This House We Built on Stilts

i. The Sea

“Mom, I remember now! The cave crayfish—they can’t see at all! They’re blind. We learned it in science class, I think. Ms. Peterson showed us a video, and they were all blind. But they can see with their claws.”

August is 10 years old. He’s talking to his mom as if he is talking to his friend because his mom is his best friend. At 10, most boys spend their winter vacation indoors playing boardgames or building snowmen with other boys their age. But August is in Thailand with his parents and sister, Ryan. A privileged childhood. It is the last family vacation they will take before Ryan enters high school. Their mom is concerned that Ryan will start pulling her distance from the family once high school melodrama comes into play—she knows how cruel teenage girls can be—so she is intent on making this vacation the best one.

It isn’t working. The distance is already there.

Ryan is reading a book by the shore. She has refused, time and time again, to join her brother and parents in building a sandcastle.

“Mom! We can build the sandcastles really tall, and then we can go back to the cave and bring the crayfish here. This will be their kingdom.” August points at the sloppy mound of sand he has collected beside his dad.

August’s father is a businessman. He works in a law firm up on 55th Street in Midtown Manhattan. All the street-sleepers there are cleared by security in the morning, before the lines of men in expensive suits start trickling in. August never goes to the city much. His mom won’t let him. The family lives in a three-acre home in Westchester, complete with a stable for horseback riding in the backyard, and a swimming pool that sometimes doubles as an ice-skating rink.

They live a fine life, and August’s mom should be happy, at least she tells herself so. But there is something eating away at her every night. There is something ticking at the back of her neck when she cooks dinner for her children, when she says grace to god, when she makes love to her husband. Something that shopping trips in the most elite boutiques could not mitigate. She doesn’t know what it is. Five years after she returns from this trip when her daughter leaves for college and her son is in his third year of high school, she discovers what the tick is.

For now, she watches her husband play with August. He’s a kind man with big hands and she is almost afraid that he will crush the structure August spent two hours building.

She looks at her husband again and wonders why she doubts him. He is good to their children. She should trust him. But sometimes her husband comes home very late from work. He smells like whisky, and his tie is loose. He has stars in his eyes, and once, he had a red mark on his neck. She wondered if her age was finally showing. Was she not enough that he had to find something younger, someone whose hair had more shine, whose breasts had more bounce, whose eyes had more lust? She could never be sure though, and she wanted to continue living in her three-acre home, riding horses in the spring, and swimming in the summer. It was enough.

For now, it is enough.

This is the second day of their trip. They still have two weeks in front of them. She shouldn’t think too much, she tells herself.

August clambers onto the tanning chair beside his mom. He shakes her gently, lulling her awake from her sleep.

“Mom, mom! Come look! Dad found these seashells and he put them on top of the castle! Now it looks like a real castle!”

She looks to her left, the shells are multicolored, some dull, some sleek and they adorn the sand like jewelry on skin. Even Ryan puts down her book.

“Woah, dad. That’s pretty cool.” Ryan watches her dad place the last shell on the very top of the castle.

August runs to her and takes her hand. “Ry, we can bring the crayfish from that cave we went to yesterday and they can live here. We can bring them food every morning.”

Ryan laughs. She takes her brother’s other hand and begins to dance with him. He thinks he can boogie, and she loves to watch. When he kicks the sand too hard and falls to the ground, she laughs and falls with him. They tumble to the soft sand, and for a moment they both look at the sky.

“Ry, there are no clouds today. Remember when there were no clouds in New York that day? I said the air had dried up and it would never rain again and we would all die.” August recalls. He is dazed from the sun, upper cheeks slightly shiny and reddened.

That night, the family gathers to watch the Hmong tribe celebrate the final night of their New Year. Young girls dressed in colorful traditional garb stand straight facing opposite their fathers. They throw bright balls of yarn to each other as the elders sit on the sidelines and watch.

Foreigners often come to watch the Hmong tribe celebrate New Year’s. It's something exotic to westerners, watching an Asian tribe engage in their colorful customs. There is no Christmas this December. August and Ryan spend Christmas Eve celebrating Hmong New Years.

August’s mom thinks this is cultural awareness. She's raising her kids to be global citizens who are aware of customs outside of their own. She wishes her husband were more engaged in these customs. He's already back at the hotel room, perhaps sleeping, perhaps eating. He says he cannot stomach Thai food—it’s too spicy or too tangy.

