The Angelic Conflict (Extended Published Version)

Untitled Part 22

THE MAN stares at her in quiet consent. Tracing the curves of her lashes, the slant of her cheekbones, and the waves of the stray hair strands on her forehead, where the light of the setting sun rests. The realization that this specific situation radiates a replication from the past is a whirlpool in his stomach. Wasn't this the way he had said goodbye to his wife?

The man sits on the only chair in the room. Arms crossed. Not a blink, not a tap of a finger— the only movement coming from his chest, which heaves up and down at each take and withdrawal of breath; and his eyes, blinking in inquisition. A cool breeze graces the space, bringing a bit of life into the stillness of everything. The stem of the wilted, white rose on the table beside the bed sways. As well as the tubes of the dextrose that swing on the IV pole beside the bed.

The girl was found sprawled in the streets. A truck carrying motorcycles had run over her. The medical staff reckoned that if the girl survived the number of impact she had undergone, the least was a broken arm.

But to their surprise, no findings manifested in the CAT scan and other X-rays. She was perfectly safe, Doctor Mendez told the man. No serious injuries. Just wounds on the knees and right elbow. She should be able to walk without much pain within at least two weeks.

The girl's eyelids flutter open.

The man rushes towards her and kneels beside her bed. "How have you been?" he asks, stroking her shoulder.

She shifts her head to face the wall on impulse, away from the man, as if repulsed by the mere sight of him. She jerks up her shoulder to break away from his touch.

Suddenly he cares? she might've thought. Did it have to come to this before he did? How cliché.

The man speaks her name.

"I don't want to see you," her voice a crisp autumn leaf.

"I'm sorry, darling. We'll live together again, and I promise never to lea—"

"Go away." She sniffs.

The man does not know what to do but retire from the room and sit on the bench by the girl's unit door. He pulls out his wallet, and takes out the papers he has kept here. Four printed letters from the girl. All four he has memorized, yet he reads them once more.

Dear Papa

I do not enjoy it here Tita Sam is very strict. She deosn't let me wear jeans only skirts and they can't be above my knees because she says that if I let boys see my knees I'd be a hor (a hor by the way Papa is someone who gets paid for getting naked in front of men not her husband do you know that all ready?) I can not wear colorful dresses too so she used the ones you sent me as kitchen rugs and I have to wear these long dresses that are white, poop green or gray. My life has become dull since you left, Papa.

Tito Popoy is as boring and mean. He's a real bore who cannot think for himself. He only follows what Tita Sam says. Sometimes I feel like he hates Tita Sam and lets off some steam on me by telling on every forbidden thing I do. If God is real, then I know why Tita Sam and her husband are not blessed with children they would be very awful parents. (Unlike you. That's why you have me!)

Thank you for the box of Dove milk chocolates and the can of Godiva dark chocolates. Also for the Motorola phone. I enjoy them very much. I dropped by Mandy's today and she helped me look for you on Friendster. and I saw a picture of you. There's sand everywhere you are, Papa, I hope you can take me ther, too? Some day right? I want to ride a camel and the deep blue waves like you.