For Everything (8) Here’s one for the record. My bestfriend Frencheska has changed her views about love. That is, she’s adopted mine: she’s given up on the soulmate theory; she doesn’t believe in chemistry and passion and that x-factor no more; and she’s all about companionship and hard work and tolerance now. I exclaim, “But French! Don’t you see? I was so wrong!” It’s true, you know. It’s taken me this long to realize – love isn’t about finding someone you can live with. No, not at all. Love, true love, is about finding someone you can’t live without. I rattle on and on and on. She gapes at me. “Julie, I had that best friend thing going on with that… that jerk (that’s her The One, by the way) – and then I got dumped! How’s that?” “I, on the other hand, went through that whole true love bullshit with Elmo. Look what happened.” A moment of silence. “Okay, now we’ll just stay single till we die, I expect.” "Which, if you think about it, is okay, you know," I laugh. "Hahaha. Echosera ka. Don’t tell me you’ll die single when you have Chino holding a torch for you. My god. Record breaking na nga kayo eh. A decade of acquaintance, eight years of friendship, six years of on and off relationship—" "Five," I correct her. "Five?" "Remember that year when we broke up?" "Oh god, yes. Oo nga pala. Naalala ko. Most liberating day of your boring college life, ever." "Haha. Talaga?" "Ang saya saya ko kaya nun. Nun pa lang na nagtext ka na parang you wanted to break up with Chino na. I was like, go babe! Just do it!" "Ang tagal kong naghesitate nun, alam mo ba?" "Alam ko po. Buti na lang talaga, na-possess ka ng spirit of the dough." "Spirit of the dough? Ano yun?" I exclaim, laughing. "Oh, you know. Dough. That thing which, if you mold well enough, you get a pastry out of." "Hahaha. Riiiiight." I roll my eyes. But I very well know what she’s talking about. Alright. Maybe, in a totally crazy way, the spirit of the dough, as my bestfriend would call it, served a much higher purpose than what dough was usually intended for. I’ll let you in on the dish. We were in my kitchen. It was almost Christmas and I was, I think, making a batch of cookies. I was busy with my ingredients. He was busy with my computer. I didn’t even have any inkling that an eye-opening moment would take place. Sometime into the task, I emptied the cup of flour into the bowl, watching the residual cloud rise like vapor. He sat at the table, snickering at some comment that his friend probably made on some photo that he posted. He was quite popular, that man. It shouldn’t bother me that he assumed control of my computer, I told myself as I shook powdered cinnamon into the bowl. Picking up a fork, I began pressing the flour and cinnamon into the butter-egg-sugar confection at the bottom of the bowl, mixing it in slow, circular motions. I kept doing it while a silly little thought nagged at the corner of my mind. A few minutes later, as I poured some chocolate into the mix, I felt him standing behind me, a few steps to the left. “How’re they coming?" he asked. "About to throw them in the oven." I blinked. “Which isn’t on. Turn it to 350, would you?" "Sure." He pressed the display buttons as I reached into the bowl and scooped out an unshaped lump of dough. I rolled it over in my hands once, forming a neat sphere and setting it on the pan. Something about that simple act of creation soothed me despite the slick of dough clinging to my hands. He was still standing there, watching. Not close enough to radiate body heat, but within arm’s reach. There was nothing wrong there. He was a nice guy. Loyal boyfriend, albeit clingy. A favorite of the family. An envy of my friends. A great kisser, even. People would always say that we looked alike already, that love did that— make couples resemble each other, I mean. He made me feel wanted. He made me feel pretty. He made me feel nice. But that was all. Gone was the fire or flutter or even a little spark. "And done," I said, setting the last ball of dough on the tray a moment later. I kept my voice casual, self-deprecatory, friendly but a little uninterested. The pan went in the oven, the bowl in the dishwasher, and when I turned from the sink, crumpling a paper towel between my hands, his hands went on me. He grabbed me by the shoulders, spinning me into the far wall, hands sliding down my arms to trap my elbows. My eyes widened and my mouth opened to tell him to stop but he silenced me with his mouth on mine. I was pinned to the wall, unable to move, silently screaming at him for kissing me. Which was totally off-character, as I was, after all, his girlfriend. It was a glimpse, a moment, but I knew my reactions flashed across my face, because he took a step back. “You alright?" I shook my head. His face fell. I forced a smile. “Yeah. May… may naalala lang ako." He tried a smile. “Are you sure? You look kinda