The Outlier II

NINE*

It was a great change of circadian rhythm to wake up to the sun shining in on me from the window of my house as opposed to the constant rain and gloom of Forks or London. As I rose, I wore an outfit equivalent to that of tourists in Greece, almost all white and linen. As frightening as the prospect of being viewed as a tourist in my own home country was, nothing was going to let me experience discomfort in the place of relishing the new, rare warm breeze. 

The drive to the art museum was enjoyable, though slightly awkward. There weren't shared experiences to bond over with my cousin who had been raised in the Dominican Republic though he made sure to update me on the coolest reggaeton music that would likely be played around so I wouldn't look like a complete rookie. Every once in a while he made sure to flame me for my horrendous Spanish, either it sounded too English at times or too Spaniard at other times. 

Just before I hopped out of the passenger side of my car, I looked at Emilio with a sarcastic tone, "Hasta la vista, primo," and jumped out. As I glanced back I could almost see his mortified expression as he hadn't pieced together the fact that it was purely ironic. 

It was far from crowded at the art museum, perhaps it was because all the tourists prefer to spend their time in Santa Domingo but regardless, it was a win for me. The art inside was some of the most beautiful I'd ever seen, a part of me wished that the tickets were more expensive or there were more admirers. It was almost a journey in time, traveling across archaeological art and progressing into the more modern pieces, each having a small tug at a piece of my heart where the artists and I met, a piece of me that is so small and meek under the layers of all my identities that it needed that art for it to be brought forth. 

Just as I came into the last pavilion, I saw a familiar silhouette, though it was her back, I could recognise her hair from miles away. I could recognise her cropped hair and skin-like lines sneaking their way around her head, but I had to say, the billowy sundress paired with a leather jacket seemed slightly uncharacteristic for the season. As discreetly as I could, I walked past her, but she seemed to have noticed. 

"Hey," I heard her say. I turned around as if I hadn't noticed her prior and gave a faint smile. 

"You were at the dinner last night," I falsely recalled. I remembered her crystal clear. "Apollonia, right?" 

"And you're Kai, right?" she said. 

"That's me," I said as charmingly as I could muster. Before the conversation could turn awkward, she spoke. 

"You live in Washington?" she asked. 

I chuckled, "yes. But, certainly not glamourous Seattle. I live in a small, unassuming town." 

"Really? What's it called?" she asked, genuinely interested. And soon, all the art fell to the back burner as we took off, walking around the same pavilions and art wings as we did prior, only this time we had each other's company. I was sure I had seen the same painting thrice, but who was I to ruin this for myself?

"I live in Forks," I said, "about three or four hours away from Seattle." 

"Yikes," she smiled, "I guess we really have to save up for a meaningful time to visit each other." 

I found a smile sneaking its way on my face. She was already intending to make plans to see me in Washington.

I couldn't help but chuckle again, "I guess so." 

"But forget Washington, it's doom and gloom there all the time," I chuckled. "What's it like in the Big Apple?" I asked. 

"I lived in Washington Heights," she began. 

"Seems like you have a thing for familiar names," I interjected. 

"Yeah," she laughed, a breathy and rhythmic laugh. "I guess I also have a thing for places that feel like home." 

I couldn't help but feel a wave of warmth rush over me as she spoke. Apollonia had this serene aura that put me at ease. Trying to be discrete, I returned her smile. "What's Washington Heights like?"  

She paused for a moment, a tranquil smile gracing her lips, though the speed and excitement flowing from her words was the furthest thing from tranquil. "Living in Washington Heights was like being embraced all the time. The streets were never quiet music and food cart guys doing their own marketing. It was a place where people celebrated their heritage. It was like everything that made us all Latino, joined together in a small neighborhood and we all celebrated it every day."

I nodded, imagining the scene she described so vividly, "and Seattle, how does it compare?" I asked.

Apollonia's expression turned serene, almost stone-like as she turned her attention to a captivating sculpture nearby. "Seattle is different, Kai. It's a city that encourages introspection and connection with nature, but that's just Washington. The tranquil landscapes, the calming presence of mountains and the ocean—it all creates a serene backdrop. But sometimes you can't help but feel so alone."

"That's just part of the moving out experience," I comforted her with an amicable smile. As our conversation continued, I found myself subtly steering it toward topics that I hoped would pique her interest. I spoke about my own creative pursuits, hoping to help her shed more of her layers so I could explore Apollonia more than I could otherwise. I spoke about my love for music and writing, hoping she would relay similar interests and speak about them with the same interest but tenfold. 

As we exchanged thoughts and shared our passions, I couldn't help but admire Apollonia's calm and thoughtful demeanor that transformed the moment a topic she adored would come into the spotlight. Her eyes would suddenly light up, and she would smile, almost as if she didn't notice how she blossomed the moment she was surrounded by something she loved. Her presence felt like a soothing balm to anyone. I wished deeply that I could take her with me, in mere minutes she placed a dam around the gaping heart that once left me weak and helpless. With her, I could forget it all even if for just a moment. 

"You know, my friend and co-worker transferred to UWash recently," I mentioned, hoping that would casually segue into her inviting me for a hangout and giving me her number, "I'll probably end up going up to Seattle a lot more often than I used to." 

"Co-worker?" she asked. I silently cursed myself for mentioning that as the conversation took a turn I didn't think was salvageable. "Where did you work?" 

"A bookshop," I shrugged, "it's nothing big but it's kind of become a comfort place and a slack-off place. We hardly get any business so she and I would just hang out there, so that's where co-workers turned into friends." 

"Well, tell your friend to keep her eyes peeled for me," she smiled, "I'll be coming to see her this fall." 

"And do invite me to your outings if you ever come up to Seattle," she said, "I'd love to see you again." 

Just as I was ready to claim defeat, her phone buzzed and she glanced down at her hand. Her eyes widened as if she had almost forgotten something crucial. She quickly ignored the message and handed me her phone. "Give me your number." 

I could feel myself bubbling in elation. I scored. I won. I triumphed. I put my hand in my back pocket and slid out my own phone, handing it to her. "This is necessary in case you find yourself incapable of pushing the call button, know that I'll be able to do it with no hesitation," I riskily said. But instead of looking mortified, she tried to hide a smile and looked down, pushing the buttons of my phone as I did the same. 

"I'll see you around, Kai." 

"You too, Apollonia." 

As I hopped back into the car, I could see Emilio eyeing me suspiciously. "What's got you smiling?" 

"Nothing."