I Grew My Boobs in China (40 page)

“Shut up! I’m never telling you anything anymore.”

Ignoring our squabbling, Baagii told us more about the beautiful lake. “This lake holds seventy percent of Mongolia’s fresh water. That’s half a percent of the entire world’s fresh water.”
I wonder what percentage of this underwear is still in one piece?
“It’s so clean the people drink straight out of it. No treatment needed.”
Maybe not, but I’ll need treatment once I see what kind of damage this wooden saddle did. Bree will be picking the slivers out later!

Once that issue was finally settled, I took a look and agreed wholeheartedly with Mom. The lake was stunningly clear, so clear that the shape and colour of every individual pebble was visible. It invited us for a much needed dip, though I felt guilty about dirtying such pure, clean water.

“It’s so beautiful! It sure would be nice to live here,” Mom said.

“But you’d definitely need a horse. How much would it cost to buy one?” Bree asked.

“At least two hundred thousand togrog,” Baagii answered.

“About two hundred bucks, then.” Ammon quickly calculated.

“I’d buy mine! I bet he’d compete in the big festival,” I boasted as we trotted along. “In fact, we should race him in it ourselves!”

“How much longer are you staying in Mongolia? Will you still be here for the Nadaam Festival?” Baagii asked.

“Yah, for sure! That was one of the main reasons we came. We’ll be here another week after that because we’re planning to go on another tour to the Gobi Desert. But it’s so expensive,” Ammon said, though I knew we were only paying twenty-two dollars a person per day for everything.

“Especially with four people,” Mom threw in.

“Yah. The hotel, they charge a lot for commission and have to pay everyone. That is true,” Baagii agreed, unfastening his saddle bag and taking a swig of warm water.

“I just wish there was another way to see the country, but it seems like it’s nearly impossible without a public transport system,” Ammon said, eyeing the emptiness around us.

“Yes, that is also true, but it is not impossible to get around, really. You just have to know where you want to go. And I know where you want to go.”

Ammon paused to analyze this remark before asking, “What are you suggesting?”

“Well, I know the sights, the area, and what to do. So maybe,” he stopped to think as he offered the water to Bree, “I have a friend who has a car, maybe we just bypass the hotel commission, then you don’t pay for a whole tour price. We go, you know, kind of, like, as friends,” he said, and I caught the way he subtly glanced at Bree.

“Really, you think you know someone? Well, of course we would pay for fuel and his expenses,” Mom said.

“Yah, he has a van and can speak English too. He’s a really cool guy! And then I can come. Would be fun. I have to see if I have time off my other job, my radio job. I can translate for you, but only as a friend, no money. When we get back I ask my friend. Don’t reserve anything with the company until I talk to him. And, you know, my boss, he can’t know.”

“Of course. We will just wait for you,” Ammon said, with a reassuring smile.

“But you’re coming to the festival too, aren’t you?” Bree asked anxiously. He smiled his charming smile at her and winked before he purposely made his aviators fall from his thick hairline to cover his eyes. Tom had already stopped up ahead, unsaddling for a lunch break on a hill overlooking the gorgeous, multi-coloured lake. The edges of the waters were so green it almost glowed, and rings of all shades of blue faded into the centre.

Directing the horses with a slight, confident squeeze of the thighs, we sped up to meet him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few days later, we were situated by a different beautiful lake and we’d just returned from another six hours of hard riding. Bree and I hobbled our bow-legged way up a grassy hill behind our ger. My bladder was fit to burst by the time we climbed to where the rickety wooden structure called a toilet stood.

“Where’s the T.P.?” Bree asked as she stepped into the door-less shack.

“You have it,” I told her confidently.

“No, I don’t. I told you to bring it,” she scowled.

“When did you ever say that? That’s your job! Everybody knows it. You always have some stashed away.”

“You
always
forget. Ugh!! Now you have to go back and get it,” Bree said, gesturing down the hill towards the seven white gers settled next to the vast waters of White Lake. She sounded as irritated about it as if she herself had to retrieve it.

“Just go and get it? It’s like a ten-minute walk each way, and this is a steep hill. You’re the fit one. You do it,” I retaliated.

