02-02-2018, 10:42 PM
Jet lay back on the burgundy leather couch, his long legs stretched out before him, crossed at the ankle. One arm was stretched out over the back of the couch, the other was tucked behind his head. Staring up at the ceiling with eyes half closed, he looked completely at ease. A nervous jiggling of his foot belied that notion. In his outstretched hand he held a piece of wrinkled paper. Scrawled in pencil and in a delicate child-like writing was a note from a cousin whom he’d met when he was 18 years old. When his mother decided he and his sister should know the other side of their family and brought them to China.
Jet and Melany had only just graduated from high school and were still very close. The years and insanity had changed that to such a degree that looking back on it troubled him more than he wanted to admit. China had been amazing. His mother had not been sure she’d be able to understand anyone, but after only being there for a day or two she picked the language back up quickly. She had known it as a child, and her brain had retained it even when she hadn’t consciously realized it. By the third day she was like a native. He and Melany had no idea what anyone was saying and did their best at simple pleasantries, but they were always very relieved to find people who could speak English in the small inland city where his mother’s family lived. - The waiter at the first restaurant they went to, studying to be a lawyer and practicing his English with the many tourists who frequented the restaurant for its familiar food. - The kindly bus driver that got them home after they had gone out on an adventure on their own and gotten hopelessly turned around. - The little street urchin who begged at a corner outside a confectionary and cussed them out when in their ignorance of the currency apparently gave her insultingly little. They had laughed and Melany had clung to his arm and looked up at him with love and respect.
His sister’s black hair was short then and spiked up with the ends painted purple with hair paste. Their mother had hated it – was embarrassed she had chosen the week before meeting her Chinese relatives to do something dramatic with her hair. But crazy hair styles were quite common and Melany, with her darker skin and eyes, fit right in. Jet was the one who stood out. At 6’4” tall he stood out in the US. But the long curly brown hair and his striking and obviously Caucasian features made him more exotic than he was even at home, where already girls swooned when he smiled and hit a few notes on his bass.
But his mother had been right on when she said her Chinese family was very cultured and traditional and would not approve. Jet and Melany had found them to be very tense and unfriendly. Oh, they had been polite and welcoming in their own way. And it was obvious that his aunt was glad to see her half sister. But very … how had Melany put it? Like the false front of a movie set. They were attractive people, well dressed, with impeccable manners, but it all seemed so rigid and fake to someone from a culture like theirs, where people didn’t have secrets.
Daiyu had been probably 5 or 6 years old. But she was Mara now. She said they called her Daiyu still, but she was Mara. But back then she was Daiyu. And she was bright and energetic and inquisitive and strange and fascinated by Melany who took to her like a little sister, braiding her hair and even going so far as to hiding a stripe of purple hair paste on a strand of hair at the nape of her neck. Her mother had found it later in the day, and without a word of reprimand to either girl, had taken Daiyu by the hand and brought her to the bathroom to wash the offending color off the rich black lock.
At some point during their stay something happened to change the sweet little kid. They had heard a commotion in the night, figured Daiyu had had some kind of night terror or something – or at least that’s what his mother had thought. The next day she was not at breakfast and when they inquired about her health the parents had looked at each other. The father, who hardly ever spoke told them she was still sleeping. And realizing they were prying, changed the subject. But Melany couldn’t let it go. She had spent a lot of her time with the child and pushed her way into her darkened bedroom when the parents had left the house. The servant left in charge of watching the girl was frightened by Melany and answered questions the parents would not have liked her to know. Mel had relented after making the servant cry and promised not to tell the “adults” what she had said. But since the girl’s English was not that great, Melany was only able to ascertain slightly more than they had heard at breakfast.
Daiyu suffered from debilitating nightmares and the parents had finally called a doctor. The girl slept because she was drugged, but her sleep was fitful, like whatever drug they had given her was not really helping. Melany held her hand and sang to her, but she didn’t wake up. The next day was the last one they spent there. Daiyu never came out to say goodbye.
And now she had a new name, was stuck in some kind of psych hospital in Moscow. Humanitarianism was not exactly Jet’s thing. But …. family. Family was first. If nothing else had stuck with him from his upbringing, that had. It made Melany’s final desertion sting all the more.
Jet sat up and reached across the glass coffee table before him to grab his phone, and hit the contact for his PA. Before it even rang, Joshua Ledger picked up.
“Josh. I need you to get in touch with Beto’s secretary. I need a real appointment. Tell him I have an interesting dilemma and I need his professional services.”
