I ALWAYS HATED MY NAME. BUT I LOVE THE WAY YOU SAY IT//
♪

03: call my name

SUNDAYS MEANT HUNCHED shoulders, heavy limbs, the eyes of the repentant doing all but repenting. It meant holy water dripping from the cracked roof, down his forehead. Fat drops of anointing soaking his epidermis. It meant the smell of burnt donuts and sloppy joes wafting in from outside the church. Tempting the congregation the way Jesus was tempted in the wilderness. Sundays meant trying.

Trying to listen as Pastor Ben talks about intimacy with God. Trying not to devise strategies to avoid Timothy, the youth leader. Trying not to think about how the bible that Jun bought for him is at home, crinkled and worn out, not from use but carelessness. Trying not to think about how good Mel's legs look in her yellow skirt.

The keyword is trying.

When the service ends it's not his imagination, he is the first one out of his seat. Jamming his wrinkly bible under his armpit Mamés walks briskly. Trying again. Trying. Trying. Trying. Trying to convince himself he is not fleeing. Timothy has been trying to get him to join the choir for a while, ever since Mel accidentally let it slip that he's a decent singer.

Accidentally my foot, he thinks. Decent my foot.

He doesn't realize he is suffocating until he is outside behind the peeling church building swallowing warm bursts of air, loosening the noose—fuck, the tie, loosening the tie around his neck and falling back on the grass like a bag of potatoes.

That's where Jun finds him roughly fifteen minutes later watching cotton clouds gulp the sun.

Jun stares down at him bemusedly, but worry folds like origami in the creases of his eyes.  "You okay? You took off faster than usual."

Mamés stares back. What was usual? A light jog? A quick sprint? Why was this even usual? There was a time he didn't feel much like escaping. A time when he'd be the last to leave waiting for a chance to play on the big piano. His legs weren't even long enough to reach the pedals but Father Mike was there ready to be the extra stretch of limbs he needed. So he could play and bask in the warm shafts of sunlight spilling from the stained glass. While his mahogany fingers danced on the ivory stage as he made music. Made magic.

The magic is gone now and all that's left is a hollow cavity that throbs. It's harder to feel empty when you know what it's like to be full.

His jaw is tight, a steel trap. He doesn't want to burden anyone with his problems. But Jun may be the only one he felt comfortable telling. The worry in his eyes prises open Mamés' jaws of silence.

"It's just hard to be there sometimes," he says quietly, after a stretch of silence.

"You know you don't have to keep coming here." Jun's eyes are too big, almost childlike, full of sympathy and kindness. The same kindness that adopted a black child into his Asian family. The same kindness that gave him a roof over his head when Lulu was struggling to keep her head afloat. The same kindness that allowed him to call him, dad.

God. He can feel the back of his eyes beginning to burn. His throat contracting.

"I know," his voice is a mere whisper, anything louder and the damp will crumple. "But if I stop it means he wins. I don't want him to hold any kind of power over me."

Jun bends, taking hold of his wrist he plucks Mamés off the ground like gravity and mass are meaningless before his glorious hugs. The type that echoes even after it's over. "He has no power over you," he whispers fervently into the skin of his neck.

They stay like that until his breaths begin to slow. Mamés is the first one to pull away dabbing the corners of his eyes quickly but they are thankfully dry. Embarrassment flutters in his ribcage and he looks down, away, eyes rolling searching for a place to settle that isn't Jun.

If he was with Lulu he'd be able to get away with it. The tectonic plates of awkwardness embedded in their chest would clash and cancel each other. But Jun isn't so nice. He drapes a heavy arm around Mamés's shoulders and pulls him flush against his sternum as they shuffle to his car. Mamés finds himself shouldering a lot of Jun's weight on his shoulders. They probably look like a pair of inebriated fools.

His grin is boyish despite his age, full of youth and mirth. "No need to be ashamed, kid. At least you didn't throw up on my shoes."

"Jesus, it was just one time," Mamés mumbles with an eye roll, jabbing an elbow into Jun's midriff but he is smiling too.

In that second he allows himself to be selfish. To think about the 'could have been'. If Lulu hadn't cheated. If she hadn't outgrown their mismatched family of four. Jun says he doesn't blame her. He used to tell Mamés back then when he couldn't understand. Couldn't understand why their family was splitting, when they were so happy.