When the Hmong tribe begins to dance they invite several foreigners to join them. Ryan is unsure. She does not feel comfortable moving her body in such a strange manner, with so many people watching her. But August is confident. He has always been confident, even when looking foolish. He pulls her by the hand to the fire where the dancers eagerly welcome the pair.

At first, she feels stiff. She sways to the music and watches her brother lose himself in the Hmong beats. She looks around and sees her mother watching them. She gives her kids a thumbs up and Ryan blushes. She hopes no one else is watching her. She is the only one not dancing.

“Come on Ry! Dance!” August says. He has opened his eyes again, aware of Ryan’s discomfort. “Just do this.” He shakes his hips dramatically.

August begins to sing Ryan’s favorite song from the Ronettes. “So won’t you please, be my little baby. Say you’ll be my darlin’. Be my baby now.” He sings, voice cracking, and she feels herself loosen amidst the laughter. The fire is glowing brighter now, igniting the sides of her vision. All she can hear is August singing, out of sync with the earthy Hmong drums in the background. All she can see is her brother dancing. And she begins to dance herself. Snaps her fingers. Moves her hips. Throws her head back and shakes her hair around. When she looks up, small bits of tinder and ash, still glowing orange from the flames are drifting up into the night sky, blending into the sheet of stars lined up right above her head. She will look back to this moment every now and then, for the rest of her life, and think of it as perfect.

ii. The Inlands

When August wakes up the next morning, he finds that his whole family has left the hotel room. Still in his sleep shirt and underwear, he runs outside into the wooden lobby of the hotel. It is not a regular hotel. It is a hybrid resort—the kind modeled after mud huts. The corridors are made of wood, and the roof is topped with grass. The rooms are luxurious, though. Fine hand-crafted soap bars are placed delicately in the baths, and clean linen sheets are replaced every day.

August runs down to the breakfast area where he finds his family eating. Dad is reading a newspaper and mom and Ryan are talking. Ryan laughs and mom brushes a strand of her hair behind her ears. August approaches the table sits on his sister’s lap.

“Oh Gosh, August!” Mother says with a laugh. “You startled us.”

“Yeah,” laughed Ryan. “We thought you were some abandoned child!” Their mom side-eyes her daughter, but breaks into laughter.

“Today,” August’s father interjects. “We’re going to Khao Luang Mountain for some hiking.” He points at the map. It is on the foot of Thailand that stretches around the gulf—a tiny sliver of land surrounded by water on both sides.

Ryan does not look amused. “The beach is so nice, dad. Can’t we stay here?” She is desperate to relive yesterday. She wants to re-create last night and feel the same sparks she felt by the fire. But things never happen the same way twice.

“Ryan, we didn’t pay a lump-sum to fly halfway around the world and sit in a hotel drinking mango juice. We should explore the island a bit more don't you think, kid?”

There is subtle tension between Ryan and dad. Conflicting interests that will prove troublesome in the future. This time, however, the tension sizzles away under the heat of the lazy morning sun.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right dad.” Ryan smiles. “August will love the hiking.”

They take a private chartered bus to Khao Luang. It is full of old tourists and young couples. Ryan is aware that hers is the only family on board. She wishes she were at the age where she could travel with a boyfriend. But boys are foreigners to her. Back home she is scared of them. She is scared of the girls who started wearing makeup in 8th grade, who wear spaghetti strapped tanks, and giggle when boys snap their bra straps. Ryan prefers t-shirts. In Thailand, though, it is too hot to wear t-shirts, so Ryan wears thick strapped tank tops and shorts. She feels slightly exposed.

Next to her August chats away about the birds he has seen on the trip. He looks at the sky and points as he sees another one. In his palm, a small notepad where he tallies down the birds. He draws another line on the page.

August does not notice that Ryan has, for a moment, disengaged herself from her brother, as she often does, and wandered into her mind. When she looks back at her brother, he is looking at her. His hair is slightly yellow in the afternoon light.

“Right, Ry?” He asks her. “Earth to Ry. Don’t you think we should take one of these birds home?”

“Oh,” Ryan smiles at her brother. “Sorry, but I don’t think mom and dad are that hip.”

“Yeah I guess you’re right. Someday I’ll buy my own birds though. You can come and see them if you like.”

“I’ll definitely come and see them.”

When they hike, their mom and dad stay in the front. They walk side by side, a rare sight, and sometimes even hold hands. Ryan likes to see them hold hands. It is a silent reminder of the past, before her mom grew distant. She and August walk behind. They hike through the shady part of a dense forest. Ryan feels like shrugging out of her skin in the humidity. When the guide stops for a break, she makes her way to the front of the group with August who is examining bugs on a particularly mossy patch of rock. The guide, a young British man, approaches. He picks up a yellow-puss-colored bug and holds it up.

