Turbatu. The rabid one.
“Yeah.” I scratched at some nonexistent itch in my wet hair. “I guess he scares people off.”
“Hey, I brought something,” she said, exposing her jacket pocket.
I leaned in close to see. Being so close to Liliana . . . I had to force myself to focus. I could barely see the can, but I saw the white letters.
No. It couldn’t be.
Coca-Cola.
“What?!” I whispered. “Is it real? Where did you get it?”
“My dad got it at work. Someone traded it to him. He gave it to me for Christmas.”
“Aw, we can’t drink your Christmas present.”
“Why not?” said Liliana. “Have you ever tasted it?”
I shook my head. There were lots of things I’d never tasted.
“Have you tasted it?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “But the characters in movies, they’re always drinking it, so I thought it would be fun.”
A real Coke. And she was going to share it with me.
I looked to the balconies. It was late for the Reporters, but I couldn’t be sure. “Well, we can’t open it here. Not even with a guard dog,” I said.
“Right. Where should we go?”
We walked around the side of her building, Feti?a following. We found a shadow and slid down, huddled next to each other against the cold cement wall.
Liliana opened the can. It released a shusssshh that made the dog bark. We laughed. She offered the can to me.
“No way. You first. It’s your Christmas present. You’ve been waiting ten months.”
She took a sip. I squinted to watch. Her bangs fell over her brow, but I could see her eyes flutter closed. I waited.
“Well?” I finally asked.
Her eyes popped open and a smile pulled across her face. “Uau! It’s really great. Sweet but sharp. Definitely worth the wait.” She handed the can to me.
I took a swig. It fizzed and popped. A revolution on my tongue. I didn’t have words. I just laughed. And Liliana, she laughed with me.
“If you could try anything,” she asked, taking another swig, “what would it be?” She passed the can back to me.
“A banana,” I replied without hesitation. “Have you ever had one?”
“Yes,” she squeaked, trying to muffle a burp and giddy laughter from the Coke.
“My parents tell me we had bananas when I was little,” I said. “But I don’t remember. When I was thirteen, a girl had one at school. I could smell it across the room. After that I begged for a banana constantly. It’s kind of a funny story.” I took a sip of the Coke and passed it back to Liliana. The sugar and bubbles—it was too amazing.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Well, my mom tries to make holidays special, you know? So, she went to great lengths for my fifteenth birthday.”
“To get you a banana.” Liliana nodded.
“Well, not exactly. She couldn’t get a banana. But she somehow got black-market shampoo from West Germany . . . that smelled like a banana.”
“Ohhh . . .” She bit her lip.
“Exactly. But I made a big fuss and”—the Coke was definitely going to my head—“I’ll tell you a secret.”
Liliana waited, eyes wide.
“That shampoo smelled so good”—my voice dropped to a whisper—“I drank some when no one was looking, just to say I had tasted a banana.”
“Oh, Cristian.”
“I know, embarrassing. If you ever tell anyone, I might have to kill you.”
“Don’t worry. I might not survive this Coke!” She laughed.
* * *
? ? ?
I often think about that moment, reliving its perfection in my head.
Liliana. A real Coke. Banana shampoo.
Sometimes we don’t recognize life’s perfect moments.
Until it’s too late.
|| INFORMER REPORT ||
[17 Oct. 1989]
Cristian Florescu （17）， student at MF3 High School.
Observed Friday evening with Liliana Pavel （17）， in 3rd sector, Salajan. After meeting in the street, the two quickly proceeded to a hidden spot where they engaged in clandestine discussion and the sharing of illegal items.
Advise monitoring.
12
DOISPREZECE
We couldn’t stop laughing, drunk on contraband and sugar.
By the time we got to video night there was little room to move.
“You’re late,” whispered Starfish. “Movie’s starting. You’ll have to stand in the back. Is your sister coming?”