The Missing Frame

Kabanata 17.3

ROLANDO

"Meron ka ba?" Finally, I spilled that question out.

I thought Natasha woulnd't respond, because she wouldn't look at me, and it took her a while to say, "Next week pa."

I ran a hand through my hair, and put it in my pocket. Mag-iisang oras ko rin tiniis sa lalamunan ko 'yong mga salitang 'yon a. I sighed as I looked about. To our side were different types of easles. "Grabe ka naman mag-PMS, 'nak." I looked back at her.

Napahinto siya. At dun na siya napatingin sa 'kin. "Can you?—can you please not call me that?"

"Uy, English."

"Tingin niyo sa 'kin?" she hissed. "Grabe kaya English class ko kay Dolores..." She faced away and continued her hunt for a brush. She was picking up every kind she could get her hands on, feeling their bristles underneath her fingertips, their weight when held by the handles. The ones she didn't like she shoot back in the casings, the ones she did she put in the basket laid beside her feet. "Tsaka marunong naman talaga ako kahit hindi ako mayaman tulad niyo, 'no..."

"Hey," I said. Halatang inis na siya. Kanina ko pa siya ginugulo. "Do you remember the sizes of your recent paintings? Your favorite ones? May portion kasi dito na puro frames lang. Tingin tayo."

She sighed and nodded at the basket. "Okay." Tama na siguro 'yon. Ang dami na niyang napili.

I think I'd acquired the unuseful skill of walking to the frames section with my eyes closed. It was still located in the same separate room, huge, spacy, its ceiling higher than the rest of the shop. Sa laki bihira kang makakasalubong ng tao, akalain mong walang ibang nandoon.

"Wow..." sabi ni Natasha. She almost gasped

This was where my mother always brought me when she had finished a painting and wanted to hang it on the wall. Kung tutuusin, p'wede namang magpa-customize; but even if she usually made her own canvases, there was never an instance when she couldn't find one that is the right size.

"My mother taught me an art analogy when I was younger," I said as I ambled about with Natasha, just admiring the vastness of the space and every little frame it held. Naalala kong dito nga rin pala ako no'n pumunta when Mom had passed away and I decided to put the rest of her artworks into frames to be displayed around the house. "She said that our lives are artworks: each color depicting a feeling, each line a story within our story.'

"Some artworks are finished, some left undone.'

"Some artworks take time to create, some rather briefly.'

"Some are bold on its own – can stand on its own; but most need a frame, and unfortunately, only a few can find the one that fits it perfectly – in size, shape, color, and material."

I stopped in front of a huge golden frame. "Seven by nine yung isa mong artwork, right?" Tiningnan ko si Natasha, at nakitang nakatitig siya sa kwadrong malaki.

"Sa laki ng universe na ito, ang weird ding isipin na may mga taong nahahanap yung right love nila, no..."

It caught me off guard, for her to catch and grasp the analogy so quickly.

"True." I brought my gaze back to the frame. If you looked closely, you'd notice the intricate shavings on the sides. "I had always thought mine was Sara..."

Slowly I felt warmth envelope one of my hands, and when I looked at it, two smaller hands held it. I wanted to pull them to my chest, to pull her entirely into me. Ask for her to stay there. Plead even.

But I didn't.

Because somehow it seemed wrong.

And she sighed, withdrew her hands and looked away. "Hindi 'to ang hinahanap ko para sa painting ko. Tingin pa 'ko."

For some reason I wanted to stop her, assure her that she didn't have to look any further.

But of course, that wouldn't be true at all.