Sun Hangover {OPEN}

[cassidy aurora hawkins]

Though she was Irish, redheaded and pale-skinned, Cass Hawkins rarely shied away from the sun. Perhaps it was because she loved swimming so much, and water and sun tended to go together. Perhaps it was because in her native Ireland there was a lot of rain this time of year. Whatever the reason, it wasn't unusual to find the sophomore on the beach, playing a pickup game of volleyball, bodysurfing, or just reading a book and lying in the sun.

She had developed a sort of routine for her summer days on the beach and part of that routine was coming to The Hot Spot for her sun hangover cure: a glass of lemonade and a huge burger. Cass gave the details to the waitress--extra tomatoes, no pickles--and turned to look out the window. The sun was just starting to set, the orange and yellow rays reflecting like crystals on the choppy water. That brightness was a definite change from the cloudy, green hills of home. Just looking at it made Cass feel warm all over again, and she smiled to herself as she leaned back against the booth.

Cass checked her cell phone and sighed a bit, wishing that she had someone to talk to. Cass didn't do alone well, and she was even tempted to text Will. Thankfully, she heard footsteps and lifted her head to see who it was.

[willem van der holt]

Many made the false presumption that Chai avoided the sun like the plague, which was only in part true. It wasn’t that he avoided it purposely, but if he wasn’t in class or being a diligent student, he usually locked himself up in his room to enjoy several hours of movies in his jammies. It just happened that whenever he did to decide to leave the premise of the indoors, it was already well in to the evening. Or, on the other hand, when he was taking his ungodly morning runs long before the sun had even thought about rising for the day. It just seemed to be an acquired trait that Chai was a creature of the dark. Not that he particularly minded in any which way. The Florida sun was unendurable on his porcelain anemic palette. Already, even after just a few hours in the sun, his cheeks had acquired a petite brush of pink across them. Still, he enjoyed his day and now it was beginning to wind down. Having the day free, the Dutch had decided to stroll along the beach and take in the sights. Beaches to him were something unfamiliar, at least like this.

The Netherlands had beaches, but they were harsh and tough with jagged rocks and drastic crags. Here, he liked the way the golden sands meshed between his toes as he strolled. The way the sun brushed away all the shadows on his face was nearly enlightening as the rays illuminated him, casting him in a fallow golden glow. Now, the sun was beginning to set and the orange light set his hair aflame. The once flaxen and brunette tussles became golden and illuminated. It was like everything was on fire and Chai had to squint to shield his eyes. As it was getting later and later and day went to dusk, the teen realized just how hungry he was. Beneath his black and white striped wife-beater, his stomach groused with discomfort and he couldn’t help but chuckle a little under his breath. Best it was to find something to calm that beast.

The Hot Spot was the most convenient option. It was close and he had experimented, to much success, with their salads in the past. So, pausing a moment to kick the sand out from beneath his toes and slip his sandals back on, he veered his course a little and began to head towards the little café restaurant. It wasn’t far, a couple of blocks at most, and when he arrived, he took a moment to stand at the entrance to shake some of the sand from his figure. The little golden granules had somehow managed to get trapped everywhere: stuck between his toes, trapped in his hair, even trapped between the his torn up, acid-washed jeans and legs. Once he had shaken most of it out, at least enough to be satisfactory, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The wave of conditioned air felt nice on his now sun-kissed skin that was glowing in the overhead lights from a thin layer of sweat from the outside heat.

A sigh escaped him as he wiped his palms together, still, somehow, managing to find sand sticking to himself. He really wasn’t sure where all of it was coming from, but he felt that he would be finding sand in his clothes for a week.

“Godverdomme,” he sighed. One nice thing about not living in Holland anymore was he could be as fowl and potty-mouthed as he wanted and no one would no any better.

[cassidy aurora hawkins]

Being that Cass was deaf, she hadn't heard Willem's curse. Not that she would understand it anyway--she spoke English, not Dutch. She certainly didn't recognize what his lips had said...god-over-done, maybe?

