Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 8

on the next floor down." Hinata nodded again. "Ha— yes, Mother."
    She left then, only the faint scent of lemons and sandalwood swirling through the rooms marking her prior presence in the condo. In her absence he could almost smell the scent of the almond blossoms from the trees which grew in their family garden. His mind conjured the scent so strongly he caught himself reaching up repeatedly to check for fallen petals in his hair. His heart beat in an uneven rhythm, and felt exactly as his ankle had the one time he'd tried to dance over a nasty sprain.
    Hinata moved through the echoing black granite and clear glass enclosed space into his bedroom, and then through the door on the far side to reach the stairs to the roof. He moved among his plants and flowers, watering them, ensuring they each had enough of sun and shade. He himself soaked up sun and shadow in equal measure, as thirsty for them as his plants were.
    His favorites among the flowering plants were the brightly colored impatiens. Their fuchsia heads drooped if exposed over long to the harsh rays of the midday sun, but with a little water they raised their brilliant petals toward the sky quickly. Delicate and resilient, they gave Hinata hope. If the fragile seeming blossoms could recuperate after days without water, and look as beautiful as the day he purchased them with Andre, then perhaps there was hope that he, too, could somehow thrive in this place?
    Hinata sat on the small wooden bench Andre had placed in the exact center of the garden. The bench was made of wood for him, and precisely centered to appease his mother's drive for perfection. He settled onto the smooth, sun warmed wood beneath an airy awning of bright yellow fabric and finally, finally the heavy pressure on his chest relented. He drew in his first full breath since breakfast at his family's dining table that morning, and smiled. When he spied the small fountain his father had insisted on installing, Hinata laughed out loud.
    His father put the fountain there ostensibly to help keep the air of the garden cool enough to be healthful. The small stone sculpture at the heart of the piece his father chose depicted two traditional Japanese samurai. One figure stood taller than the other, broader of shoulder, and sporting a full beard. The other, more youthful looking figure leant against the first. His head was thrown back against the shoulder of the taller figure in what might be agony. The small, stony features were drawn up into a grimace. The arm of the older samurai might have been comradely support of a wounded subordinate, except for the tender expression on the taller figure's face. Well, that and the way he held his companion's jade dragon (or as Hinata's mother would insist, in proper American English, his naked cock) clutched in his fist. The spray of the fountain was cleverly placed, making it nearly impossible to see either the older samurai's hand or the younger one's cock. Hinata had not realized exactly what the two men were doing until Andre shut the fountain off one day to clean it while Hinata was still in the garden.
    Turning to Hinata, a sly smile playing at the edges of his mouth, Andre nodded his head toward the small figures. "Your dad picked this one out especially for you. Told me he figured you'd appreciate it. He asked me to be sure to show it to you properly today. You know, your mother has never seen it when the water is not running." Hinata struggled momentarily to reason out why his father would want him to see this today— oh. Today was his birthday. He turned eighteen on this day.
    Hinata blinked furiously against the stinging in his eyes. He had forgotten. Tomorrow there was an exam in two of his courses, the first major tests of the semester, and he must focus on excelling. His mother called this very morning to tell him so. The words on the page of his textbook blurred. Andre stood. Next to the fountain, hidden within a clever wooden sculpture, was a tiny refrigerator. Hinata's father had reminded Andre seven times on the day he left home to come to college to be sure to stock the tiny cold box with juice and water drinks. Andre reached into it, pulling out a single cupcake with sunshine yellow frosting and a single candle and two orange sodas. His deep voice rolled up from his massive chest. "Happy Birthday, Mr. Hinata. Eat your breakfast and pack up your books, young man. We have to make an extra stop today on our way to the college, so we'll have to