earplugs?”

“No. But here. You can have one and I'll have one and we'll sleep with our unplugged ears to the pillows.”

He reached out a hand, then hesitated.

“What's the matter?”

“Ear wax.”

“Your loss,” I said, and put them both in my ears.

“I'm kiddin'! Wait! I kid! I kid!”

But his loud whispers were soon muffled by the expansion of the orange pieces of foam in my ears and I drifted off to sleep.

Two hours later, my bladder awoke me. I wasn't used to
drinking so much liquid before bed. I removed my earplugs to hear:

Rain.

Great. I'd have to go outside in
that.

I groped around in my daypack for my toiletry bag and carefully put in my lone contact lens. Then grabbed my Maglite and Kleenex.

I gently made my way past the sleepers and down the squeaky bamboo ladder. No one stirred. How inconvenient to have only one entrance to a home.

I pushed the door. It didn't budge. I pushed over and over until I noticed that a length of wood held it firmly in place. I jiggled the wood, but I couldn't dislodge it.

What the heck? Why the barricade? After all, it was a hut, not the U.S. Treasury!

The pressure in my bladder was so great by this time, I was crossing my legs and squeezing.

I rocked back and forth and wondered if I should wake up Vang or his daughters. I didn't relish knocking on either of the closed bamboo bedroom doors and disrupting their sleep. I tried rattling the door in an attempt to somehow dislodge the wood barrier. There was no budging it. Reluctantly, I approached one of the bedroom doors. But just as I was about to knock, I had an epiphany.

I scampered back up the ladder, made my way back to my mat, and removed an empty water bottle from my backpack. If Hanks could do it, so could I!

First I double-checked that Grandma Gerd, Hanks, and
Bounmy were all still asleep. Then I turned off my flashlight and pressed myself into the corner farthest from my sleeping companions. It was dark enough that if one of them should stir, they wouldn't quite be able to tell what I was doing. I could pretend I had a leg cramp and was doing stretches. Or something.

I tied a sarong I'd bought in Cambodia around my waist for added protection from any accidental gaze.

Then positioned the bottle.

And willed myself to pee.

Nothing.

Peeing on command is hard enough, but peeing on command
in a bottle
when you aren't sure if you have
correct aim
is the hardest thing I've ever attemptedâand that includes memorizing the entire Periodic Table.

Oh, to be a guy! How much easier their lives were!

I repositioned and tried again.

Behind me, someone coughed.

I froze.

Oh, please don't let it be Hanks, not Hanks, not Hanks! “Gonna try recyclin' after all, eh?”

A thought crossed my brain. He wouldn't, would he? “If you dare take my pictureâ” I said through clenched teeth.

The bamboo flooring creaked, and then he was right behind me.

“Here, I'll hold up the sarong around you. See?”

“Don't look!”

“I'm not. Just relax.”

“But what if it overflows? I don't know if I can stop it once it starts.”

“Take it easy. It'll be fine. Trust me.”

“I can't do thisâyou're making me nervous.”

“Come on. Pretend you're sittin' on your toilet at home, doin' your Latin homework â¦ .”

Latin! If only it were as easy as Latin!

I closed my eyes and willed myself to relax:
Relax, relax, relax. Think soothing. Soothing. Sitting with Mom and Dad by the fireplace, drinking herbal tea, readingâconjugate “to read”: eg

, legere, l

, l

ctum â¦

Somehow I managed to fill the bottle andâ
Euge!
âdidn't need another.

I pulled up my pajama bottoms and breathed an enormous sigh of relief.

Hanks dropped his arms, and the sarong wall collapsed. A euphoric stupor enveloped me. I was completely relaxedâand drained.

“Screw the lid on tightly. We sure don't need any spillage,” he said.

Gripping the warm bottle of liquid, I turned aroundâand found myself nose-to-nose with Hanks. Or, to be precise,
almost
nose-to-nose, since he was a couple inches shorter. His black hair hung in his eyes, and his chops were still on his cheeks.

“I'll get rid of that for you.” His hand covered my hand as he reached for the bottle.

“That's okayâ”

As I tried to pull away, his hand tightened over mine.

Which sent tingles racing across my entire body.

I suddenly felt like I had to pee again.

His normally mischievous eyes were intense. Like magnets. They seemed to suck my eyes into his.

