Banana
Split
Chapter One
Chapter One
Provide neither gold nor silver nor brass in your purses. Nor scrap for your journey, neither two coats, neither shoes, nor yet staves: for the workman is worthy of his meat. And whatsoever city or town ye shall enter, enquire who in it is worthy; and there abide till ye go thence.
August 2001
My foot bled. The callouses built over two months walking barefoot around the Big Island had just proven an ineffectual barrier for the glass on the onramp. Luckily staph infections were not a concern on the mainland, not in Washington state at least, and I was glad for the sneakers I had stowed in my bag. It wasn't a bad cut, but the last thing I wanted was an infection of any kind, so I smeared Neosporine in the tear and put on a clean sock. No bandaids, and other than a slight twinge of discomfort, the pain was hardly noticeable. Although the cheap white athletic shoes were light, they felt like cumbersome hiking boots once they were on.
Cars streamed past in endless succession, the sun glinting off their windshields. Weekend shoppers at the Supermall were in no mood to pick up the filthy looking hitch hiker, but I had an unflappable faith that my ride would come. I smiled trying to make eye contact with the passing faces. Some glanced at me alarmed, and others pretended not to see me at all and looked forward stubbornly avoiding my pleading eyes. It was a game, one of my favorites. At various times on the roadside I had bottles thrown at me, insults hurled and once a girl lifted up her shirt and flashed me as her daring friends whooped. College towns could be intense, but this was Auburn, a suburban pocket of the middle class--a hitch hiker's nightmare.
Washington has a very low tolerance for hitch hiking, and on every onramp there is a sign with big thumb with a red circle around it and a line running diagonally through. Ironically, it is this 'No Hitch Hiking' symbol that I had to be in front of or else the police would bother me, but other than a narrow shoulder with a guardrail discouraging drivers from pulling over, the sign was the best place on the onramp to hitch from. The cars were still going slow enough to not have speed as an excuse to not give me a lift. Or so I told myself.
As the sun crept higher into the sky beating down on my Hawaii tanned skin, I began to wonder how far I would make it. I had no money and nothing but a thin sleeping bag for the coming nights, but this was never a concern. Hitch hiking into the unknown was a thrilling adventure that always made my heart soar—especially the first day. Travelling light was preferable to having pots, pans, and multiple outfits on the road. I learned to wash my socks and underwear in a public restroom, and if I found one, I felt no qualms about exchanging my dirty pants for a clean pair at a second hand store. When broke, ethical behavior's shades of gray become a wider line between the black and white.
After a couple hours, my right thumb began to ache in its erect skyward thrust, but I kept it up, my arm outstretched like a fishing rod. As the sun past its zenith, I began to wonder if I should wander back down the ramp into town to see what lunch had been cast for me into the fast food dumpsters, or maybe try to find a piece of cardboard to write my destination on. A bleating honk startled me, and I spun around to see a blue Toyota Camry pulled over on the narrow shoulder straddling the white line. In a swift jerk I shouldered my small back pack and ran toward the car. Two Filipino men sat in the front seats of the car grinning at me. Without a word I opened the back door and climbed into the back seat. The driver adjusted the rear view mirror to see me. His grin didn't fade. My gaydar pinged as my eyes met his. He wore a pink polo shirt and stylish dark blue jeans. His slightly smaller partner in the passenger seat wore tan plaid shorts and a tight fitting white V-neck T-shirt. After looking at me for a moment, the two petite men smiled at each other. Can you believe our luck?
“What you doing out here?” The driver had a thick Filipino accent full of surprise, but there was joy in his voice as if he had picked up one of his close friends unexpectedly.
“I'm trying to get to Spokane,” I said, aware of the other cars that had to swerve around us as we were parked more than half way in the lane of traffic.
The two spoke rapidly to each other in their native tongue. The passenger flipped down his sun visor to peer at me in the mirror and unlike his unabashed friend, he blinked with a timid smile. There was a honk behind us as a big truck refused to pass. Looking shocked, the driver craned his neck to look at the truck, then plunged his foot on the gas and we were off.
“We have make quick stop at home, and then we take you, okay?”
“No problem, thank you for stopping, it's hot out there!”
“Yes, you no should hitch hike, is dangerous!” The passenger said. With a dismissive shrug I thanked them for the ride once again.
“Why no you take a bus?” The passenger asked with a concerned, almost maternal look, his eyebrows pressing a vertical line down the center of his forehead.
“I don't have money for a bus, and besides, I like the adventure of hitch hiking,” I said, but his worried expression didn't change.
"At least it's not raining," I said, trying to show the glass should be seen as half full.
“Are you no scared of crazy people pick you up?” He made a circular motion with his index finger near his ear.
“Not really, I like to meet all kinds of crazy people and I haven't had a problem yet. I've hitch hiked down to California and back a few times and I think the crazier the people are, the more fun I have.” The driver glanced back at me and raised an eyebrow with a glint in his eye. I can be crazy. I chuckled and shook my head. The passenger still looked anxious and concerned for my safety, but he smiled. Safe now at least. My adopted gay mother.
The two lane highway 18 took us over Tiger Summit and the air cooled down to a comfortable 70 degrees. The blue sky and fluffy clouds sharply contrasted the dark green Douglas firs that carpeted the hills and towered above us on the roadside, but I could see darker clouds lining the Cascades to the east. Washington conifers were so different from the bright green foliage of Hawaii, and I was grateful for the temperate climate. Although I loved the tropics, it was a relief to be in heat that didn't stifle with a humid glove.
