Chapter 3 — The Alley Is No Longer On The Map

The Geography teacher placed a stack of A3 papers on the table and tapped the ruler on the board to silence the class.

"The exercise at the end of this chapter, each group of two people, draw a map of the area where they live. It doesn't need to be exactly the scale of the administrative map, I want you to show the perspective of the people living there - which roads you often take, which places you find special. Submit within a week."

The whole class whispered and discussed choosing a group. Vy turned back down to the table below, where Khanh was sitting next to the window, still holding the ballpoint pen and tapping on the notebook cover to the rhythm of the song that only he could hear in his head.

"Group with me?" She asked, even though the answer was almost certain already.

"No need to ask, it's obvious." Khanh replied, not looking up. "Drawing Gieng Chung Alley. I know it better than memorizing the multiplication table."

On Saturday afternoon, the two of us spread a sheet of A3 paper right on the cement floor of the well yard, adding a cardboard sheet underneath to make it flat. The afternoon sunlight slanted through the tamarind canopy, falling in streaks of light that danced on the paper surface every time the wind shook the branches. Khanh held a pencil, his hand still stained with motor oil that had not been completely washed off, and drew a zigzag curve from the edge of the paper to the middle.

"This is the main road, here turns into my alley." He was drawing and mumbling. "What's the name on the first curve, where you used to fall off your bike in seventh grade?"

"Don't say I fell off the bike." Vy grabbed the pen, but Khanh quickly wrote first: "Cua Turn Te Xe - where Trinh Kha Vy once majestically flew over the handlebars."

"I'll tear up this paper now." Vy punched him lightly on the shoulder, but couldn't help but laugh. The clear laughter echoed in the empty well yard, causing two old ladies sitting nearby to wash rice to look back and smile.

They continued to draw, each detail on the paper told a story. The old tamarind tree in the middle of the yard was named "Three-Footed Tamarind Root" because there were three roots sticking out in the shape of duck feet that the children in the neighborhood often sat on to play with toys. Uncle Hai Moc's car repair shop was drawn with a small rectangle, inside the note "the only place in the alley with a fan that runs all day without turning off". Mrs. Nam Xoi's house was marked with a large dot, reading "compulsory stop every morning, anyone who skips it is considered to have not woken up".

When he reached the common well in the middle of the paper, Khanh stopped his pen for a long time, his finger lightly tapping on the blank surface of the paper.

"What does this say?"

Vy looked down, then looked around the well yard - where they were sitting, where the whole neighborhood still gathered every night, where her mother used to wash laundry for decades, where Khanh's father once dug up the water source when the whole neighborhood was thirsty in the middle of a drought.

"Write the center of the alley." she said. "Without it, our neighborhood would have disintegrated a long time ago."

Khanh wrote down exactly like that, his handwriting was much neater than the previous joking notes. Then he sat up straight and looked at their work - a map filled with funny names, hand-drawn lines that weren't straight, but more vivid than any printed map he'd ever seen.

"You know," he said, his voice suddenly low, "if you go anywhere in the future, just look at this again and you'll remember the way back. No need for GPS navigation at all."

"You talk as if I'm really going to leave." Vy glanced at him, her hand still darkening the outline of the alley.

"So you're about to apply." Khanh shrugged, trying to keep his voice gentle. "I just said it in case."

The air between the two of them slackened a beat. Vy put down her pen, looked straight at Khanh, intending to say something that had been brewing in her mind for the past few days — about the real fear behind this decision, not fear of leaving her mother or fear of a difficult road, but fear of one day returning, everything had changed, everyone had changed, including him.

But at that moment, the sound of a motorbike revving outside the alleyway interrupted, accompanied by the sound of Mo screaming in the distance.

"Hey you two! There's a local soccer team coming over to invite us for a friendly match. There's a shortage of players. Hurry up!"

The moment that had just begun has vanished. Khanh stood up, reaching out his hand to pull Vy up in a natural reflex like he had done hundreds of times.

"Let's go play soccer first, we can continue drawing the map tomorrow."

Vy watched him run towards the alley, the unfinished A3 paper lay on the cement floor, the funny names were still the color of pencil ink. She bent down to pick up the piece of paper, folded it carefully and put it in her bag, thinking that perhaps the hastily drawn map of a Saturday afternoon would become something she carried with her throughout the years away from home.