In all my fantasies, I'd never foreseen the possibility of my first kiss taking place with a chop-wearing Chinese Malay cowboy named Hanks in a bamboo hut in a hill tribe in Communist Laosâall the while clutching a bottle of my own freshly brewed urine!

Hanks leaned forward.

I remained absolutely motionless.

Softer than I'd anticipated, with a slight flavor of
lao-lao.

Flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop flip-flop!

I'm kissing!
I was melting from the inside out, there was a ringing in my ears, my stomach whirled, my eyes glazed, my skin secreted a pint of sweat. But Hanks didn't seem to notice. I was so hyperaware of his warm skin, the blood pulsating through his veins, the pressure of his fingers, that I unconsciously held my breath.
Could he tell this was my first kiss?
After a couple minutes, I let out a strangled half-choke, half-belch as I gasped for air.

Hanks laughed.

How romantic.

He touched the dimple in my chin.

“Let's try that again,” he said in a husky voice.

My body seemed to have a mind of its ownâsuddenly I was clinging to him.

Tight. Tighter. Tighter.

“Frangi, what are you doing? It's two in the morning.”

As Grandma Gerd rummaged around to find her glasses, Hanks and I jolted apartâdropping the bottle onto the bamboo floor.

“Careful,” said Hanks, his voice even huskier than before.

Disappointment flooded me. That little taste wasn't enoughâI wanted more!

“I was just â¦ uh, giving Hanks one of my earplugs,” I said. And then followed the words with the action.

He took it. “So that's all it took.”

We crawled onto our mats. I removed my contact lens and put in my earplugâand the retainer I'd forgotten to put in earlier.

I never felt more awake, more
alive,
in my life.

On the other side of Grandma Gerd was a cowboy with my name on him.

“See?” whispered Hanks. “
Sarah
does have the hots for
Wayne.
”

Sleep would not visit me tonight.

CHAPTER SIX

Ta Prohm Revisited

A
nother one of Southeast Asia's alarm clocks cock-a-doodle-dooed in my ear. Or at least it was so loud, it sounded like it. Morning. Pouring rain. My blurry eyes barely made out the figure of Grandma Gerdâabout to drink from a water bottle.

“Shhhtop! Nhhooo!” I slurred, thanks to my retainer.

“What's the matter?”

Then I realized
my
bottle was still sitting safe and sound next to my mat.

Hanks found that extremely funny.

“Oh, don't mind her. She didn't get much sleep last night.”

Grandma winked at me. “I know.”

It was strange to awaken and realize I'd kissed Hanks.

Flip-flop!

I could barely make out Hanks's face, but I could tell that he was smiling. A big smile. And what would tonight's homestay bring? I couldn't wait to find out!

Then I moved. “Owwww â¦”

“Not used to hikin' nine hours straight, eh?” said Hanks.

“Here. Extra-Strength Tylenol,” said Grandma Gerd, popping two gel caps and handing me two.

I found myself watching every move Hanks made. When he lifted his daypack, I noticed a fascinating muscle on his upper arm. Many times I'd labeled that muscle as the triceps brachii on muscular-system diagrams, but I'd never realized how appealing it was on a real-life specimen before.

I opened my Latin quote for the day:
Malum consilium quod mutari non potest.
(Pubilius Syrus) “It is a bad plan that cannot be changed.”

As Grandma Gerd and I headed down the ladder for breakfast, I saw Mr. Vang remove a wooden peg from the hut door and effortlessly lift up the piece of wood that had barricaded me in.

“So that's it!”

“What?” asked Grandma as we sat down at the table.

“Oh, nothing â¦” No need to advertise my stupidity.

A whiff of Old Spice wafted through the doorway as Hanks walked into the hut fresh from his morning shower. His wet pomp glistened. His toned muscles rippled. His lipsâ

Hanks grinned at me. “Take a Polaroid, it'll last longer.”

I turned away mid-gawk. No need to give him a big head. Make that a bigger head.

Over our breakfast of bananas and sticky rice, Bounmy giggled at a dramatic story Vang was telling complete with big flourishes and waves of the hand.

“What's he saying?” I asked, peeling a fourth banana. I
loved the variety of bananas in Southeast Asia, especially the pigmy ones, which were extra yellow and extra sweet.

“He talk about â¦ how do you say â¦ âmiracle,'” said Bounmy.

