kenting, 2.

He strained to remember the night. They were four and they had come down to Kenting in hopes of warmth and sun. The wet, rainy cold Taipei winter had driven them here.

The weather in Kenting disappointed. It was gray and overcast, ocean wind spitting salt rain in their faces. They had stayed in because going out entailed riding scooters into the wet, windy onslaught. 

It was J’s birthday, and they had had the customary toasts, but it did not seem like anyone was in a particularly jovial mood. J and C talked between themselves in a secretive hush, and D looked up videos on Youtube. He had leaned against the windows with his glass in hand, nursing first the cabernet, then the chardonnay. A quiet pall had settled on the room and he felt uncomfortable in the silence. He brought the glass to his lips and took a tiny sip. He was doing so more for the comfort of the action than the taste of the wine.

“J, name one thing you want to do before you turn 23. What’s something you want to accomplish in this next year?” 

He asked with hollow enthusiasm, but at least the silence was broken. J answered and the pall lifted for a moment.

“I don’t know,” J said. “I hadn’t thought of it.” Her accent — a mixture of British English and Turkish — gave everything she said an air of sincerity.

“You should go bungee jumping,” C suggested.

J laughed in response. “I suppose I want to go on holiday - I know, I’m kind of on holiday now, but I mean one I don’t have to pay for.”

C: “But Baba’s already paying for us, you know.” C and J were cousins, and close.

“Oh, you know what I mean. Somewhere fun, where I don’t have to do anything,” J said.

Her accent — for a moment he hated her accent. It made her desire for aimless leisure seem legitimate and worthy. He didn’t have anything against leisure, to be sure, but he had expected something more ambitious. To desire only to do nothing made him uncomfortable.

He had hoped something would come out of his inquiry, something to stave off the pall that was settling again on the room. But instead, the four of them began to say the things that everyone says about going on holiday. How nice it would be to relax, how wonderful it would be to get a tan, how much fun. But they had had this conversation already about coming to Kenting and it sounded empty and false and tired.

The well-rehearsed script for talking about going on holiday petered out and soon the pall had reasserted itself on the room. J, C, and D started getting ready for bed. He was still leaning against the window, nursing another glass of wine. He stood up and stepped out onto the dark deck.