Camp De-Gay

Hot and Sour Soup (and Strawberry Lemonade)

They were sitting in one of the five or six restaurants that the Camp had chosen. The counselors were bunched together in the middle of the room having a quiet conversation while four or five pairs of kids were on their dates.

Asami smiled at Mako and took a sip of her Strawberry Lemonade. "So what classes are you taking next semester?"

He leaned back in the booth, "It's kinda silly."

"No, come on. Tell me."

"I want to take a poetry course."

"You like poetry?"

Mako nodded, "Yeah. I know it's not very masculine, but I... I just really feel a connection."

"There are so many writers out there who are masculine, Mako. Steinbeck. Hemmingway. King. They're all really great authors. You shouldn't feel pressured to run away from something you love. Don't let this place tell you what to do."

There was... a sadness in Mako's amber eyes.

"So... what looks good?" he asked.

Asami looked at the extravagant menu in front of her. They were at a really, really, REALLY fancy restaurant in the City. Not quite Kwongs, but everything looked pretty damn delicious.

"I was thinking Hot and Sour Soup," she said with a smile and a flip of her hair. She'd been at this game for three years. She knew what the counselors were looking for.

"Oh... that sounds really good. I think I'm going to have the Yellow Curry. I'm a sucker for that stuff."

They joked and laughed throughout the meal. Where most of the kids looked to be nervous and shy— Asami felt some connection with Mako and the others. It was effortless. She had a sip of Strawberry Lemonade and leaned forwards.

"How's your Dad doing? You said that you called him this past weekend... after... you know."

Mako smiled sadly, "He's still coaching, but I think the old man is going to go into the professional scene. He was quite the player in the day. What about yours?"

Asami looked out the window with a frown, "I don't know. We don't talk much. He's at board meetings or locked away in his office or working at the assembly line. The only time we really get together is to tinker with prototypes, and that's kind of a once in a while thing— you know?"

Mako fiddled with his napkin. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't be. If anything, I just feel pity for him. After my mom died... it felt like he left too."

The boy— the only one in the group who could really connect with her on something like this— reached across the table and took her hand. Kind amber eyes stared into soft peridot. She squeezed his hand and then moved to wipe a tear away.

As far as dates go, this could have been going worse.

                      .               .               .

She pushed the iron gate open and walked through. The place was absolutely empty, save for the elderly couple in the corner. They were holding hands and placing flowers on as many graves as they could. Asami smiled.

'It's nice to know there's still some kindness in the world after all,' she thought.

She could've walked to the plot blindfolded. The third column, last row. A nice, secluded place where she felt like she could safely have a private conversation.

She set down the folding chair she had brought with her and opened her SatoThermos. Despite the clear weather, it was absolutely freezing out. The new rush of heat from the can warmed her stiff fingers through the leather mittens.