“Nope. You need the exercise, so you should go.”

“Oh Bree, c’mon! I’ll pee myself if I do.” I started to whine, ’cause I already knew I was going to lose the argument once again.

“Just like that time with the berries. I can’t trust you with
anything
!” she carried on, starting to get angry as she remembered something I did when I must have been all of six years old. She’d made me walk four blocks home carrying a bowling-ball-sized batch of fresh, juicy blackberries tucked up in my white t-shirt. She had picked them for hours from the school ground’s forested area, climbing in and out of the thorns and vines and dropping handful after handful into my outstretched shirt. My arms were tired from holding the load before we’d even started the long walk home.

I nearly wet my pants when she’d finally turned around in our driveway and shrieked at me, “WHERE ARE ALL THE BERRIES!?!?”

Dazed and exhausted from having run all the way home to keep up with her nine-year-old pace, I’d looked down in a panic at the red-stained shirt that was completely soaked and sticking to my belly. A quick glance behind me revealed only a bare sidewalk.
Where
did
all those berries go?
She’d marched us at least two blocks back to search for them to no avail. Just short of getting beaten into blackberry pulp myself, we returned home completely empty handed.

“I spent hours in those thorn bushes and if it weren’t for---” she was saying.

“Okay, okay, okay!” I said, cutting her off mid-sentence. I’d been subjected to this guilt trip a hundred times already, and would rather spend the next twenty minutes walking than being yelled at. Before I left for the toilet paper, though, I negotiated a fifteen-minute neck massage in return.

“And bring the camera, too!” she shouted after me. It was getting late and the early evening fires’ smoke was starting to drift out of the chimneys protruding from the centre of each roof. Aside from a few white gers dotting the shoreline, the landscape was completely free of any evidence of human habitation.

I made it back to Bree at the toilet, which was halfway up the grassy green hill. After taking care of business, we decided to go to the top to see the view, since we were already nearly there. We skipped from rock to jagged rock along the rim, scratching our legs as we went, until we reached a point that had a hundred and eighty degree view of the distant mountains that enclosed the crystal waters. As we sat in that tranquil spot at the summit, we reminisced about our many mutual friends and loved ones and talked about our sad goodbyes and painful last words. As I received my promised massage, she told me the details of her parting from Fernando, the boy she’d dated for more than a year. I remembered her waving out the window of our van as we headed to Seattle, absolutely crying her heart out.

“Do you think our friends ever think of us?” I asked her as she dug her thumbs deep into my neck.

“Are you kidding me? Of course! We gave them the best time. Like, sure, we didn’t always wear the latest popular fashions or buy the newest gadgets, but who cares? We didn’t need to spend money to have a blast. They’ll remember our fun times more than some stupid shoes they bought at the mall.”

“I miss spending nights under the stars on the roof,” I said, cringing as her grip on the scruff of my neck intensified. “Ouch! Ouch! That kills! Go easy on me.”

“Oh shut up. You asked for a massage,” she said, maintaining her grip. “Plus, you’re all knotted up. You need this. And remember the scooters? That was such an awesome invention,” Bree said. Shortening the scooters’ handlebars to the lowest possible setting and then securing milk crates onto them with bungee cords, we’d assembled our own little Mario karts and rode them down the streets of our mountainside neighbourhood.

“Oh, the faces they made when they saw us coming!” I laughed. “I can’t even count how many shoes I burned through braking on the pavement.”

“Remember soaping up the trampoline on a rainy day?”

“Or chasing the rabbits when they escaped onto the neighbour’s front lawn?”

“Yah. Good times,” we declared in unison, and then we both sighed.

“Believe it or not, I even miss our magic drinks,” I said. We’d developed a game to see who could drink the most semi-noxious ingredients without getting sick. We’d take turns going into the kitchen and secretly adding strange items to the mix before blending it up again. In the end, we’d have a concoction of mustard, soya sauce, egg, mayonnaise, cheese, and/or Tabasco sauce, etc. Somebody once even threw in dog food.

“Those were disgusting!!” Bree said, and I could feel her body shaking at the memory.

“But so fun!”

“And I still can’t believe we jumped off the roof into the pool,” Bree added, shaking her head in disbelief.