"I'll see what I can do."
Josh's voice came through the phone and then he hung up.
Jet set the phone and the missive down on the table in front of him. Elbows on knees, chin cupped in hands, he read through it again.
Edited by Jet, Feb 2 2018, 11:36 PM.
Jet and Melany had only just graduated from high school and were still very close. The years and insanity had changed that to such a degree that looking back on it troubled him more than he wanted to admit. China had been amazing. His mother had not been sure she’d be able to understand anyone, but after only being there for a day or two she picked the language back up quickly. She had known it as a child, and her brain had retained it even when she hadn’t consciously realized it. By the third day she was like a native. He and Melany had no idea what anyone was saying and did their best at simple pleasantries, but they were always very relieved to find people who could speak English in the small inland city where his mother’s family lived. - The waiter at the first restaurant they went to, studying to be a lawyer and practicing his English with the many tourists who frequented the restaurant for its familiar food. - The kindly bus driver that got them home after they had gone out on an adventure on their own and gotten hopelessly turned around. - The little street urchin who begged at a corner outside a confectionary and cussed them out when in their ignorance of the currency apparently gave her insultingly little. They had laughed and Melany had clung to his arm and looked up at him with love and respect.
His sister’s black hair was short then and spiked up with the ends painted purple with hair paste. Their mother had hated it – was embarrassed she had chosen the week before meeting her Chinese relatives to do something dramatic with her hair. But crazy hair styles were quite common and Melany, with her darker skin and eyes, fit right in. Jet was the one who stood out. At 6’4” tall he stood out in the US. But the long curly brown hair and his striking and obviously Caucasian features made him more exotic than he was even at home, where already girls swooned when he smiled and hit a few notes on his bass.
But his mother had been right on when she said her Chinese family was very cultured and traditional and would not approve. Jet and Melany had found them to be very tense and unfriendly. Oh, they had been polite and welcoming in their own way. And it was obvious that his aunt was glad to see her half sister. But very … how had Melany put it? Like the false front of a movie set. They were attractive people, well dressed, with impeccable manners, but it all seemed so rigid and fake to someone from a culture like theirs, where people didn’t have secrets.
Daiyu had been probably 5 or 6 years old. But she was Mara now. She said they called her Daiyu still, but she was Mara. But back then she was Daiyu. And she was bright and energetic and inquisitive and strange and fascinated by Melany who took to her like a little sister, braiding her hair and even going so far as to hiding a stripe of purple hair paste on a strand of hair at the nape of her neck. Her mother had found it later in the day, and without a word of reprimand to either girl, had taken Daiyu by the hand and brought her to the bathroom to wash the offending color off the rich black lock.
At some point during their stay something happened to change the sweet little kid. They had heard a commotion in the night, figured Daiyu had had some kind of night terror or something – or at least that’s what his mother had thought. The next day she was not at breakfast and when they inquired about her health the parents had looked at each other. The father, who hardly ever spoke told them she was still sleeping. And realizing they were prying, changed the subject. But Melany couldn’t let it go. She had spent a lot of her time with the child and pushed her way into her darkened bedroom when the parents had left the house. The servant left in charge of watching the girl was frightened by Melany and answered questions the parents would not have liked her to know. Mel had relented after making the servant cry and promised not to tell the “adults” what she had said. But since the girl’s English was not that great, Melany was only able to ascertain slightly more than they had heard at breakfast.
Daiyu suffered from debilitating nightmares and the parents had finally called a doctor. The girl slept because she was drugged, but her sleep was fitful, like whatever drug they had given her was not really helping. Melany held her hand and sang to her, but she didn’t wake up. The next day was the last one they spent there. Daiyu never came out to say goodbye.
And now she had a new name, was stuck in some kind of psych hospital in Moscow. Humanitarianism was not exactly Jet’s thing. But …. family. Family was first. If nothing else had stuck with him from his upbringing, that had. It made Melany’s final desertion sting all the more.
Jet sat up and reached across the glass coffee table before him to grab his phone, and hit the contact for his PA. Before it even rang, Joshua Ledger picked up.
“Josh. I need you to get in touch with Beto’s secretary. I need a real appointment. Tell him I have an interesting dilemma and I need his professional services.”
"I'll see what I can do."
Josh's voice came through the phone and then he hung up.
Jet set the phone and the missive down on the table in front of him. Elbows on knees, chin cupped in hands, he read through it again.
Edited by Jet, Feb 2 2018, 11:36 PM.