“What miracle?” I asked with my mouth full.

“Long ago when he was young man, missionary come to village and heal wife.”

“Of what?”

Bounmy giggled again. “How do you sayâstink breath? She have stink breath, stink like skunk. Man heal herâbreath like flowers. Very nice.”

They both laughed. Then Vang added something.

Bounmy grinned. “Then they make many children. Good miracle.”

Vang beamed.

“It's a cute story,” I said.

Fssshtttt!

“Don't you believe in miracles, Frangi?” Grandma Gerd asked, shaking a Polaroid of the Paint by Numbers Jesus. At least she wasn't going to try to buy or steal it. Her unscrupulousness did have limits, after all.

“Sure. I believe in the miracle of science and the miracle of modern technology and, of course, Miracle Whip.” I laughed at my wit.

“You must keep 'em in stitches in Port Ann,” said Hanks. “Bet that John Pepper thinks you're a laugh riot.”

“Shut up!” I threw a peel at him. He caught it deftly in midair.

Grandma Gerd adjusted her glasses and gave me an inscrutable look. “There's more to life than the tangible.”

“Must go,” said Bounmy, getting up from the table. “Take two more day and night to reach beetle.”

The three of us began to strap on our daypacks and replace our rubber flip-flops with boots.

“Tell Vang it's been a fantastic experience,” said Grandma Gerd to Bounmy. “That his hospitalityâ”

“Eeeoww!” Hanks threw his jungle boot onto the bamboo floor and clutched his right foot. Bounmy hurried over and just as he was about to pick up the boot:

“No!” shouted Hanks.

Out crawled a
foot-long centipede.

“Ta Prohm!” I said.

“No, centipede,” said Bounmy. “Bite much worse than scorpion.” Before he could smash it with the other boot, it escaped through the bamboo slats.

Hanks's foot swelled three times its normal size. His face turned red, and he sweated profusely. He seemed to have difficulty breathing.

Apparently this was the “normal” reaction to a centipede bite.

“It's a good thing he isn't allergic to the venom. With no medical facilities, he'd be dead before sunset,” said Grandma.

“I told you this trip was a bad idea!” I found myself shouting. “That we'd be putting ourselves at risk! No cell phone, no help in emergencies, and Bounmy doesn't even have a first-aid kit!”

“We have Spider Flower weed,” said Bounmy, pointing to Peace entering with a small wooden bowl of salve. “The root, it cool. The flower it dis-disinâ”

“Disinfects?” said Grandma. “Good, good. Oftentimes the homeopathic cures are better than the commercial. And this is the next best thing to ice. Which we're sure not going to find up here.”

Peace carefully applied the salve to Hanks's red bulbous foot. He winced. Grace blotted his forehead with a towel and gave him a drink of water.

“Why isn't anyone sucking the venom out of his toe?” I asked, exasperated. “It'll spreadâ”

“Calm down, Frangi. That's only for snakebites. And actually, I think that's been proven ineffectiveâ”

“How do you feel?” I asked Hanks.

Hanks turned his head and vomited. All over my foot.

It was evident that Hanks wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He had to stay off his foot, rest, drink liquids, and pop Grandma Gerd's Extra-Strength Tylenol every four hours. The fact he wasn't allergic lessened the urgency of the situation (although I refused to forgive Grandma Gerd or Bounmy or No Road Travel for putting him in it). Eventually, the swelling would go down and the pain would diminish. It didn't look like he'd be making the journey back down the mountain for at least three days.

So much for Homestay Night of Romance #2.

Hanks insisted Grandma Gerd, Bounmy, and I finish the last three days of the trek.

“Go on,” said Hanks, in a hoarse voice. “Bond with your grandma. Don't know about you, but I wanna know The Big Secret.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to stayâ”

“What are you still doin' here? Get yer keister movin'!” That took his last ounce of energy. He flopped back onto the mat.

Grandma agreed. “We're not much use here, Frangi. Might as well finish what we started.”

“Peace-nurse-
Your
Hanks,” said Peace shyly in stilted English.

Your
Hanks. I liked that.

As I turned away, Hanks reached out and grabbed my arm: “Wait.”

Was he going to kiss me good-bye? Here, in front of everyone? How romantic!

“You forgot somethin'.”

He handed me an empty water bottle.