“That was sooo bad!” I agreed. I could never work up enough courage to try the blind, two-story-high, running jump over concrete before landing in the safety of our swimming pool. Just watching my best friend and sister do it made my heart pound.

After a moment of silence, Bree said, “Seriously, they will never forget those times.” And I had to agree.
I was so caught up with money then, trying to keep up and still always feeling like I wasn’t good enough, but maybe I contributed something to the social mix after all.

We fell into silence as the sun set before us. I had watched it sink and disappear countless times. I often felt it was the only thing connecting me to the other side of the world. Even the hill I sat on wasn’t connected because of the massive oceans that separated us like parallel lines that never met. Whenever I saw the moon, as distant as it was, I knew that the sun had left to greet my friends in the morning. Sometimes I’d wish they could know I had sent it over.

“What are we gonna do without you here?”
I remembered my friends saying days before I was to board the plane.
“I just don’t believe it,”
another had said.
“What will Terri do without you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you two apart.”
Her twin brother, Tyee, had added,
“You guys are inseparable.”
I found that quite flattering, coming from someone who’d shared a womb with her.

I’d stayed the final two weeks at Terri’s, which made it easier for everyone. During those final days, my grandmother’s house was full with the rest of the family crashing on all available beds and couches once we’d moved out of our house. When stress and the fear of leaving kept me awake, I’d often sit up and watch Terri sleep, thinking about how very much I would miss her.

When Bree stood up to leave, I told her, “I’m just going to stay a little longer. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Suit yourself,” and she leapt over the rocks and down the steep, grassy hill. The rich oranges and reds reflected from the sky like fire, and I realized that one day, years from now, I’d probably be sitting at home reminiscing about this precious time I’d shared with my sister. Even now, watching her get smaller and smaller as she walked down the hill, I could actually feel her absence. I was alone.
One day she won’t be there, either. She was right here by my side, like Terri always was, and just like her, she’ll be gone.
I would miss her just as much as I missed Terri now if we were apart.

The setting sun still hugged the water, transforming it into what looked like a huge pool of orange juice. It would be pitch dark soon, but with only two lights shining below, I would find my way back as easily as a moth to a flame.

It was always hardest when night fell. In contrast to the eventful days, at night I often felt like a lost little girl (sometimes literally lost, but usually just emotionally), and I was lonely. I felt trapped within the group and by our remote surroundings and the lack of the kind of facilities I was used to. I needed my own room to escape to when my Gemini moods started swinging. And it was scary seeing only an endless road that led to who knew what. As hard as I tried, I could not see the light at the end of the tunnel. But mostly, all this came down to a simple case of gut-wrenching, debilitating homesickness. It was initially harder than usual to clearly identify what it was because I’d always related homesickness with missing Mom, and she was right here.

But as I sat there enjoying the peaceful solitude, I gradually came to understand, perhaps for the first time, just how miniscule and positively young I really was. All of my demands and know-it-all attitude seemed to recede into the darkest corners of the lake, and my pathetic fifteen years on this earth seemed incredibly insignificant. But rather than feeling remorsefully unimportant, sincere gratitude and appreciation washed over me, and I finally pushed through that barrier of stubbornness I’d always carried to see a new reality, one where I was unbelievably blessed by all the wonderful, positive things in my life. It was more than just an abstract concept, as if all the colours of the spectrum simultaneously blended into a white light that burst through my soul. I felt as pure as the crystal waters below, and I knew that, despite my age, my inexperience, and the minimal impact I had made on the world thus far, I would no longer be able to resist or ignore this new comprehension of my place in it.

After just two short months of travel, I felt a huge shift occurring. I’d already become a different and, in some respects, a better person. I was learning how to be in the world without portraying myself as someone with a seemingly callous nature, or hiding behind the protective laughter and constant jokes I’d always felt I needed. It was like looking directly into my soul, and I saw more of my potential. I was calm and serious, in a state as close to meditation as I’d ever been. There was no one from whom I needed to hide my emotions and no need to be on guard as a welcome maturity seemed to slide down into my chest like molten lava and find a place to settle. Was it there to stay?