“This kind of bug, you can eat. It’s a bamboo worm.” He says. “Locals will fry them up and eat them as an appetizer. But if you are out for survival you can eat them raw. Like this.” He lifts the bug, still squirming in his finger, to his chapped lips and drops it in.

August stares in awe. “Bugs have a lot of protein, but they can also have bacteria if they aren’t cooked. What if you get sick?”

“I’ve been doing this for years, kid. Trust me.” He picks one up for August and hands it to him. “Try one.”

August hesitates and looks at Ryan. He glances back at the bug and takes it in his hands, then stuffs it in his mouth and chews. He makes a face—he is not used to the texture—but swallows anyways. “Ry, try one.”

Ryan is unsure, but takes the bug from the guide. She bites down and almost throws up but forces herself to swallow.

Later as they continue hiking up, she thinks she can still taste the remnants of the bug in her mouth.

Their mother is now walking hand in hand with her husband. She feels closer to him on this trip than she has in a while. Here, he has not looked at another woman. Secretly, she wants to move here. She thinks of this trip as a sanctuary. When they talk, she can see that he pays attention to her. His eyes no longer drift away, his ears no longer tune her out. Just like the way it used to be when they were dating—when they were first married.

Upon dusk’s arrival, the group has reached the rest stop for the night. There will be two more days of hiking ahead of them. They pitch tents in a relatively flat area of the land and at night, some locals come out to bring them freshly caught meat. August wants to eat it raw but his mom forbids him. She does not want a sick child on this vacation. August pouts but listens. Ryan does not. When her parents aren't looking, she takes a slice of meat, whisks it through the flame and stuffs it in her mouth. She can’t wait to return home and tell her friends how she ate raw meat and bugs.

When they finally reach the climax of their hike and find themselves on the top of Khao Luang Peak, Ryan is overcome with sadness. They had spent three tumultuous days walking, yearning, waiting for the peak, and now that they are here, it almost seems anti-climactic. Too quick of an ending for such a long and anticipated journey. August doesn’t notice. He climbs onto the highest rock and sits for a while, watching the clouds part and the valley below. Ryan takes a seat next to him.

“Remember Bear Mountain?” He asks Ryan. “Remember our first time on that peak? It was only a two-hour hike.”

“Of course I remember.” Ryan answers. “I was eight and you were five.”

August watches the sky and sees two new birds flying overhead. He takes out his notepad and jots something down. Below, he hears two men talking about hunting—which guns would shoot best at birds like these. August scowls.

“Only stupid people hunt.” He whispers under his breath.

Below, August’s mother is watching the birds and her husband is kissing her neck. She feels a year of her age slip away with each kiss. There is so much she is learning about her husband on this trip, she thinks. She takes her hair down from the messy bun she wears and lets it fall loosely around her shoulders. Her husband loves her long hair. He brushes his hands through it, lovingly—greedily, just like when they were in their twenties. She turns around and her teenage daughter is calling for her. They are heading down to camp again.

iii. The Hills

When she wakes, Ryan is a new person. Like the bamboo worms she has eaten, she feels as though she has bitten through her shell, evolved into a new girl. She wears her hair in a ponytail today and rolls up her knee-length shorts to her thighs, forgetting her dislike of her legs. She has become the type of girl that eats raw meat despite the warnings, shows skin, and dances in the bright luminance of the campfire. She wants to bring this person back to New York.

August has changed too. He has packed away his notepad. He says he is done taking notes, watching the birds. He wants to get closer to them.

At dinner one night, August makes it happen. They are seated together in a large dining room, a gazebo-like hut. A buffet is at the center of the circular gazebo. It is full of exotic Thai delicacies—reds, greens, oranges. Next to those dishes sit trays of pizza and a large bowl of pasta. Halfway through dinner, the pasta is drained and there is only one slice of pizza left. The Thai food is still full.

Ryan’s mother and father are seated at the dining table. They are immersed in conversation. Ryan tries to listen, but she doesn’t understand. That’s when she sees August clambering over the railings of the gazebo. There is a bird perched on a flag pole hanging adjacent to the hut. It is a colorful bird, dressed in greens and yellows—a tropical bird that would not be found in New York. August is intent on touching it.

His mother and father are too lost in their conversation to notice, but August climbs onto the railing. He quivers a bit on the thin wooden rails but steadies himself. Then he stands up.