She watched him with a bemused expression, stifling the urge to giggle as he tried to get every last grain of sand off of his skin. Clearly he wasn't used to beaches; you never got off all the sand.

Making sure she could see his face easily in the sun, Cass began to speak. "Do you want to sit down?" she asked, motioning to the booth bench across from her. "You look like you came from the beach. I don't know about you, but I'm always starving after a day on the coast!" She gave him a friendly grin as well, just in case she hadn't seemed as welcoming as she thought she was at first.

"I'm Cass, by the way," she added, sticking out her hand for further effect.

[willem van der holt]

The boy sniffled a little, gently brushing a long finger under his nose to suppress a sneeze. He didn’t do beaches often, it was not hard to tell. He wasn’t an urban creature either, but he had adapted well and learned to love the city like many country boys would never. He had grown up on a farm where the chickens were treated better than the children, but now, at the tender age of nineteen, he was living thousands of miles from home, and away from everything else he had ever known. He wasn’t, in all reality, very sure how he ended up here, but he did know that he liked it. He liked Americans. Dutch were as serious, gloomy, and tough as their land: which rained seven months of the year and snowed the five. Americans had this indifference about them that he adored. And the conveniences were beyond him. He had never seen a twenty-four hour grocery story before moving here, and all the convenience and snack foods, it astounded him.

He was so preoccupied with his own affairs that he hadn’t noticed anyone else and so, it naturally startled him a little when someone began to speak. His blue gaze glanced around, wondering if it was him who it was being talked to. Yet, he found a pair of kind eyes staring back at him, and upon brief inspection of the restaurant, he was the only one around, so, he must be the one she was speaking to. Carefully, as if almost afraid to make a noise, his lithe legs carried him to the booth where he noiselessly took a seat. He legs instinctively crossed at the ankle as he rested back. His aesthetic form draped itself over the booth. Once he had properly sat, he very kindly tilted his head in her direction, “Thank you very much.”

His voice stemmed accent and a charming smile curled his buxom lip, showing a line of straight, pearly teeth. “Cass? Like Casserole?” he asked, clearly pleased with her name, “I am Willem. Please, call me Chai. All friends call me Chai,” he explained very diligently, speaking slowly to pronounce every word and think about the language. It was difficult. He had so many rich, cultured thoughts, yet he couldn’t express nearly any of them. His English was too poor. The poetic, deep, educated things he desired to say were lost in translation. It was beyond frustrating for the relatively intelligent and witty young male. He could hear everyday that his English was improving, yet he just wanted to be fluent in it right now. Patience, he knew, was an acquired virtue. He would be fluent in time, but the wait was arduous.

[cassidy aurora hawkins]

Cass, on the other hand, was very appreciative of the slow and deliberate speech. She couldn't really hear accents at all, so she had no idea that Chai wasn't a native English speaker.

She giggled at the name. "Casserole. I like that! One of my other friends calls me Cassanova sometimes." She handed Chai a menu and continued to chat at him. "I don't think I've seen you around here before. Are you new? Then again, I'm only a sophomore, so I don't think I've met everyone here just yet!"

It never occurred to Cass that she may be overwhelming poor Chai or speaking too fast. It was just the way Cass was...a warm, fast talker. It was perhaps why people felt they knew her so well; she took very little time at all to make them feel welcome and like they had known her forever.

She also had a knack for making the lost feel welcome. It came from being a foreigner herself; she remembered the few days she had felt lost and alone, and she did her best to make sure no one else felt that way. In all seriousness, besides the language barrier there was probably no better person for Chai to talk to than Cass.