She ran to the empty field at the end of the alley, where dust rose every time someone kicked the ball across the rough field full of gravel. Khanh had taken off his uniform, leaving only a tank top on, and was competing for the ball with a kid whose team was a head taller than him. Fat stood as a reluctant goalkeeper, arms and legs spread out like a crab but still conceded two goals in a row, being loudly booed by the whole team.

"Vy, come here and be the referee, they're cheating!" Fat screamed, sweating profusely.

"If I were the referee, your side would probably lose." Vy smiled and sat down on the dry field next to the yard, still clutching the briefcase with the map inside as if she was afraid the wind would blow it away.

The match lasted until it was dark. Khanh's team lost by two goals but no one was sad for long. They all went to the public water fountain at the end of the alley to pour water on their heads to cool down. Khanh walked home with Vy, his sweat-soaked shirt draped over his shoulder, his steps limping because the strap of his sandals had not been replaced.

"Do you want to study more tomorrow?" He asked, deliberately starting a conversation to fill the remaining silence from the unfinished conversation in the afternoon.

"Yes. Ms. Hanh opens an English tutoring class for those taking the scholarship exam." Vy replied. "Me and two other kids signed up."

"Then I'll take it away." Khanh said, his voice natural as if it was an obvious thing that needed no debate. "The shop is closed every morning until seven o'clock. I'll take you there and then I'll come back and open the shop in time."

"No, it's two kilometers further. You dropped me off and came back late to open the shop. Your father screamed to death." Vy shook her head, but inside she felt strangely warm at that enthusiasm.

"If my dad yells at me, I'll accept it, so why worry?" Khanh grinned, revealing the crooked teeth that had followed him since eighth grade. "Consider this my tuition contribution to your scholarship, okay?"

*

That evening, when the lights were on in the whole neighborhood, Vy sat alone at her desk and reopened the scholarship application form that Mr. An had given her. She looked at the blank line "Applicant's full name", the pen in her hand trembled slightly, not because of the cold.

She thought about Khanh's words at the well yard - about how even if you go far, you still remember the way back thanks to the map the two of them drew together. She thought about her mother's eyes the night before, about her fists clenched and then quickly let go. She thought about Mr. An, about the saying "then I can really help this whole alley".

And finally, she put down her pen and wrote word by word, slowly and surely: Trinh Kha Vy.

When she finished writing, she did not feel as relieved as she imagined. Instead there was a strange feeling, as if she had just signed a promise to herself and she didn't yet fully understand the cost.

She took out a small notebook and practiced writing a self-introduction in English for an imaginary interview. She read out loud in a small voice in the cramped rented room: "My name is Trinh Kha Vy. I come from a small alley called Gieng Chung..." At the description of the alley, she paused, not knowing how to translate the word "common well" so that foreigners could understand the gathering atmosphere of the evenings when the whole neighborhood gathered to draw water, laugh, argue, and then make up. There are things, she realized, that no language can fully translate.

Outside the door, there was a light knock. Vy was startled and quickly closed the notebook. When she opened the door, she saw Khanh standing there, holding in her hand an A3 piece of paper that had been drawn unfinished in the afternoon and had been carefully rolled up, covered with a layer of clear plastic wrap to avoid moisture.

"You forgot it a while ago. When you were running to the soccer field, you dropped it under a tamarind tree. Luckily, Mrs. Nam picked it up and gave it to me." He passed the paper through the crack in the door, did not go in, just stood on the dark porch with the light shining from inside the house.

"Thank." Vy took it and hugged it close to her chest as if it were a treasure and not an unfinished geography homework sheet.

"When you go to extra class tomorrow, remember to wait for me outside the alley, six thirty." Khanh said, then turned and walked away, his limp gait gradually disappearing into the darkness of the alley with only a few lights left on.

Vy stood leaning against the door, looking after him until she could no longer see him, then closed the door, spread the map out on the desk again, looked at the funny names under the yellow light, a rare feeling of certainty arose in her heart: no matter where she went, she would never forget the way back to this place.

Outside the window, the late-season cicadas chirped incessantly, and in the distance, the laughter of boys playing soccer still echoed from the empty field at the end of the alley, carefree as if nothing would change tomorrow.