Red

The color red. That's the first memory Aki ever could picture in his mind. It was the color of summer. The color of pain. The color of hunger.

Red was a frozen popsicle that tasted like summer air, fresh, daring and sweet. He remembered the day he tasted the red popsicle and there was two stuck together. It was too much money, and Aki had no pocket money to begin with. His fifth foster family of his life only gave him the bare minimum to feed, clothe and keep him from looking like a homeless ragamuffin. Still, considering the last few ones that liked to lock him in his bare room(Foster kids are not seen or heard unless the social worker comes in), or the other kids in the house that taunted him that he didn't have any real toys, it was an improvement.

The ice-cream truck driver looked impatiently at Aki as he tried to find even some spare change lying around and in his pocket.

“Look kid, do you want something or not? I gotta go. The other kids got their order.”

Aki frowned, shaking his head. The summer heat was so heavy. He was starting to feel dizzy and hungry.

“Don’t come back until the city street lights turn on,” the towering figure that resembled a foster dad spat at him.

It was only mid-day. He only had a ratty old bike to get around, and no money.

It wasn't until he saw a stray hand go in front of his face, with a few crumbled bills exchanged for that unfamiliar white sticky paper. It was a double popsicle with two sticks, unwrapped and ripped apart, and as the pop of red was being handed to him, he saw a kid around his same age, smiling at him.

“Aseré qué bolá?” the kid said.

Aki blinked, trying to catch up with the swiftness of this introduction, and he took in a quick breath, as though he were trying to catch a second wind.

“Huh?” Aki felt stupid for his confused response, the half of the red popsicle starting to melt down his hand.

The kid gave him a look and said, “I said, what's up, dumbie?” he laughed, patting his back hard. It made Aki lurch back but he was intrigued. “No, no. I meant what’s up, dude.”

“Uh, not much. Tha-thanks for the popsicle.”

“I’m Manny,” he said, nodding at Aki. “Your name is?”

“Aki. Aki,” he said in a quiet mutter. Nervously, Aki licked the popsicle. “I am Aki.”

The last part sounded more confident. It made him stand up straighter, shoulders apart. He always saw heroes stand this way in comics and films. It was his way of feeling braver than how he really did.

“Wanna race?” Manny asked.

Aki nodded. “Sure.”

“Well,” Manny chomped on his popsicle and ate it all in about three bites. “Hurry! Ponte las pilas!”

Aki took a large bite and felt the rich, cool syrup dripping down his mouth and throat, a rich, cold, flowery taste of lemon, cherry and orange. It was like heaven.

“What’s that mean?” Aki said, still eating the popsicle.

Manny chuckled, “It means get it together, man. Put those batteries on!” He yelled with a grin, his fist waving in the air.

Aki laughed. “Well, I don’t run on batteries!”

“Obviously!” Manny teased.

They raced up and down the Lower East Side and back. His foster family was very well off, living in such an eclectic community, but were very stingy and terse with Aki.

But, despite these odds against the twelve year old boy, whose Asian roots were a point of stubborn reflection as he was constantly abused by his peers for being different, he found a point of pride in his heart for who he was. A good person. He realized most people didn’t place interest in good people, they were simply just too naive or like doormats for those quick-witted, manipulative ones who got by own their ego and arrogance.

“You stupid, poor bastard son!” The other kids in his neighborhood would mock. “How can you see us with such slanted eyes?” They’d make gestures as if to attack and if Aki didn’t move away quickly enough they would mock him endlessly for his slow reflexes.

Aki wouldn’t cry. He refused. He would take their insults and their pushes and punches without even a whimper.

He took the indifference of the foster family’s he was forced into. He took all the dirty looks if he took seconds for dinner from the kids that were actually born into the family.

It wasn’t until Manny, who from that day forward became the pillar of hope and strength for Aki, that he set upon his own destiny to become something more than what he was designated as in society. Manny looked out for him. He made sure he had enough food. Clothes. Even gifts. Yo-yo’s, watches, what have you.

Their paths were drawn differently as they grew up.

It wasn’t until the bicycle accident that they realized they were two separate people and had different views on life and people.

They were seventeen and riding into town. Aki was working at a local grocery shop and Manny was merely riding around with him, looking for a bite to eat.

They picked up the speed down a hill.

“I’m gonna be late!” Aki yelled against the whipping wind, blowing their hair wildly. “I’ll be fired!”

Manny rolled his eyes, “Then I’ll take out the owner.”

Aki frowned. “No, no need to be that drastic!”

A young blonde woman was standing next to the stop sign, distracted by a random stranger nearby, when the two teens slammed their breaks. Manny had knocked her over.

“Argh!” The woman cried out, holding onto her leg, her ripped jeans showing blood.

Manny bolted, jumping up with his bike and sped off. Aki gave him a disgusted look but said nothing.

“Are you alright?” A young man with green eyes asked her.

Aki asked the same.

“I’m Lisa,” she said to the other man, as he helped her up. He obviously missed out on their own private conversation.

“Dan,” he said, with a smile.

Aki shook Dan’s hand, and as he saw the young woman was okay, he left as the other two continued to talk.

After that day, Aki and Manny slowly moved away from each other and stopped talking. It was not an overnight occurrence, but it was painful.

Especially for Manny. He loved Aki as his flesh and blood, a brother. Aki did too, but once Manny decided to turn his back on someone he hurt, he realized the kind of person his un-officially adopted brother was. A man who used people for his personal gain. A cartel that was merciless and corrupt. Still, his brother. But, he felt they drifted apart.

It wasn’t until he was older, almost thirty, self-sufficient and well versed in his social standing at work and home, that a bit of nostalgia hit him as he saw a deep red flag his vision: an angry woman mixing coffee with popsicle sticks in a red dress.

Red. So brutal and beautiful and sad, he decided.