[willem van der holt]

He took the offered menu very politely, nodding his thanks, even though he already knew what he was going to get. The same thing he got every time he came here: a Mediterranean salad with no cheese or dressing, please, but add some olive oil and sea salt, thank you. His gaze wandered down to the thick plastic menu, insuring that his item of choice was still there. Of course, he couldn’t forget the steaming hot mug of tea to accompany his meal. It was odd to be hankering for a cup of tea on such a hot evening after spending all day out in the sun. So much sun, in fact, that his pallid skin had begun to freckle very slightly along the soft curves of his shoulders and cheekbones. His attention diverted away from the menu again when she spoke and he stared at her with a blank look on his face, translating what she said from English to Dutch in his head before a warm, convivial smile blessed his shapely lips.

“What is a Casanova?” he asked. More often than not, he carried with him a Dutch-English dictionary with him where ever he went, but he wasn’t expecting to need it for a stroll out on the beach. He had transferred here as a Junior and had only living been in the United States for a few months now, so, he was absorbing as much English as he could. He was a long cry from how he had been when he had first arrived here. At least now he could put together nearly complete thoughts and sentences. When he had first arrived to Florida, he knew the lyrics to Lady GaGa’s “Poker Face” and that was about all the English he could speak.

“I am new, yes. I am junior… here…” he spoke, “I am Dutch from Holland. I come to your country three month,” he couldn’t remember the word “ago” and so he made a hand gesture to indicate the past and dissolved in to a cute, ebullient little laughter, “Sorry! My English not very good.” He could tell from her voice though that she wasn’t a local.

“You from Florida, Casserole?” he asked, “Your accent very pretty.”

[cassidy aurora hawkins]

Cass had momentarily wondered if the boy across from her was slow mentally, because he had looked so confused. Deciding to talk to him more before making that assumption, she thought for a moment. "A casanova is sort of like a guy who dates a lot of girls. They think he's charming."

After listening (well, watching) him speak a bit more, her eyes lit up in understanding. She instantly felt a wave of sympathy for the poor guy. She knew how it was being in a foreign country, but at least she was fluent in the language!

"Your English is great!" she beamed. "You sound like you've been her a lot longer than three months!"

At his next question, she shook her head. "Nope. I'm from Ireland. It's in Europe...almost as far away as Holland!" She took a sip of her water before continuing to ramble. "Thank you! I was afraid I was going to lose it while living here. I like your accent too...I'm sorry I don't know any Dutch though."

Because, in Cass's mind, the best way to make someone feel comfortable was to talk rapidly at them in their own language. Alas, English was the best she could do at the moment. She didn't want to scare him with sign language just yet.

[willem van der holt]

He laughed a little. It was a charming, sweet laugh that was effervescent with personality and enjoyment. Nigh had he shared ten minutes of conversation with this girl and he was already quite fond of her. She had this charming attitude about her that made her seem like she would be the person who would be very difficult to ignore for long, especially if she wanted to be seen. Instantly, he was drawn to that quality in her as they shared that personality trait. The way Chai acted and the way he spoke, it was no wonder that someone who couldn’t hear his accent and instantly understand that he was not from here, it was no wonder that he seemed a bit slow. In all reality, Chai was really quite intelligent; he just had a hard time expressing himself, was all. And the harder he tried, the more flustered he became and the less he could say.

“Thank you. I try but it is very,” pausing and trying to come up with just the right words, “it is very frustrating because I have so many things to say and I-I just,” he dissolved in to a small fit of laughter, “I just can’t do it.” In English, he was quite quiet, but in Dutch, it was getting him to shut up that was the trick. In Holland, he always had something to say—even when he had nothing to say he was talking. The United States had curbed this habit a little and had definitely humbled him, too. Sometimes, it got hard for him because people would assume he was unintelligent or that he wasn’t trying hard enough to learn the language and it could be very discouraging at times, especially for a boy with such a flimsy sense of self-worth.

“Yes, I know Ireland. I was there. Very close Ireland and Holland,” he nodded, less than a two-hour plane flight away. They were so close physically and yet so far apart in almost every other way. It was really strange to him how that was.

He had no idea that she was deaf. The way she was speaking, the way she understood him—it all seemed so natural and, even if he had known she was deaf, he liked speaking to her in English. For some odd reason, he found her accent very soothing and, in some ways, easier to understand the the American accents he found here. Maybe it was just because the accent reminded him a little bit of his home in Europe, or maybe because the phonics were easier to understand, it was hard to say.