Quietly. Quietly. Quietly.

Do not disturb the bird, August.

He watches the bird and extends his arms. Still, he cannot close the distance between himself and the bird. He pushes onto the tips of his feet.

Behind him his mother is reapplying her lipstick. She has not worn that shade since she was 33 years old—seven years ago—but she carries it around everywhere. It stayed with her, in her purse, in her luggage, in her hand. She once wore it as a fresh-faced, newly-wed woman. And now she wears it as a mother of two kids.

“August get down!” Ryan calls at him. She grabs her mother’s shoulder and tries to get her attention. The fine precise line of lipstick is knocked astray. Her mother’s focus is broken for a moment and Ryan is rewarded with a glare.

“Mom, tell August to get off. He’s on the railing!” Ryan points behind her parents.

Her mom turns around and drops the lipstick. Her dad looks over his shoulder as well and pushes his chair aside. He runs toward August just as August makes a final reach for the bird.

In start, the yellow-green feathered bird flies away. Its feet leave the flag pole just as August’s leave the railing. His hands graze the ends of the bird’s feathers. But August can’t fly. Time seems to slow. He tumbles onto the sand several feet below just as dad reaches the edge. It is dark outside and August falls right within the illuminated perimeters of light cast by the gazebo. Their father rushes down the stairs several feet away from where August fell.

“I was so close dad! Did you see me? I touched its feathers!” August starts. But there is something wrong with his arm. It hangs at an odd angle. It doesn’t look natural.

Ryan’s mother pushes past the gathering crowd and meets her husband at the edge of the stairs. She sees her son’s hanging limb.

“I think it’s broken.” She says.

Their father takes one look at her and pushes past. He carries August to the table and calls for the staff to get a doctor. August is too dazed from his tumble to register what is happening. He says it didn’t hurt at all. He says it was so beautiful.

“What, August? What was beautiful?” Ryan asks.

“The bird!” August answers.

Later his arm starts to hurt. The doctor comes, compresses the wound, and takes him to the infirmary. Ryan and her mother follow. Behind them a slowly dissipating crowd of on onlookers stare in curiosity. They strain their necks to catch a glimpse of the quartet, the injured family with an injured son, make their way across the beach. They watch till the four figures are but small black silhouettes in the pale sand. As the family is halfway down the beach, the music from the gazebo starts again. Voices and laughter echo from the hut that was stark quiet 10 minutes before.

It is not a serious fall. The doctors sling August’s arm into a green cast, and say it should heal within a month. His mom and dad are comforted. They sigh in unison. Ryan holds August’s good hand as they walk back through the sand toward the hotel room.

Behind them, their mom and dad begin to argue. It grows and grows, and Ryan wishes that damn bird never existed. She holds August close, and he reciprocates. Ryan leans down slightly and kisses her brother’s sandy hair. She tastes salt in it. At this time, he is still a head shorter than she. His voice is still a child’s. He holds her around the waist, leaning on her for balance as they walk back, in synchronized steps, till they reach the hotel. He looks up at the Thai sky and motions with his broken arm at a cluster of silver stars.

“Those are the Pleiades Constellations.” He says, not taking his eyes off the sky.

“In Greek mythology, they are the seven sister stars. They are immortal so they live forever. But they fight a lot with each other.”

“Just like us, huh?” Ryan looks up at the sky too. Then down at her brother. She wants to remember him like this forever. His left arm hanging in a bright green sling, his right around her waist. His eyes averted to the sky, glazed over with some dreamy look. Right here, he is growing up. She feels herself smile.

“Ry,” August says. “I bet the Pleiades are looking at us right now. They wish they could be us.”

This trip sets the precedent for the relationships between August and Ryan. The emotional proximity of the siblings would remain so for the rest of their time together. Even when August attends college halfway across the country, in a state known for its sunlight. Even as August rents a home with his beautiful college girlfriend, in that state. Even after the accident that leaves him buried six feet in the ground. Ryan will kiss her brother once more, on the lips, before the casket is closed. She will think fondly, and tearfully back to Thailand for the rest of her life. She will never go back. It would shatter her too much. But a small part of her will remain embedded in the crystals of the sands in the Thai beaches forever.

August’s mom and dad argue the whole way home. That night he creeps into Ryan’s bed. He is afraid that the yelling will explode into something worse. August holds his ears shut, and Ryan holds him close. From inside their bedroom, the children can hear their parents foul-mouthed and bitter.

