When Kristelle came to my flat to take her rice cooker, I let her inside and she calmly stepped in, leaving her shoes by the doorway, walking straight to the kitchen, opened the cabinet and took the rice cooker.
She didn’t say anything, and I just watched her walk. A cab was waiting for her outside.
“We need to talk,” I told her.
“There’s only one thing to talk about,” she replied. She laid the rice cooker on the floor and wore her shoes. When it was all done, she picked up the rice cooker, and looked at me for what seemed like the longest and the last time. “What do you really want?”
“I want you. All of you. Forever.”
She smiled. “I have to go.”
She left, and closed the door behind her. Moments later, I heard the taxi pull out of the driveway. I looked at the window, hoping that she was still there and she just asked the taxi to leave, but no. There was no taxi, no Kristelle, and no rice cooker, even.
Perhaps I am good at watching people go.
The garden was all me, I think. It was nobody else. It described nothing but me.
I could stare long and hard at the patches of porcelain clouds pasted on a blue dome, or spend years trying to count the blade of grass, but to no effect. It was inconsequential like an existence. Nobody asked if we want to enter the world, it just happened. And nobody asked when we want leave it.
Twenty years. What a great life.
Somewhere in the past.
“Can you see?” Kristelle asked. She was pointing to a spot somewhere in the left.
I squinted my eyes and sure enough, there was the Cavite skyline. It was windy at the seaside in Mall of Asia. The scent of salt and garbage were everywhere. She tied her hair in a knot to prevent it from covering her face.
“Why did you point that out?”
“I don’t know,” she said. Then afterwards, she added: “Because nobody notices it.”
“But why is there a need to notice it?”
“Because it’s there!”
“So what’re you saying?”
“I don’t know. I’m just pointing out a geographical fact. Bataan and Cavite encloses the bay,” she said. “And you need to know that because existence is relative.”
“Existence is relative,” I said to myself.
But how is it relative when she’s gone? When they’re all gone?
LRT girl deactivated her Facebook account. I tried calling her, but it was already in an out-of-coverage area. Just like that, she disappeared. She entered the room of my life, stayed for a while, left, returned, and then left for one last time to move on to other things. Kristelle did the same.
Now I sit alone in that room, agitated by sounds of nearby footsteps, of the slight twitching of the knob. Sometimes I’d go to the door and open it myself, look out, and try and get the attention of those outside, something like, “Hey, check me out! Try me!” And some of them would. They’d jam with me for a while but then from out of nowhere they’d realize, “Nah, this isn’t working.” And I’d agree.
I went drinking with some university buddies after my final exams. Everybody began talking about the possibilities of graduation, and I just nodded my head in some form of agreement. They opened discussions about job prospects, sex and philosophy, women, current issues, until I told them I’ve had enough and wanted to call it a night.
“Before you go, how come I don’t see you with that girl from Arts and Letters?” one of my university buddies asked.
“Oh, her? Well, she dropped out.”
“Out of the university, or your life?”
“I’m gonna say both.”
They laughed and then I went home.
After a few seconds (at least it seemed to me), my eyes opened and I could hear a scratching noise coming from somewhere, accompanied by a loud dog barks. I checked the time: it was half-past two in the morning. The apartment was the embodiment of universal silence, so a noise like this was truly echoing. It came from my front door. I immediately went down.
I opened the door and sure enough, there was a dog. An Aspin with black and white fur. It was scratching at my door while barking. I shooed it away but it wouldn’t go. I stepped out and closed my door and the dog ran a short distance before stopping, all the while staring at me, its mouth agape. “Shoo!” I yelled again. The dog barked. I took a few steps forward, and again it ran a short distance. When I stopped, it stopped also.
By this time, my curiosity was a fiery volcano. It was pretty obvious that the dog was leading me to something. I yawned and continued following the dog. It lead me to a flat about 3 flats away from mine. Lights were on, but strangely, the front door was open. Alarm bells began ringing in my head. I looked around and saw nobody on the street. The dog barked and barked. I hastily followed.
There, sprawled face-first on the floor, near the doorway, was a woman. She looked to be my age, and was wearing a sleeveless top that showed the straps of her brassiere, denim shorts and boots. A handbag was on the floor, its contents scattered beside her—lipstick, a handheld mirror, a wallet. Her keys were still on the keyhole. I knelt and checked her vital signs. She was alive all right. But she smelled heavily of alcohol.
“Miss?” I uttered. I shook her, but she didn’t budge. The dog (which I assumed to be hers) were quietly watching us. “Miss?” I called again. I saw her open an eye but it closed almost at once. Slowly, I turned her body over. I didn’t know her. Maybe she recently moved in?
I carried her to her sofa. She made moans and grunts when I laid her down. I picked up the scattered contents of her bag and placed it beside her. On a small glass table beside the sofa there were pieces of paper and a pen. I wrote down my contact number and a note telling her to call me once she wakes up.
When I was near the door, I glanced at the dog who was wagging its tail. “You’re a good boy!” I said to it. It answered with a grunt. I pulled the keys from the keyhole and placed it on the glass table. Then, I locked it and left the apartment.
She called me around 7 am while I was preparing to go to class.
“All right, who is this and how did I get home?” was her opening line. I briefly introduced myself and explained everything to her. How I found her dog who led me to her place where I found her on unconscious on the floor.
“And you didn’t do anything else?” she interrogated.
“No. I just carried you to your sofa and then left.”
“Really? And how did my parts feel?”
I didn’t say anything.
“You’re lucky I won’t call the cops to you,” she added before hanging up.
It wouldn’t be the last time we’d see each other.
Right before lunch, she called me and asked if we could meet. She told me her name was Anna. Of course, I agreed to meet.