“It’s OK,” he chuckled a little, “Dutch is easy. You make funny sounds with lots of Q and you speak Dutch! Oh, and make sure you yell. Dutch always yell.”

[cassidy aurora hawkins]

Cass laughed. She loved having another foreign student to talk with, even if they didn't speak the same language. Their countries were physically close, and that was enough for Cass.

"The Irish yell too!" she said after her laughter died a little bit. "Everyone thinks we are drunk all the time and just like to fight." She put her fists up in a defensive pose with a grin, just to make sure he got the point.

"How is your writing in English?" she asked, putting her fists down and leaning on her elbows. "Is it easier to write than speak? Maybe you can write what you're trying to say and that will make it easier!"

Cass was no language expert, but in her experiences trying to learn lipreading it was often a lot easier to just write things down and go from there. She realized that she did know English before she even learned to lipread, and that it may not help Chai. She figured, however, that it wouldn't hurt to try. Who knows? Chai may be some secret poet on paper, but words stop in his mouth.

[willem van der holt]

There was definitely a shortage of foreign students at this university. Occasionally, Chai would stumble across one, but they were far and few in-between, so, the chances of Cass and Chai acquainting themselves was a peculiar instance. A sigh of contentment escaped him as he leaned back and reached for the glass of ice water on the table. As he stretched out his hand, the petite, royal crown tattoo on his inner wrist was momentarily displayed. Picking up the glass he held the periphery of the glass to his lips, take a drink, and returning the glass to its proper place on the table.

“Oh yes, Ireland,” he chuckled. He had been fourteen when he went to Ireland and nothing said “Ireland” to him more clearly than when his family tried to teach their grandmamma how to use a kegger. A smile brushed across his dreamy expression as he recalled the rather wild holiday he had taken in Ireland. He hadn’t really realized it at the time, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized how good his parents had been to him. They had made him a well-travelled, well-educated young man and sometimes he felt as though he had maltreated all of these gifts. With a quick flip of his hand, he dispersed the thoughts and his attention returned to Casserole.

“My writings are much better than my speakings,” he concluded. When writing, he could take an extra few moments to think it through, to properly translate what he was trying to say. When he was having a conversation he had to keep talking—he couldn’t just stop mid-sentence and stare at the person for a minute or two to try and figure out what he was going to say and how he was going to say it, “But I do lots of dance to speak, too,” he laughed. He meant interpretive dance. When he had first come to the university and knew almost no English, he spoke almost entirely through his body language. He still occasionally had to rely on strange hand gestures to get his point across, but he made it work one way or another.

He nodded his head in the direction of the menu, “You know what you go to order?” he ran a hair through his shaggy hair, pushing it out of his face. The wild curls fell in bouncy blonde tassles around his tanning face. The colour had begun to emerge on his ashy skin, giving him a new life. Lacing his fingers together on the edge of the table he smiled, “What is it you study in university?” he inquired, letting their conversation river.

[cassidy aurora hawkins]

"I sometimes do a bit of dancing when I talk too," Cass grinned. She was going to start explaining sign language, but didn't want to overwhelm and/or confuse Chai so she left it at that.

"I tend to get the same thing when I come here--a burger," she said, rubbing her tummy and licking her lips. "It's delicious! What are you going to get?" She was more than ready to offer advice on the menu choices; her cousin practically lived at the Hot Spot, and Cass was in pretty frequently as well. There was something about American fast food that just didn't compare to food from the dining hall on campus.

At his next question, Cass had to think for a minute to describe her major. "I study psychology," she said, then pointed to her head. "Studying peoples' thinking and actions. What about you?" She was pretty sure he at least wasn't a psych major...she had never had a class with him before.