Things begin to fall apart soon after that. All the little shortcomings, the potholes and the cracks in their relationship come to this. She was not attentive enough, and he was not home enough. She didn’t care for her children, and he didn’t care for her.

“Admit it, Robert.” August’s mom shouts. “You don’t come home to that fucking house because you have someone else, some whore outside don’t you? What was this vacation? Some last-ditch plan, some final family time together before you left for good? Your children wait for you to come home at night, do you know that? I have to send them to sleep telling them you are a good father. That you’re working hard, working late, making money so we can afford our life. We. Can. Afford. Our. Life. But what life is this? This isn’t any way of living.”

August’s dad is silent for a while. He picks up his jacket and opens the door.

“Oh for god’s sake, where are you going now?” August’s mom cries.

“I’m going to clear my head.” Robert says softly.

“Clear your head? I need to clear my life.” Mom shouts.

“I need to fucking clear my head ok? I need—”

“Fine. It’s not like I’m not used to sleeping alone.” She walks into the bathroom, and Robert walks out the door.

Ryan’s mother is crying now. The tick on the back of her neck has grown to be a pulsing headache. She sinks onto the bathroom floor and looks at her reflection in the full-body mirror. Half dressed, hair half-made, make-up half off, she is a mess, she thinks. Their family is a mess.

Inside the bedroom, Ryan looks down at August and finds that he has fallen asleep. She gently crawls out of bed and makes her way into the bathroom. She holds her mother as she cries. Her mother can’t reciprocate. In their reflection, Ryan thinks she looks more like the mother now.

When her mother is finished crying, Ryan helps her clean up the bathroom and then the hotel room. Clothes flung across the floor are folded. Shoes separated and thrown on the bed are paired together and placed tenderly at the foot of the door. She lays her mom down on the bed and reclines with her for a moment. Her mother’s hands stroking Ryan’s hair, Ryan’s own hands rested on her mother’s stomach. When she was a toddler, and her mother was pregnant with August, she used to rest her hand there. She could feel August kicking, and she could feel her love for the soon-to-be-born baby growing. Today, her mother’s stomach is flat. She feels the protruding ribs slightly above where her hand is rested. Ryan lays with her till she feels her mother’s hands grow limp. Silently, she makes her way back to the bed with August. It would be hours before her father returns. She would not make the mistake of waiting for him.

iv. The Sky

There are still six days left in the trip, and Ryan knows they will be a tough six days. Her dad did end up returning that night. He came back and crawled into bed with his wife. He didn’t kiss her or say sorry. The distance between them, drawn—a fine line between his side of the bed and her side of the bed.

The adults are civil to each other for the remaining days. Even nice, when the children are around. But behind closed doors, the distance is unbreachable. It is amazing, Ryan thinks, how her parents went from necking on Khao Luang peak to this. What is this?

After their return from Thailand, her mother will file for a divorce, and her father will accept. This will be the last extended time the family will spend together as a unit, save for court dates and legal meetings.

The morning of their flight back to New York, Ryan wakes up extra early to watch the sunrise over their resort. She shakes August awake—his eyes are half-closed and his hair a mess of brown strands still coarse with sea salt. They tiptoe out to the balcony, where they hop over the railing—it is a ground-story room, and the drop is no more than three feet. She lands in the sand and is soon joined by her brother. They run down the beach, barely dressed, barely awake, barely children but hardly adults. Upon reaching the water Ryan picks up the wet sand and begins to build a castle.

“I thought you said sandcastles were childish?” August questions her.

“Well we’ve only got so much longer to be children, might as well build as many as I can, while I still can.” She replies. She looks at him for a long time and drinks the moment in. The sun is still sleeping behind the clouds. A sliver of light peeking through illuminating the otherwise dark beach.

August stares at her, then suddenly jumps into action. He gathers up sand for her. This is the best type of sand—the kind that is still partly damp. They build upwards—towers and motes. Ryan carves out windows and August tries to build bushes around the foot of the structure. When they stand up, the castle hits August’s elbows.

It is a masterpiece.

Ryan looks around her feet for a moment then steps closer to the ocean inspecting the sand where the ocean hits. She comes back with three shells and places them intricately on each tower of the sandcastle. Ryan steps back, and August follows. They admire their creation for a single moment before Ryan suddenly realizes that the sun is rising. She spins August around, and they sit beside the tower as the sun gradually climbs above the clouds.

It isn’t until the sun has completely transcended the low-hanging clouds that August turns to his sister.

“It’s too bad we couldn’t bring the crayfish here. They would have loved it. They could see it all with their claws. I bet they could even see the sunrise.”