freaked out." I felt a whispering sense of dread creeping into my gut, a black mist at the edge of my senses, lingering. Not enough to legitimately panic, not even close, but a feeling that shouldn’t be there, a weed. I shrugged and stepped past him to the table, arranging plates, thinking hard. I made an excuse about studying for an exam almost as soon as the cookies were finished. He grabbed his keys, showed himself out, and took off across the road. I ran out of the house as soon as he was out of sight. I shivered as I paced down the next few blocks, feet crunching leaves. I hadn’t even thought of a jacket. I made it to the right house a few moments later. The streetlight cast me as silhouette, thin and indistinct. I gathered my courage and knocked. A dog barked inside and I heard nails scrabbling against floor. A man ordered the dog back and the porch door swung open a minute later. He was wearing a pair of stonewashed blue jeans and nothing else, bent over, grabbing the retriever’s collar as he pushed open the swing door. "Sorry about Monkey, he’s hyperactive as heck today." "It’s okay." I bent down, let the dog sniff my hands and give me an enthusiastic lick across the arm. Eventually he calmed and ran towards the back of the house, probably to fetch a tennis ball. He loved to play. "Napadpad ka?" He stood, and I realized again that he wasn’t wearing a shirt and flecks of water danced from his hair. Fresh out of the shower. He was much taller than the really tall me. I always forgot that until I saw him. "I just…." What? Panicked from a kiss? Ran out of my house because my boyfriend loved me? I didn’t know what to say, so I just walked over the threshold and wrapped my arms around him, bare chest and all. I felt him tense for an instant before carefully pulling me in with one arm across my back. His voice softened. “Hey, what’s going on?" My breath shuddered. “I… nasa bahay si Chino and I was making cookies, and I just… god, this sounds so stupid, but I don’t know, it just felt really weird." "Weird how?" "Moe," I said in a very small voice, “he kissed me and I freaked out." He chuckled. “Your boyfriend kisses you and you run. Yet you’re jumping me when I’m not wearing a shirt and that isn’t freaking you out?" I felt my face flame and I stepped back. “Um. Sorry, geez, I wasn’t thinking—" I caught the glimmer in his eyes and flushed again. “Damn you." He laughed. “I get that a lot." He pointed at the couch. “Upo ka muna, bihis lang ako." Kahit wag na, my mind screamed. But I sat as he disappeared up the stairs. Monkey trotted over and rested his head on my knee, slobbering. I sighed and sank into the worn leather, idly massaging the dog’s ears. Stairs creaked and he reappeared with a shirt on. It looked soft. Slapping Monkey’s rump, he sat at the other end of the couch and turned towards me. "So. Anong nangyari?" "I…I don’t know. Something just felt wrong and I freaked out." My trembling fingers pushed an errant bang behind my ears. “He’s a nice guy and he’s never done anything wrong, but I just got this weird feeling… and now I’m not making any sense." He lifted a shoulder. “It makes enough sense. My question is, bakit ka nandito?" I bit the edge of my lip. “I mean, this sounds stupid, but you’ve stood that close to me a million times, and like, I can be in a crowd and know exactly where you’re standing in relation to me, every time. It’s weird, and I don’t even get that, but not once did I ever get weirded out by it. It’s just…" I released a breath. I didn’t do the spill-your-guts thing well. “I guess I just started thinking that if you’d been standing there instead of him I would have felt perfectly safe." He blinked and rubbed his jaw. “Well. Thanks." I knew he meant it, was just surprised by me saying that. I was, too. "Yeah." I shrugged. “That’s about it." I began to feel like a class-A moron, filed away in his mind as a silly girl. I stood. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in. Uh… uwi na ko." He blocked my path to the door in half a heartbeat, eyes fixed on mine. Carefully, he placed his hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry it turned out that way with him. But I’m not him, and, well, you know I’m here for you. You’re an amazing girl and no one should freak you out like that." I could feel Monkey sniffing the back of my knees. Most of all, I felt his hands on my shoulders. “Thanks." I blinked. “I’m not crying, I promise." "There’s nothing wrong with that even if you were. Which you aren’t. Of course." I half-laughed, half-coughed, and he pulled me into a real hug, one where I wrapped my arms around him, closing my right hand around my left wrist and letting myself relax, cheek rubbing against his shirt. It was soft. And I was right. I did feel safe.
Posted on: Wed, 10 Jul 2013 17:16:06 +0000
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