When he was so happy.

Jun would say. "Your mum's beautiful, Mamés. Beautiful and wild like an exotic bird. You can't possibly cage her down if you truly loved her."

So they split (as amiable as possible). There were moments after they packed their things and moved out. Nights when Lulu had gone out to see a friend (she'd be right back she'd lie) that Mamés thought he didn't love his mother because all he wanted to do was cage her. As long as it meant she'd be with him.

Mamés heaves a slow deep breath and Jun's arm tightens around him in response. He shakes his head dislodging the memory. "You took your sweet time coming out."

"Some of us actually like to get some one on one time with the Lord, you know."

They walk to the car in silence. The parking lot is mostly empty making him wonder how long he slept for. An hour? Two? He has a shift today in a few hours at Mercury, the restaurant where he works and he can't afford to miss it.

The apricot sun hangs high in the cerulean sky. Fat, hot, and swollen like the sweat rolling off his back. Once they made it to Jun's Chevy the first thing he does, is turn on the air conditioning. But Jun cranks down his window, defeating the process.

Jaw flexing, Mamés turns to him with a look but Jun has a look waiting for him too. The 'I'm not your mother so don't even think of telling me what to do' look. So he swallows his words with a huff.

"I just want to enjoy the sweltering heat for a few minutes. It's going to start pouring soon." He explains as he backs out of the driveway.

"Really?" Mamés scoffs, contempt paints his tone. "And did the Lord tell you that, by any chance?"

"No, my phone did." Jun deadpans.

That shut him up.

Jun tries to tune into a station, but the radio is all static. "Guess I'll have to take this back to Gary again," he mutters under his breath. Then to Mamés, he says. "Didn't see your mom at the service, everything all right?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. She's still a little drunk." The second the words are out he wishes he can shove them back up. Even before Jun purses his lips and narrows his eyes. He rushes to explain. "She was upset about not getting the part. That's why I was kind of late, I had to make sure she was alright before I left."

There's a pregnant pause where Mamés waits for his verdict. It comes a second later when they stop at a red light. "My offer still stands, you know?" His words are carefully aimed bullets to his gut. "If you ever feel you need a break and want to live with me. You can."

"I am not going to leave my mom," he answers quickly but not quickly enough. Not before the guilt coils, heavy and solid, like a snake in the pit of his stomach. Because in that split-second before he answered, he'd already imagined the infinite universes segregated in different planes connecting if he said 'yes'.

"Lulu needs me," Mamés says. It's easier to get the words out because they are true. "I have to take care of her."

Jun grimaces like hearing the words physically causes him pain. The light turns green but the car sits still. The world sits still. "You're the child, Mamés," he enunciates carefully. His eyes are wide as if he's trying to explain something difficult to an infant. "Not the parent. It's not your job."

Mamés rakes a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Drive the car," his voice comes out clipped instead of tired. "We are not having this discussion again."

Jun sucks in a sharp breath but if he is hurt by Mamés's words it doesn't show. If anything the tilt of his lips and his eyes paint determination across his features.

Mamés throat constricts.

Somehow he has it in him that Mamés would be better off with him, which he found ridiculous. No one could ever care for him, more than his mother could.

"Jun Please don't," He edges out, voice pleading, almost begging. "Let's not talk about this. I'm not going to leave my mom, okay?" Not yet. "And please don't say any of this to Lulu. She won't let me see you anymore if she knows you're trying to take me away from her."

"Jesus Christ," Jun breathes. "Stop it, you're not some piece of luggage that we are fighting over. It's not like it was going to be forever. I'm just trying to tell you the doors of my home—your home, are always open. Besides, Lulu can't stop me from seeing you, you're my son."

But I'm not though, not really. And that's the fucking problem.

Mamés sighs, a long dramatic thing. "I know Dad. I know. Let's just drop it. Everything's cool."

Jun blinks. A funny expression crosses his face. He turns away and the car begins to move once again. Mamés turns away too, but watches him from the corner of his eyes, the smile that extends on Jun's face is as natural as the word 'dad' falling from his lips.

Mamés rolls his eyes, swallowing a laugh. What a softie. But they must be related somehow since he is one too.

The mood lightens up from then on. The car fills with the sound of Jun's boisterous laughter as they toss words around.

"Has Amy spoken to you yet?" He asks.

