The Neighbor // Brallon

In Cape Town

The cobblestone streets are lined with multicolored houses, pigmented with bright pinks, oranges, greens and blues. Women dance down the street in ornate clothes sweeping to their feet as they swirl in perfect unison. The air is thick with smells of curry, stewing with meats and vegetables, sweet with coriander and saffron. Musicians line the streets, some playing guitars, ukuleles or plastic buckets with drum sticks. There are street vendors selling everything from flowers to birds to small pastries decorated with frosting flowers or toasted almonds. It's an overwhelming sense of humans doing things that they love.

As we walk, Brendon points out things to the kids about the culture of the city and I comment on the musicians along with him. We stop in an amphitheater observing a performance and the kids watch in aw. The girl on the stage finishes her dance quickly and steps off. Brendon turns back to our students and says,

"I want you guys to walk around and observe the culture. For your final assignment for both mine and Dallon's class you will write an essay on the culture of Cape Town South Africa, okay?" They groan like teenagers do, "hey! You guys are in South Africa on the schools dime... they can't all be beach days!"

"Meet back here in three hours!" I shout at them as they disperse in small groups, their cameras and notebooks in hand. Brendon turns back to me and rests his head in my lap. Sighing, his eyes cloud over and I know he's thinking again. I know something is up with him. He just seems... different. "Want a cup of coffee? I think we passed a coffee shop on the way here..."

"That sounds awesome," he says sitting up and rubbing his eyes. We walk back to the small alley shop with our hands tangled together and a sweet, contented silence over us.

He's different here. I know that. He wakes up an hour earlier than he should with sweat dripping off of his brow and clutching the sheets or me, whichever he can get to first. He has bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep and his beautiful eyes lack their usual sparkle. He stares. He stares straight ahead of him with clouds dancing over his irises stained with chocolate no matter what we're doing, like he's living inside a separate dream.

I'm sure that he's okay, but I worry.

We get to the coffee shop, ducking under the plastered header and stepping into the dark but warm room. The floor is covered in bright textile rugs, overlapping with bursts of color under ornately designed throw pillows.

"Aweh!" A young woman greets from behind the counter. "Sit where you'd like... I'll be back in a few moments."

We sit besides each other on green an purple pillows. He looks past me and into the street where a few of our students pass us giggling and snapping pictures of their surroundings.

"So how's your trip so far?" He asks me happily, focusing his gaze back on me.

"I love it here, it's so beautiful," I smile and kiss him lightly on the lips.

"What can I get you guys?" The woman says coming up in front of us.

"Two coffees please," I look at Brendon. "One with more cream than coffee, and one black..."

She smiles, "of course... be right back."

"So you wanna get married here?" I ask him, giddy with excitement at our marriage.

"I'm not quite sure..."

"What?!" I whisper yell in the midst of the quiet room, "what's wrong?"

"I just-" he looks down at his lap, "nothing."

I place my hand over his, "bren?" He looks up at me softly, "talk to me..."

"There's nothing wrong!" He pulls his hand away and glares at me. The woman comes over with two cups of coffee in deep blue ceramic cups, bright green saucers and small stirring spoons.

"Can I get anything else for you two?"

Brendon stares out the window again, clearly avoiding my gaze, "no." I smile softly, "not now..."

"Well if you need anyth-"

"Thanks," Brendon says looking at her dismissively. She looks at her feet and turns away from our corner.

"Bren..."

"What Dallon?!" His eyes are wide and angry. I lean away from him, completely surprised at his behaviors.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Nothing! Jesus Christ!"

I inhale, clearly upset, "bullshit Brendon..."

"It's none of your concern, okay?" He stirs sugar into his coffee.

"None of my concern?" I laugh, "of course it's my concern. In case you forgot, we're getting married in a month?"

He sets down his spoon aggressively, "Jesus fucking Christ, Dallon..."

"I just want to-"

"I'm going to go take a nap," he stands up quickly, grabbing up his backpack and camera before storming out of the small room leaving me alone with my coffee. I sit still in a state of shock. He had never treated me like that.

"Are you two...?" I hear the woman's voice from behind me.

"Yeah... I'm sorry for the way he acted," I quickly spell out apologies to the woman for Brendon and stand to pay for the coffee.

"That's not the worst I've seen," she smiles a smile that makes me smile. "My name is Jemila, but you can call me Jenna," (CONGRATS TO JENNA! The winner of our little contest... threeway marriage I'm a fan ;) ).

"That's a beautiful name..."

"it means beauty," she smiles and laughs again, "is he okay?" Only then did I realize that she had been watching the whole time and that we were indeed the only people in the shop.

"No I don't think so," I smile sadly at her.

"You look like you could use some cheering up," she walks away from me, grabbing a ring of keys and coming back to me.

"Oh! Erm..." my stomach turns, what is she offering? "I'm gay yanno?"

"I know that!" She yells from the back room clanging something against the chipped tile floor, "I want you to witness understanding."
*
"In 1867, district six was built; a home for immigrants and the poor really. The government bought the land later and destroyed almost everything, but the district has always been a hub for creation," she says swiftly as we walk through the museum. It's a large open room with vaulted ceilings, a church, that's what she told me. She gestures to the picture collages on the walls, "after the demolition, creation was all we had..." she points at pictures on the wall from every era. Butterfly collars and bell bottom jeans to bright colors and electropop, black and white pictures of performers, dancers and artists.

My eyes rest on a picture that looks newer, but is still black and white. I recognize his lips first, then his eyes and eyebrows, his body. He's smiling into a mic, looking at a porcelain boy next to him. They're sweaty, like they've been performing for a while and the lights were burning holes in they're eyes. He's close to the other boy, only separated by the microphone. He looks at him the way he looks at me. That's when I realize.

"I, uh, I think I need to go..." I thank her over stuttering phrases and run out of the museum. She was right. I had to witness understanding.

SORDY THIS TOOK SO LONG SCHOOL STARTED LAST WEEK, love you all -Syd