[willem van der holt]

“Yes!” he laughed, “Italians talk with their hands a lot,” he pointed out. Having travelled so much in Europe, and having spent a lot of time in Italy, he had begun to notice the difference between how people speak and interact from across the world. Americans, in his opinion, were the most boring with their speech and interactions. South Americans kissed, Europeans hugged, and Americans shook hands. It was very odd to him coming to America and having to learn to be so dinstant with people—it was not something he was used to.

“Burger?” he replied and angled his head, “Oh, I am vegetarian and I can not eat, uhm,” he couldn’t remember the word for a moment--- it was sitting right at the tip of his tongue, “Lactose,” he smiled, finally getting it to come to him. It wasn’t as hard as some might think, being vegan, as there were plenty of vegan options and even a store dedicated entirely to vegetarianism and veganism on the other side of town. Vegetarianism seemed to be very popular here in the United States—almost like a fad.

“Oh, psychology,” he nodded. He had almost considered studying that himself back in Holland, but by complete chance, he got to sit in on a French political debate and had fallen in love with public affairs. It was this love for civics that, at least in part, made him want to come to America, aside from the fact that, even today, America was the land of promise, “Yes, I study political science. I want to be a politician when my English is better,” he dissolved in to laughter. He spoke three languages already and was very quickly learning a fourth, coupled with his charming, wholesome personality, he would make an excellent member of the United Nations.

[cassidy aurora hawkins]

"I thought about being a vegetarian once. But my mam would kill me if I made it so difficult for her to cook, because my dad loves meat!" Cass laughed. "It takes a lot of practice, doesn't it? Do you like cooking things for yourself then?" Cass loved cooking, but mostly things like desserts and sweets. Sure, she didn't mind making other things, but those were the most fun for her. And it wasn't like her audience ever complained once they got to taste!

"You'll be a great politician!" she grinned. "I always thought politics was confusing, especially American politics. All those divisions and committees and everything...it's enough to make your head spin!" She took a sip of her iced tea and leaned on her elbow. "Do you want to be president someday or do you want to do something international, like an ambassador?"

[willem van der holt]

“Oh yes,” he explained, “I love to cook. I cook all the time,” it certainly made things easier on him. It was often very difficult for the young Dutch to go out to restaurants to eat because even most of the salads these days had meat or milk and cheese-based dressings. Usually, he ended up just ordering a plate of greens or a side of fruit or veggies when he went out. But in his own kitchen, he could concoct vegan-friendly dishes that were elaborate and delicious and so very much better than a plate of lettuce. Although his English was a little shoddy, he could always speak the international language of hunger. He was a doting chef sort who absolutely adored cooking for people—the more people, the better.

“But you study human mind, dark places are there, how does your head not spin?” he didn’t really understand people or how they thought. Once he thought he had someone all figured out, they did something completely off-script. Sometimes he wondered if people were just people and there was no pattern to the way they thought. Perhaps it was all random and unsolvable. Sometimes, Chai couldn’t even figure out his own thoughts. They got especially confusing when they were in English.

“I can’t be president,” he said and laughed in a chipper tone, “I am not born in America.” To be a president of the United States, you had to be born an American citizen; he could, however, get in to Congress, but he also had considered doing something like being an international ambassador or a translator for the United Nations. Afterall, he was fluent in some valuable languages like Spanish and French, and eventually, at least he hoped, English. “Casserole in psychology, Schatje.”

[cassidy aurora hawkins]

Cass thought about this for a moment. How did she handle the darkness of the human mind? She was a very positive, bright, "shiny" person who spent so much time enjoying life that she found very little spare time to be upset about things. How could she understand depression or paranoia or other dark clouds of psychology?

"I guess," she said, choosing her words carefully, "I look at the dark places as things where I can eventually bring light. I want to help people. To do that I have to understand where their bad is coming from, even if I've never felt it."

"It's sort of like politics," she said, trying to be even clearer. "You weren't there when all of the rules and laws and parties and everything were created, but by knowing where they've come from you can better understand how they work, and how to fix them if they need it." She laughed. "That doesn't make much sense, does it?"