A Song for Julia

fact, local sub shops are pretty much what I survive on. But this was different, if only because I was so used to seeing a certain look at Chinese restaurants in Boston. Plastic signs above the counter with pictures of the food, cheap pictures with oriental themes in badly constructed frames. This place could have been a burger joint anywhere, if it weren’t for the customers and staff and that not a single person other than Julia and me spoke English.
    The waitress appeared with tea in a small steel urn and water, but no menus. Julia spoke with her in Chinese, and the waitress answered. After a minute or so of the two chattering at each other, the waitress nodded and walked away.
    “What exactly were you two chatting about?”
    “Dinner,” she replied. “Trust me. This will be good.”
    “Any other surprises? What other languages do you know?”
    “Um …” She bit her lower lip. The combination of that, and the stray hair hanging down the side of her face, made me want to lean forward and touch her. “I speak French, Cantonese, Mandarin, a little bit of Japanese. Some Spanish. Kind of goes with growing up the way I did. And I was always good with languages. It’s good to know what the locals are saying.”
    I swallowed. “Do you read physics books in your spare time?”
    She wrinkled her nose at me and tried to change the subject. “No. Definitely not. What about you? What do you do in your spare time?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t get any spare time, really. When I’m not with the band, I’m working or spending time with my little brother.”
    “Not in college?”
    “No, I didn’t finish high school. Dad and I never saw eye to eye, so I left home when I was sixteen.”
    Her mouth dropped open. “What do you do, then?”
    “Cook. And play guitar and sing. The band is going well, that’s where my focus is.”
    “That’s risky,” she replied. “Not going to school. What happens if the band doesn’t work out?”
    I shrugged. “Risk doesn’t bother me. We’re going to make it.”
    “I hope so,” she replied, doubt written on her face.
    “Hey,” I said, irritated. “Don’t judge me. I get plenty of that from my father.”
    She shook her head. “I’m not judging you.”
    I raised an eyebrow. “You are. You’re going to college with the arrogant chowderheads across the river who plan to run the world some day. You’re sitting there right now, wondering why you’re having dinner with some guy who never figured out algebra.”
    Her reply was sharp. “Don’t tell me what I think.”
    I blinked. That wasn’t what I expected. Her expression was fierce as she spoke again.
    “I’m not as wedded to the whole masters of the universe thing as you might think. Some of the people I go to school with are a bunch of overprivileged kids, yes. But I also go to school with people who busted their asses to get where they are. My roommate’s mother waits tables at two different jobs for something like two dollars an hour, and sold her car in order to make up the shortfall in tuition this year.”
    “Hey…sorry,” I said. “You’re right. I make a lot of assumptions.”
    “It’s all right,” she replied. “And you’re right … maybe I was judging you a little. Everyone and everything I know points to education, doing well in college, going to graduate school, all of it.”
    I nodded. “Yeah, I get that. But sometimes those things aren’t even options. If I’d stayed home, living with my dad … we were at war with each other. At least now I can go over and see Sean and nobody gets hurt. Watching out for him is what matters.”
    “You love your brother. I can hear it.”
    I grinned. “He’s a good kid. Misunderstood. But a good kid.”
    The waitress returned then, with a platter of food. I didn’t recognize anything as she placed the plates in front of us. I kept my mouth shut as she filled the table up. She didn’t leave forks, just chopsticks. This ought to be entertaining.
    When the waitress left, I said, quietly, “I don’t recognize any of this food.”
    “It’s real Chinese food, not the stuff you get at takeout. Cantonese. Try it.”
    She pointed out which dishes were spicy and then laughed a little as I tried out the chopsticks. Next thing I knew, she was showing me how to use them, and we were laughing again. The conversation shifted: school, life, and politics. It was crazy. Except for Serena, I’d never spent this much time with a girl, not just talking. Don’t