Tyler’s apelido is “Eddy G,” after the capoeira fighter from the video game Tekken. And I’m “Mariposa”—butterfly, after my favorite capoeira move, mariposa, the “butterfly twist.” I’m always practicing. It’s pretty darn tricky.
I’d never have guessed that capoeira could get me out of so much trouble. Even better, I’m beginning to see a real potential for learning to protect myself. For that, I have to practice it as a contact sport and not just acrobatics. At my capoeira school, they’ll never allow that.
So, Tyler and I get together once in a while, and we agree—for a few minutes only—to really go for it.
That’s how I can tell he’s mad at me; I have the bruises to prove it.
Mom called Ollie about this concert Mom’s excited about. Of course, Ollie said yes.
I haven’t gone out of my way to avoid Tyler, but Ollie? I’ve been avoiding her.
She’s a girl, so she doesn’t like having her questions ignored or dodged. And the girl is gorgeous. Obviously, if she wants me to talk, then I’m going to have a hard time resisting. The only solution I’ve come up with is to seem very, very busy.
It was working, too, until Mom booked us all to go to this concert.
The performer, a Chilean tenor named Rodrigo del Pozo, is an old friend of Dad’s from college or something. I remember him from when I was a little kid. His daughter and I used to play together before they moved back to Chile. I never heard his singing, though, which Mom and Dad always said was really special. Mom insists that we go to his concert. He’s a friend of Dad’s, so I guess that’s fair.
We meet in Turl Street outside the college. People in scarves scamper between the music, art, and gift shops, getting in some Christmas shopping. Hefty, wrought-iron streetlights cast an orange glow. The sandstone college buildings look even more golden by night. I love Oxford like this.
Ollie wears the North Oxford preppy fashion. Don’t ask me where they find out the rules, but somehow these girls all dress the same. Ruffled short skirts, cute little tops, tailored velveteen jackets, and pashminas—that sort of thing.
She gives me a big haven’t-seen-you-in-forever-and-I’ve-missed-you hug.
Inside the college chapel, burning candles give the room a solemn, wintry feel. Ollie and I sit a little way behind Mom. The band—there’s only three of them—play old instruments: lutes and those cellolike things. I guess I was about ten years old last time Rodrigo was here. Now I realize that he’s only a few inches taller than me. There are a few flecks of gray in his hair; apart from that he doesn’t seem much older, but then he’s got a sort of youthful face.
Rodrigo and a pretty, raven-haired soprano sing these romantic-sounding songs in Spanish and Italian. Not my scene at all, but after a few songs I’m actually starting to like it.
In fact, I realize that the music is having a strange effect on me. The songs sound medieval, and before long I’m reminded of banquets in castles, horseback quests through forests, and beautiful elves. I steal a glance at Ollie, and I’m more than a little surprised to find her staring straight back. We hold each other’s gaze for a full ten seconds—it feels like eternity. She takes hold of my hand. I freeze; I simply have no idea what to do.
Ollie leans in close and whispers into my ear, “I keep imagining myself as Arwen from Lord of the Rings.” When she pulls back, I see she’s smiling.
She’s set me up, though, hasn’t she?
“So who am I—Aragorn? Legolas? Don’t say Frodo …”
That wins another smile. I squeeze her hand and try to lean back casually into the hard, uncomfortable pew. But inside my chest, there’s thunder. I can’t take my mind off the warm, slender fingers holding mine. Not for a single second.
After the concert, Mom wants to wait for Rodrigo. He’s delighted to see us both and gives Mom a big hug when they first meet. He also hugs me for a long time, saying, “You’re doing a good job, Josh.”
Mom suggests an Indian meal, which seems to excite Rodrigo. His eyes light up. “Fantastic—let’s go!”
Over dinner, we hear about Rodrigo and his family and how they’re settling back into life in Chile after all those years in Oxford.
Mom doesn’t mention my adventure in Mexico. It’s become our embarrassing little secret.
My son ran off to Mexico with a couple of friends when I was in the mental hospital, and then he ran away from them too, went missing for a few days, and claims to have been abducted by UFOs.
It certainly beats the usual story: My son had a raucous house party while I was out of town.