Page 40 of Until We Burn
We walk past the public market to get to the arts district. Rows of art galleries, cozy little bookshops, comedy clubs, and theaters surround us.
Diana suddenly stops at a black wall that’s cluttered with fliers advertising one-woman shows, fringe festivals, and art exhibitions.
She laughs softly. “I’ve loved this board since the first day I saw it. There’s just something about seeing all these artists fight for their art. How bold and courageous they are about owning the space they take up.”
I arch a brow. Imagining Diana Huang stepping into this wooden, cement-crafted place out of her own free will reveals a piece of her that pulls me to her even more.
“You’ve been here before?”
She nods. “In second year, I was writing a feature story about an Anishinaabe artist who was putting on a one-woman show about the different faces of motherhood.” Diana laughs and wrinkles her nose. “I remember I kept sneezing while I was interviewing her in her dressing room. There was so much hairspray and powder that night.”
She smooths down a piece of tape that flails off a flier before she keeps on walking. I hurry after her with a thought in mind.
“I don’t get how you grew up with Gregory, Jonathan, and Sophia, but you’re nothing like them.”
“That’s because I clung close to my grandmother whenever she came to visit.” Diana’s smile weakens. Her eyes drop to the path, and my heart aches when I see them well with tears. “She used to be an actress before she had to marry my grandfather. She gave up so much, yet she stayed gentle. My grandmother was the strongest woman I’ve ever known.” Diana sniffs and blinks up at me. “Do you have anyone like that in your life?”
The weight on my chest lightens up at the person that pops into my head. “Yeah. It’s my Uncle Manu.” I crack a small smile. “I chose the number seventy-eight for my jersey to honor him because he’s the one who got me into hockey. He’s the only person in my family who really understands me.”
“So, your parents aren’t involved in your hockey career at all?”
I lick my lips as the words fumble out, “They’ve been cooperating with Uncle Manu for years to pay for gear and stuff. But the catch is I have until graduation to get signed to a team. If I don’t, I’m off the ice, and I have to help them take over the family business.” The pressure comes back. It pushes down on me even harder, winding around my heart like a drawstring. “That deal is what…what brought on the anxiety. Either get signed or trap yourself in a career that bleeds you dry.”
Panic rears its head at the thought. I rub a hand over the uneven stutter in my heart.
Diana gently touches my arm, making my steps grind to a halt.
“We can stop for a while if you need to?” She glances behind her. “We’re here anyways.”
I peek over her head and realize that we’re standing in front of the Granville Giants. Against the backdrop of construction, the seventy feet tall silos are painted to look like six unfazed giants in colorful, rumpled pants and floral shirts.
Before we can start working, my phone rings. I look down to see Nirah’s name flashing on the screen.
My hands start to shake.
“I’m sorry. I gotta take this.”
Diana nods before I turn to answer the call. “Hello?”
“Kai, is this a good time?”
My anxiety breaks loose like a live wire combusting. That’s how Nirah begins every call if there’s bad news.
“What’s wrong?”
“People are slandering you online.”
All sound and color drain from my senses as Nirah rehashes the meeting the Pacific Observer’s internship team had about me this morning.
“Look, I trust you, Kai, but the others don’t.” Nirah sighs. “They want me to drop you as an intern because of the bad publicity. I won’t listen to them, though. I know you’ve done some great work so far, but I need your presentation with the team to be the best you’ve ever delivered. Can you promise me that?”
The words constrict all the air in my throat; I can barely get a word out. “I promise.”
“Looking forward to it.” I can sense the nervous smile in her voice. “Good luck!”
The call ends.
A broken, breathy laugh breaks out of me.
