“Be quiet. Someone might hear you. We could get arrested.”
“Do you really think they’d arrest 14 year olds?”
“They’d arrest a 14 year old’s parents.”
“My father should be arrested.”
“Why?”
“Do you promise, as my best friend, to not tell anyone.”
“Sure.”
“He raped me. Don’t run away from me Jatupon. Promise you won’t.”
“No, of course I won’t.” He felt nervous. He didn’t know what to say. “I’d never do anything like that,” he affirmed.
“So, you will buy the coffee?” she asked; and on the second floor of Black Canyon the fumes of the molecules of coffee steam and “love” slapped his senses. From the window of the air conditioned restaurant they watched motor gondolas and express boats stir the waters the way housewives in America would watch as their electric blenders stir cake mixes-each wave falling, being sucked into the force that pulled in the new part of the wave and then being pushed out into the wave again. It was all so fast and all so interconnected and systematic that each of the waves looked like frozen motion or like society itself.