"No," Jun replies, frowning. "That's three whole weeks of radio silence. I gotta say, I didn't think she had it in her."

"That's what you get for coming between a girl and her man." Mamés laughs.

The promised downpour comes exactly five minutes later. Jun cranks up his window with a smug smile which Mamés steadily ignores.

They are nearly at his house when Mamés spots a girl walking by the road under the rain. He can't tell if Jun has noticed her too, or if he plans on stopping. He continues to look anxious for some reason as they zoom past her.

It's when they are turning a bend that he realizes. He shoots up in his seat as far as his seatbelt will allow him. "Make a U-turn, Jun!"

Jun looks at him startled, "What?"

"We passed a girl just now, turn back, let's pick her up."

"Where is this coming from?" He asks, but he is already reversing.

Mamés grin is wide. "The Lord."

Because it has to be a streak of divination that he found his glasses this Sunday, or how else would he have spotted Ana Wang?

​

Mamés is a ball of regret.

He didn't think this through. Because if he did he wouldn't be sitting in the driver's seat alone in the car with Ana. He isn't an impulsive person, honest. He's a thinker—a planner. He likes to look at the world a few steps ahead so he can minimize the surprise. Because there is nothing he hated more than his wits sprawled out before him.

Too bad these past few days. He has gotten accustomed to that feeling.

After convincing her they weren't serial killers Jun claimed he wanted to swing by his house to see Lulu. So he dropped at Mamés's place and ordered him to take Ana wherever she needed to go.

The car jolts at a speed bump and he tightens his hand on the wheel. What was Jun thinking?

Was this his idea of taking a hint?

The thought makes his gut contract. First, it was Lulu, now Mel. Everyone keeps pulling, pushing, ripping, ripping, ripping. If Mel didn't love him, he should just move on. But he can't. Not when he knows what he knows. The memory rolls before his eyes like a clip. Flaming cheeks, mouths clashing, wet hot tongues writhing. His body rising and falling like a crescendo. The sound of her hot breaths, pulsating, an echo of his own. The promise of a maybe, of a tomorrow through intoxicated whispers in the dead of the night.

He couldn't loosen the cord she tied around his heart. He didn't want to.

Ana smells like a rainstorm. She looks out the window almost longingly like she would rather be out in the pouring rain than in the comfort of his car. For some reason, the notion makes him irritable. She traces the raindrops on the window, trailing it with her finger as it goes down and when it is out of her reach she finds another and follows it home.

Awkwardness swells in the car like a thick musk. Mamés doesn't know what Jun was trying to achieve but he wishes he didn't leave him alone in a car with a total stranger. He doesn't do well with new people. Or strangers. Or girls.

After what felt like eons passing, Ana breaks the silence suddenly by clearing her throat. Mamés tenses, bracing himself for the task of carrying on a conversation.

"I've been thinking about this all this time, where I have seen you before," she starts slowly, like the humming of an engine. "And correct me if I am wrong, but aren't you that weirdo that walked in the middle of filming and tried to save one of my actors?"

Mamés blinks. Once. Twice. Unsure which to dwell on. The fact that she didn't remember him even though they had been in the car for the past five minutes. Or the fact that she thought he was a weirdo.

He struggles for words to articulate what exactly he's feeling. While their encounter had rolled in his head, over and over again in a dizzy circle until he vomited words strewn together to form a verse.

"I guess it's stupid of me to think I am the only face you've touched this past few days," he says quietly. "Although I'm one of the few black guys in this town. I have been told I blend pretty well with the walls."

He doesn't mean to sound bitter but his tongue is an organ of its own.

Ana's gaze cuts through him sharply. "Don't do that."

Her gaze is fierce. Too fierce for her soft face, for her soft scar, for his soft heart. "What?" He doesn't know how to not sound defensive.

She pins him under a microscope with her honey eyes, and he can't even think. "Don't oversimplify yourself."

His mouth drops open and the car passes under a dripping roof. The sound of the drops of water hitting the top of the car are like bullets. Not—tap, tap, tap but bang, bang, bang. The way his heart sounds when he is angry, a lot like now actually. "What is that supposed to mean?" His voice is loud, for some inexplicable reason. The way his mama told him not to sound when he goes to the city. Because boys that look like him get shot for being too rowdy and loud, for being at the right place at the right time.

