To Pom: an apology.

You came to my hut, where I was sitting, on the little porch. You had bought a mosquito net, all tied up in a bundle and you told me tonight was an important Thai festival.
Floaty floaty day, I said.
Yes, you said. Loy Krathong. You asked me if I wanted to join you tonight. We could launch a krathong and then go drink something.
I said: yeah, maybe.
You said: why maybe? See you eleven o'clock.

Across the water, in the darkness, hot air lanterns were gradually lifting from the headland, small balls of fire creeping through the night like slow comets. We watched them drift outwards, getting smaller and smaller, occasionally dropping embers into the deep ocean like rejected angels. We walked around the bay, hopped across the little estuaries, walked out on the tide flats. The sea was black and quiet. Then the party, low tables spread out on the sand, lanterns in the palms, a Filipino band doing Black Eyed Peas and J-Lo covers. You went and bought us drinks and a krathong, and I asked you to explain what the festival was about.
You said: You know, sometimes you are in the sea and you have to go pee-pee, and you do it in the sea! Poor sea! So we say sorry on Loy Krathong. And the krathong, it is good luck too. You make a wish. If you like, you make a hundred wishes.
Oh, for some way to harness that smile.

We lit the candle, burnt the incense. I took three wishes; one for me, one for those close to me and one for the world. We send it off by making wavelets with our fingers. The moon tonight is a neon disc in the air, and in its light you can see the hundreds of krathong ebbing in the shallows like ghosts.

We danced, our toes in the sand. You bought more drinks. It's okay, you said, are you okay? I am okay. You said: I like you. You said: Chris, we be friends, okay? You said: You are good guy. My eyes were lowered. I smiled, but I stayed silent. Your arm has been scarred, four deep ridges, shiny like mercury, covered by a tattoo of a group of geckoes. We danced and your fingers brushed my skin.

Later your friend, the ladyboy, was approached by an old European man who asked if she would go with him to his bungalow. You help translate the transaction. An 800 baht price is decided on; the normal price for a ladyboy. I tell you I could never do that, just approach and ask. You turn to me:
Tomorrow I will tell you about Thai girls, you say. Tomorrow I will explain how it works here. If a western man asks me to go with him, okay, I ask him how much? Usually I get 1000 baht or 1500 baht. I hope you do not think bad about me. But I have a brother and a sister. And a son. This is how it works here in Thailand.
You pause, then say, giggling,
So how much do you want?

Back at the huts you keep on drinking; beer, whiskey. I say goodnight and walk down the sand towards bed. I swim, briefly, the parting water glimmering under the moon, the distant sky flashing with lightning, then I get into bed, pulling my newly hung mosquito net tight under the corners of the mattress.

The lapping shore, the spinning fan.

At four, your knock and your slurred voice: Chris! Chris!
I wake and say: yeah? I am confused momentarily. I can see your silhouette through the propped window.
Chris? Can I stay here? You are hovering there like a marionette.
Um, no, I answer. Sorry.
Oh. That's okay, you say. A pause. Good night. The clink of bottles and your feet sliding on the wooden boards.
Sorry.