As my companions chattered to one another in their common tongue, full of long twangy vowels, I began to listen for my own unseen company. Was he still here watching over me? I felt him at times, but he had been nearly silent since leaving the Big Island. Was it because I was speaking again? Certainly my vow of eternal silence was meant to be temporary--a joke--but I missed all the voices, especially Gabriel with his quick wit and outrageous jokes that I was often the butt of. Without their voices to guide me I would often mentally ask a question and stick my thumb out sideways. I tried to not ask questions too often and form an addiction to the impromptu divination, but my thumb would either turn up or down in answer to my query.
When we turned westward onto I-90 heading toward Seattle I began to wonder if I had been duped. Spokane was almost 300 miles eastward, and though the driver had explained that they needed to stop briefly at their home, I was hoping it would be along my route—just in case I needed to bail. It was always good to have outs.
“Where do you live?” I asked. The driver seemed startled after the half hour of silence.
“Just quick stop,” he said. It wasn't an answer to my question, and the way he said it made me a bit nervous.
“He need go home, but I take you,” said the passenger. The driver gave me a level gaze as if he were gauging whether or not he could trust me with his lover. He was the more masculine of the two, and I nodded to him trying to look sincere. Don't worry, you can trust me with your boyfriend.
We took the Issaquah exit and after a couple turns we pulled into an apartment complex.
“You hungry?” The driver asked after we backed into a covered parking space. I said I was. The apartments were only a mile of I-90, so if things went south I could get back to the onramp.
As we got out of the car I realized that both these men were even smaller than I previously suspected. The driver was about five and a half feet tall and the passenger was a couple inches shorter, and as we walked up the stairs to the second story apartment both men seemed meek, aware of their stature.
“You no have gun?” The driver asked looking up at me. He had the keys to the apartment in his hand and waited for me to answer before unlocking the door.
“No, no I don't have a gun or knife, don't worry,” I said trying to look as reassuring as possible.
They exchanged a couple of excited incomprehensible sentences as if settling any remaining anxiety. We didn't bring him all the way here to leave him outside! The door was unlocked and swung open.
The apartment had a gaudy zebra striped sofa under the window on the opposite end. The room was small, but immaculate with white carpet and high end stainless steel appliances in the kitchen. Down a hall I glimpsed two red lava lamps through an open door on either side of what appeared to be a king sized water bed. The bedspread appeared to be faux leopard print. I sensed a theme. They must have had either a strange fascination with Africa or hadn't realized that their taste had gone out of fashion in the 80s.
“Wow, you guys have style!” I said, trying not to sound too patronizing. Both men beamed with pride, and once again, a mischievous twinkle entered the eye of the driver.
“You like banana?” he asked. Hilarious! Why not?
“Sure,” I said. His narrow hips swung side to side in an exaggerated manner as he shuffled into the kitchen and retrieved a banana from a fruit basket on the bar. He brought the banana to his ear before tossing it to me in the most girly throw possible. Was it girly? No, this was full on Filipino gay style! A belly laugh erupted from his partner and I joined in the mirth and began to laugh along with him. This was perfect! Why did I feel like I was in a middle school girl's slumber party? The gayness was contagious and I got caught up in the moment and began to flirt, raising an eyebrow provocatively. I slowly unpeeled the banana eyeing each of them and then slid it deep—too deep—into my mouth and down my throat. The driver's partner hopped up and down and clapped his hands. Before choking with laughter I pulled the banana out of my throat, my eyes watering. This stunt had more than the desired effect from bouncing passenger, but then the vibe suddenly changed.
The passenger was still smiling, but the driver had a more sobering, burning, and openly lustful look and tried to gaze deep into my eyes, and then down the hall, and back to me. The red glow of the lava lamps seemed ominous in the shadowy bedroom. I cleared my throat and gained some semblance of a more serious persona.
“Alright guys, this is fun and all, but I'm not gay.” I bit into the banana and saw the driver wince.
“You tease!” The passenger said and batted his hand which flopped limply on his wrist in a playful admonishing way.
“I know, I know,” I said with a grin. It was all too much, so cliche and yet it was happening. This was why I didn't take the bus--this is why hitch hiking is the ultimate adventure! The unknown was infinite with incalculable variables. So many fish in the sea and cars on the road, and my thumb, the hook, could snag anyone! Now I was in an apartment I would never have ended up in any other way. I was having a ball, but it also dawned on me that I had dashed their hopes upon the rocks of my heterosexuality. The driver nodded as if he knew all along.
“But thank you both, you make me feel so... so, I don't know, beautiful or something,” I said and took another bite of my banana. I had forgotten how hungry I was.
“You like mess around just little bit?” The driver asked holding his hand up with a small space between his thumb and index finger. I saw a small glimmer of hope remaining. His eyebrow was raised and he cocked his hip sideways and put a hand on it. A sexy pose?
“No, no you guys, my girlfriend wouldn't like that at all,” I lied. I had no girlfriend. A shadow of disappointment fell across the face of the driver. He gave up. The passenger still looked a bit hopeful for a moment, but sobered after his partner shook his head and said something incomprehensible, full resentment in abrupt jabbing vowels. The passenger sighed.
“Okay, well,” he said, “Maybe now I take you where you going.” He too had a look of disappointment. Their young hippie on the roadside had done nothing but tease. The driver retrieved the keys from his pocket and handed them to the passenger. They exchanged a few words with one another, and the driver wandered into the kitchen without bidding me farewell. I didn't blame him. I wasn't a friend, just a prospect, and we wouldn't be meeting again.
"Okay, well now I take you to Spooken," said the shorter man twirling the keys. I nodded, but there was something in his voice that made me realize that he had absolutely no idea where Spokane was.
I'm writing this memoir, each chapter has a separate URL's so they're easy to remember. Separate blogs. This blog is chapteronebananasplit.blogspot.com so the next will be www.chaptertwobananasplit.blogspot.com then www.chapterthreebananasplit.blogspot.com www.chapterfourbananasplit.blogspot.com etc... enjoy!