"I don't mean to come off so strongly. I'm not a fan of self-deprecating tendencies. When you reduce yourself, you give others the liberty to walk over you."

Ana talks slowly. Not like she doesn't have a lot to say but like she has too much and the world may not be able to handle it. Mamés can't handle it.

His gaze skits between the road and her; rolling around like marbles in a jar. She is looking at him, probably waiting for his reply, but Mamés is slow. He has always been slow on the uptake. A bonafide slowpoke.

When they played them in teams as kids he would always be the last one picked. even when Mel was the one picking players. No one wanted a loser. It wasn't until puberty hit and he grew quick long legs that he started being chosen first. Although, Delilah, his date for the grade eight graduation dance told him he would have been her first choice if he didn't reek so much of unrequited love.

Ana reeks too, of patience and contempt all wrapped in tender flesh. She pulls out her iPod from her bag and waves it at him. "Do you mind?"

He shakes his head, tight-lipped and holds the steering wheel a little tighter. She reminds him of Amy in a way. Even though Amy is round and loud. Ana is more still, condensed, a form of kinetic energy that makes him irritable. They both sound like they want to teach him something.

And it's so fucking annoying.

Why did he tell Jun to turn? What on earth was he thinking—

Mamés stops thinking. His mind literally goes blank because Ana has connected her iPod to his car (okay Jun's but whatever) and his song is playing. The song.

"Oh my God," he looks at her in disbelief, his jaw low. "You know, the twelfth wonder?"

To be fair she looks just as surprised as he does. "Yeah. Do you like them?"

"Like them? I fucking love them. I have listened to starboy probably a million times. This is my favorite song of all time."

Her eyes are wide, with sudden appreciation and he bets his is the same. "I'm surprised, you're the first teenager I've seen that not only likes them but appreciates them. Not gonna lie, I'm rewriting my first impression of you," she says. "Not many people our age appreciate music like this."

"You have Jun to thank for that. He introduced me to the oldies," he is smiling, all of a sudden, with teeth and gums. Still giddy, because she likes/knows his favourite band.

"Jun?"

"Yeah, sorry. He's the guy we dropped off...my stepdad."

"Why did that sound like a question?"

"It's...complicated."

"Somehow I doubt that. The human brain complicates things more than they should be."

It's a conundrum. He wishes she'd shut up so he could just listen to the song. So he wouldn't have to explain how Jun is his ex-stepdad but really he is his real real dad. But he also wants to hear her talk and find out the reason she enjoyed alternative punk. "They got divorced."

"Ah, a divorce," a small pause, then. "I can see why you would say that. It's such a messy affair."

There is another palpable pause where it feels he must say something, so he does, wryly. "You sound like you're talking from experience."

She's back to tracing the window. "That's because I am."

Mamés wants to ask her to elaborate but the chorus has begun to play. Nick, the lead singer's voice causes the hair at the back of his neck to rise.

He can feel all ten of his toes, he wiggles them slightly to the beat, his body humming. This is music. Real music. This is all he wants, for people to feel the way he's feeling when they listen to his music. Like their bodies have been turned inside out. Ribs too tight, the heart too full, so they are bursting at the seams.

Waiting to be set free.

"This is my stop," Ana says, after the third song because they are at their destination. He stops at a cul-de-sac. It's a miracle he made it here with how distracted he was.

Ana exits the car but her iPod is still connected.

"Ana?" He calls.

"Anastasia," she corrects, looking back. "Only friends and family get to call me Ana."

Okay. "You forgot your iPod," he says, awkwardly.

"I didn't. Hold on to it for a bit, it's a small town I can always get it back," she digs her hand into her pocket and produces AirPods. She drops it on the passenger seat. "You look like you need it."

"Are you sure?" He asks warily, but he's already starting the car eager to leave before she changes her mind. She must be loaded if she can hand these out willy-nilly, Mamés can't even borrow Keith his Jordans without some type of written contract.

"Yeah. And not to sound like a creep or anything but...I also know where you live," she says with a shrug and mimes a knife-slicing throat. She takes a few steps forward but turns back to him again suddenly. "Wait, what's your name? I never caught it."

"Right, I'm Mamés. Mamés Beverly."

"Nice to meet you, Mamés."

He likes the way she says his name. Softly, like the lyrics of a song.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

is it just me or is the quality slowly getting worse? what do you think of Ana?