Inked Star

five.

   Cal and I stayed on the porch after dinner. The dishes were washed, and the food was neatly put away. We sat on the rattan couch as we sipped our coffee. It was not ideal to consume caffeine right before sleeping, but it had no effect on us anymore.

"I always see people pairing coffee with cigarettes," I remarked. "Have you ever tried it?"

His straightforward answer was, "No."

My brother worked in a very demanding industry, and it was safe to assume that almost everyone around him smoked to cope with the stress. Cal, however, was different. I would see him drink from time to time, and that was because he was with his peers. Even then, he wouldn't even finish his bottle. Smoking, however, was out of the question. I wondered if Cairo was the same—if he had vices or if he was the same as Cal and I, who simply outgrew our curiosity and went on with our respective lives without the fear of missing out.

"I saw a 7-Eleven while on my way to the market," I began.

"That was established just a few months ago," Cal replied. "It's fairly new."

I chuckled. "A 7-Eleven. Here."

To be honest, it was such a surreal thought, considering my province had more rice fields and fruit stalls than commercial buildings, and I was used to that. The convenience store stuck out like a sore thumb, but I suppose it was to be expected, considering the general hospital was located just up the hill.

"Cal."

He took a sip from his cup. "Hm?"

My ears quickly adjusted to the crickets' incessant chirps, which became white noise. The stars continued to tremble overhead, but everything else remained still.

"Do you know a certain Cairo Sevilla?"

"Oh, Sevilla," his surname rolled on my brother's tongue in a way I couldn't decipher. It was as if he knew something—as if he was familiar. "He lives nearby. He's around the same age as you."

I nodded. "I bumped into him earlier."

"Did you, now? Did you talk to him?"

"Yeah. He even walked me home."

There was a distinct flicker in Cal's eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. "Are you two acquainted?"

"Not necessarily," I said. I pointed at my back with my thumb. "He was the tattoo artist who inked me. I didn't know he lived here, too."

He smirked. "He was a funny kid."

I cocked my head to the side, and quickly placed my cup on the table in front of us. "How do you know him?"

"He was quite the rebel back in high school. A repeat offender of some sort, so he had a reputation. He's basically the student council's problem child because he would always be on the list. He either got suspended for his consecutive tardiness or for getting caught smoking. I only had to deal with him for a year, but it was a headache."

That answered my question.

"But he's smart," Cal continued. "He was capable enough to be the class valedictorian, but he chose not to. I think that's one of the main reasons why he didn't face expulsion."

"Strange," I muttered. "I never heard about him."

"You had your own world back then," Cal said. "He mellowed down right before graduation, though."

"What happened?"

He laughed, utterly amused. "I think you should ask him that yourself. He'd be able to give a more accurate explanation, anyway."