Grains of Rice v1.2
Back then, I’d known nothing of the world outside of the Valley. The San Fernando Valley. Absolutely nothing. I was used to donut shops, video-games in parents living rooms, smoky garages, the discovery of marijuana, and forty ounces of beers on the sidewalk curbs. With my friends from high school, who didn’t graduate as well, who sat around the cement smelling strip malls with me, that littered the Valley, the place we hated to call home.
Long streatches of roads trudged on by metal and wheels, driven by the apathy of consistency, and the yawns of billboard signs and bus stop benches. The occasional cigarette outside of a house, on the driveway, while the dead lawn grass withered away. The every so often late night Denny’s parking lot hanging outs, smoking cigarettes until we almost feel asleep. The whenever we felt like it marijuana session in a parked car in some random residential area or the swig of rum outside of a closed Junior High school at 2 in the morning. That’s what we did. Nothing of importance. Nothing of significance. Just the same thing, over and over again. With the same people, over and over again. Recycled ennui. Forever and ever.
Mai Ahn Mai changed it a little. My first girlfriend. My first sex. I liked her because she was hot. And, honestly, because she was the first girl to like me back. She pushed me outside of my pathetic groove. We’d go to parties in LA, Culver City, Glendale, Burbank, where people who dressed nicer than me would hang out with each other. Where they would drink more expensive alcohol, where they would go to a designated smoking area to smoke the light cigarette. And where they would talk about things they saw on TV or what they were studying in college and what they wanted to be. Mai Ahn didn’t give a fuck about what they talked about. She just liked being around pretty people.
I ended up loving her as much as I could. To me, she was funny and fun to be around. She taught me about sex and smiling at the same time. A kind of love I’d never knew about. It was emotional. It was romantic. Pretty colors inside eyes closed. Kissing and breathing each other. Beautiful man and beautiful woman making beautiful love without any words. Just in shared invisibility.
Honestly, I did love her.
But, I let her leave. She tested me. She always tested me. And I always failed. Always. She tested me to see if I loved her. She wanted to see it. She wanted me to prove it. The extension of my expression came in crumpled up love notes. It came in half-hearted responses to whenever she would say, ‘I love you’. It was in having a hard dick whenever she wanted to make love. It wasn’t the sky writing, the romantic public declarations, the waking up to ten dozen roses just because it was Tuesday, the parades, or the bubbly explosions she wanted. It wasn’t the movie she wanted. So she left. And I let her leave. Because I didn’t know why.
Sure, I cried. She was my first everything. But for some reason, I felt relieved. Something inside of me always told me she wasn’t the one. Even though I really wanted her to be. And, man, I really wanted her to be the big bad number one for me. Because if Mai Anh Mai wasn’t, by default, it would have to be Anna Lisa Kristina. All over again. And that’d be bad. All over again.
It felt natural to wallow in sadness. To lie on my friends living room rug, cry sideways, not eat, not shower, roll around moaning every so often. So natural. But intolerable to Jack.
“Get out of my apartment, Xavier.” He said sternly. “I have no more food, you bastard.”
So I stood up, shrugged my shoulders and said, “Thanks for the living room.”
I ended up at Corn’s parents house. He let me sleep on his floor for a week. I cuddled with his cat. Replaced human friends with her.
One day, Corn said, “Hey Xavier.”
“What up.” I replied, kissing the cat.
“You want to be an actor?” He asked.
I thought about it. “Sure.” I said.
“You should audition for this one theatre company.” He said, smiling. “I think you’d be good at it!”
“Okay.” I said, petting the cat, feeling the purr.
“I saw them at Coldwater College. They were really good.” Corn said, excited for me. “They rehearse in East LA. They said they had auditions this Sunday.”
It sounded interesting. If anything, it’ll give me something to do on Sunday. “I’ll go. Do they got a name?”
“Yeah.” He said, thinking to himself. “Oh! They’re called The Grains of Rice Theatre Company!”
“What the fuck kind of name is that?” I asked, laughing out loud.
“They’re an Asian-American theatre company.” He said. “They travel across the country and do shows about being Asian-American.”
“What for?” I asked.
“I dunno.” He replied. “They were funny though. And pretty insightful. Ya know. About Asian-American stuff.”
“Hmm…” I said. I’d never heard of an all Asiam-American theatre group. I never knew one even existed. And they traveled across country doing shows. That’s sounded cool. I didn’t even know there were Asians outside of the Valley. Something told me that would’ve been an interesting experience.
“Maybe there’ll be some cute girls!” Corn said, raising his eyebrows.
“Maybe.” I said. I stood up. Looked at Corn. Smirked. “I’ll go. I want to see what the world looks like. Outside of the Valley.”
“Sounds good.” Corn said. And he smiled, extra large.
