"Dada, how did you and mama meet?" My 3 year old asked. It seemed like it were just a few moments ago when she was learning how to talk - now, she can even construct sentences using one-syllable words.
I looked at her, proud and happy that her face reflected her mother's. Kind eyes, a small nose... Overall, cherubic.
"Darling, do you want that as your bedtime story tonight?" I asked, my voice soothing to match the dimmed lights and the silence that surrounded our room.
"Yes, Dada. Please," she managed to push the word out although she had difficulty enounciating the letter L. She looked at me with much curiosity. Who am I to say no?
I managed a nod and a smile. "Okay honey..."
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Of all my birthdays, my seventh was the best.
It wasn't because I had the best or the biggest gifts. It wasn't even because I finally got a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles-themed birthday.
It was because on that fateful, rainy afternoon... I met her.
I didn't mean to, actually. I just wanted Daddy to be around before I blew my candles, but he was nowhere to be found - probably hiding because he didn't want his sisters to talk about his childhood memories. I looked for him all over the house. In the bedroom, the living room, the dining room, even out on the lawn. I looked around the vicinity of the house, and towards everything my little self could see outdoors.
And there, crying on a sidewalk, was a girl about my age. She was wearing a filthy dress, smudged with dirt because of the wet and muddy road.
My dad, despite his ridiculous hatred for parties and people, was a great dad - and he always told me that seeing a girl cry was the worst pain he could possibly imagine. So even as the rain poured and the winds harshly blowed, I walked with dedication towards her.
"Hi little girl, why are you crying?" I asked, slowly crouching down so I would be able to see her face.
She looked up, eyes glassy and nose red because of the crying. "Sino ka? Ibalik niyo ko sa mama ko!" She exclaimed. The words were unfamiliar to me because it was probably in Tagalog. I was never good at that language and I don't intend to be.
I sighed, apologetic at the fact that I didn't understand what she meant. The only thing I got was 'mama'. "I'm sorry but I can't speak Tagalog... Can you translate what you said for me?" I asked, my voice trying to be the calmest I could manage.
"Bakit Inglisero ka?" She sniffed and rubbed the tears away from her eyes. That one I understood. I've heard people ask me the same question a lot of times already, but it didn't seem like she needed an answer.
"What I mean pala is I want to go home..." She continued. Her words sounded weird due to her stuffed nose.
"Let's get inside, maybe Mommy can help you find your house!" I exclaimed excitedly, happy that she finally stopped crying. I grabbed her hand and led her inside. We passed by the tiled floors, both dripping wet but both without care.
Daddy was already there, face red with embarrassment as my aunts droned on and on about how he pooped his pants in 5th grade. Mommy probably found him first.
"Mommy! I brought a friend," I shouted, only wanting to get my mother's attention, but getting everyone else's too. I unmindfully beamed at them and proceeded to go to Mommy who was also red faced now.
"Mommy, this girl was crying along the sidewalk. She lost her mommy... Can we help her?" I asked innocently.
My mom nodded in resignation. "What's your name?" she asked.
"Sharlene... I'm sorry for being dirty," she shyly said.
"I'm Donny, Sharlene. Are you feeling better now?" I asked, seeing that she finally regained her normal breathing after all the crying.
She nodded, but I wasn't satisfied. "Are you sure? Do you promise?"
She smiled a small smile, one without teeth. Then she uttered a word I've never once encountered.
"Peksman."
आप पढ़ रहे हैं
Peksman
लघु कहानीA story - written between the time during friendship and love, told after death.
