Their Days of Nights

13 : Try

Kimberly

He doesn't say anything and just stands there. I watch him with his hands on the hood of this car as he stares into an abysmal distance.

After three, maybe four minutes, he regains composure, walks back to the driver's side, and gently pulls the door closed.

We continue staring past the dashboard and into the occasional lights on the horizon. I can hear the sounds of crickets from outside.

I keep repressing the thought of my mother and what she did. It remains a struggle, then and now, to keep that away.

Whenever I feel bad or low, I'd have this mental image of her face, those hawkish eyes, and her sharp-edged voice saying those words she blurted out when I learned that they're not letting me go to Nat. State. We never thought you'd also have it in you. That's when I'd get this instant thirst for something to drink—my poison of choice—and drown myself until I'm numb.

But right now, though I have those thoughts and feel the same hatred for my mother that I grow inside me with no remorse, I don't have that urge.

I just feel empty, literally.

My stomach is complaining, and my body is in dire need of sustenance.

"Can we, um, go somewhere to eat? I'm kind of starving."

"Okay," he says. "Sure."

Benjie turns the key, rolls the windows back up, and lets the car warm up. It's almost midnight, according to the clock on the dash.

We leave the park and join the stretch of the Boulevard. I keep my eyes alert for signs of a twenty-four-hour fast-food restaurant somewhere. Anything will do to satiate me right now.

We find one at the end of the corner of Bayside.

He quickly gets off after he parks. I let myself loose from the seat belt and step out, and I see him already a few feet near me. He reaches for the car door and closes it. He's always been a gentleman. He locks the car, and we walk toward the entrance. He, of course, holds the door and lets me walk in first.

He lines up at the counter and looks around. He points at a table with cushioned seats by the corner near the windows. He tells me to go there and secure that spot while he lines up. I give him my order. He asks if I also want coffee, and I say, "please."

I sit down on the chair facing the entrance.

He comes back with a tray of my chicken and rice meal, two glasses of juice, and two orange mugs of steaming hot coffee. He says he's waiting for his TLC, but I should start with mine. He's sitting on the adjacent seat facing outside. He cranes his neck a bit forward, checking if he's got a view of the car. He nods, so it seems good.

A crew guy brings him his food, and I snatch the receipt.

I compute for my share of the bill, take out my wallet, and drop a hundred and a fifty on Benjie's side. He returns them to me and says, "don't worry about it." But I slide them back to him and insist that I pay for my food.

We do this seesaw again.

He gives up, grabs the hundred, and puts it in his wallet. I roll my eyes and take back my fifty.

We're done with our food and are stirring our coffee. I take mine with two packets of creamer and two of sugar. He puts two creamers and one sugar in his. I'm still letting mine cool down for a bit.

"What do you want from me, Benjie?"

"Nothing," he says. Both of his hands with the tips of his fingers are on the mug.