by T-net Quiring

“Thunder is good, thunder is impressive; but it is lightning that does the work.” – Mark Twain.

Roma sat in front of the dressing table, with her matched underwear on under her bath towel. To her, dressing up, more so wearing make-up required a heft of effort. On weekends, she wore clothes that felt comfortable enough to sprint with, which didn’t mean miniskirts or tight short dresses.

The clock’s hand pointed to four. Two hours of lead time before the meeting didn’t seem to be enough, she thought. This was not her usual self, and this doesn’t happen every day after all, she convinced herself. She proceeded to the adjacent full body mirror for a scrutiny of some sort, tossing away the towel, practicing how somebody else’s eyes would lay on such sight. She had on her new light blue underwear. She was fair all over. She had almost perfect legs, slender and evenly pigmented. Unless examined relatively close, a tiny keloid on her left knee was not in fact palpable and not a bother at all. Yet people staring at her legs long enough always made her uncomfortable.

Her underarm had no trace of unpluck hair. Feeling her arms and elbows, they were soft and smooth just as always. She gathered her damp hair to one side, revealing her nape. It was such an intimate place which she liked being touched.  But the mere thought of it now gave her shivers.

The blue tight sleeveless dress she pulled out from the closet would surely do a lot for the purpose. Its color would illuminate her fair skin even more. And though it was bought from a boutique, its cut appeared as if it was a tailor-fitted dress. Like it did when Roma had put some left-over pickled radish in its dish before, Navi purred disapprovingly, after staring at her for a second, before fixing itself into its more important business of licking itself clean.

As if corresponding to the cat’s displeasure, she managed to tamper the gaudy piece of clothing with a neat gray cardigan over it. She was taller than normal, so a little heel on a pair of sandals was all her entire costume asked for. She dabbed some powder on, a little tint of blush and lipstick.

Further inspecting, she peered on her purse and realized there was nothing else there. On the drawer, though, there were some cosmetics. She fumbled on the mascara – that wasn’t hers – careful enough not to smear any on her skin.

Contented enough having played the beginning of the script, she put on a razor-thin smile at herself, and left without bothering to say goodbye to Navi, the cat, whose affectionate rubs on her ankles she had disregarded before shutting the door.

Nothing astounding was worth mentioning on her trip from the apartment, except for the number of gazes from old and young men her legs accrued. She alighted the train, tried to brush off the feeling of self-consciousness and rode the cab that came instantaneously.

She remembered taking, before leaving the apartment, the blue little pill someone gave her. It helps, that someone had told her, guaranteeing its usefulness.

Before giving instruction to the driver, she opened her phone, checking the name of the place she couldn’t recall because it was too generic – like common-looking people we get to meet once and don’t have a streak of memory of their face afterward. This suddenly struck her – like those common-looking people, she hoped this day and place would come to a similar denouement on her recollection.

From the outside, the establishment appeared to be smaller, but when she entered the slim entrance, it actually was larger and had room for fifteen tables or so. The trimmings or table arrangements had no importance to her. She proceeded to a corner table where a man she knew sat.

He was seated, though she could tell he would still be the same height as before, almost the same as hers. Arms folded, his elbows rested on the table. His physical features didn’t appeal to her that much. As he rose and led her to her seat, he gave her a once over, attempted to stifle his excitement, which oozed through his grin.

He must have thought, after five years of constantly pursuing her in vain, it was a surprise that didn’t require of an explanation. For him, getting to this point was more like fishing, for he had patiently waited. It didn’t matter how the fish finally decided to take the bait, as long this was the long-awaited catch.

Still, she was the one calling the shots. She ordered food and wine and didn’t care to talk much. She just hoped he would be drunk enough to take her to his place, or anywhere as long as they would be having intercourse. Needless to say, this man would definitely spring at her if she let him, even without her having to put on a sassy demeanor. She thought of this intently in a manner devoid of any sexual desire, and as routinely spontaneous as cross-stitching or finishing an eight-to-five workload.

She thought, that if only she had half the audacity as Marcia’s, this entire undertaking of prostituting herself, would easily pass, fluid as urine.

Roma looked at her reflection in the train – she wasn’t wearing make-up now.

***

A hodgepodge of emotions clamored at Marcia, persistent as crabs climbing on one side of a basket, crawling on top of each other, each wanting the lead out of the container. All these her faint brain could not sort out and prioritize. Thoughts swarmed in her head, her whole body ached and her bra straps were twisted. For now, the first thing she dared regret was taking the bus, when in her exhaustion, it should have been a cab.

Crying was not her thing, above all, in a place as public as a commuter bus. To survive the thirty-kilometer bus trip, she reached for her iPod, a diversion, if she could call it. She felt her jean’s pocket for some loose coins, and found caught up in a mess, her earphones, three ten-peso coins and a ring.

She picked the ring and casually slipped it back on her middle finger. Her eyes wandered anywhere but on the silver thing she was absurdly ashamed to look at. A stocky woman across the aisle stared knowingly; she wanted to poke her in the eye. The unruly hair reflected on the glass was hers, which she attempted to tame with a few strokes. After the collector exchanged a ticket for her coins, she shifted to her upbeat playlist, wishing the trip a fast forward play.

As if granting it to her, the bus adamantly blazed through the highway after a moderate build up because of some patches of road rehabilitation. She thought that if the bus were meant to rocket up the sky, it would have. Commuters seemed to be unmindful of the driving, though, except for the stocky woman who looked like she was to reproach the driver, only that she might lose her balance if she stood, let alone walk the aisle and give him a good hit with her umbrella. Realizing this herself, she must have given up and maintained a grouchy look instead, murmuring to no one. For a moment it occurred to Marcia, to ask, ominously her own death, out of a vehicular accident, on that very trip.

She slid the hand that held the ring into her pocket as she waited for her stop. Unluckily, she thought, about the accident not happening at all. Taking off the bus, she gaited sluggishly above the hot morning sun as if it were not smoldering her skin yet. She searched all the pockets of her jeans and was glad she hadn’t lost her door key.

The apartment building was insanely tranquil for a Saturday morning. Even the click of the door being unlocked seemed to resonate the hall. A cat was at home, it had been licking itself clean. When it caught sight of Marcia, it alertly welcomed her, its tail upright, as if flagging it wasn’t fed the night before. After taking care of the cat food, she took a quick shower to rub off the scent of the unfamiliar bed that subtly clung to her hair. It was just about seven in the morning and she felt like sleeping the whole day, and manage the crawling crabs in the basket tomorrow.

***

Roma alighted the train in her normal swift gait, without the piercing glances on her legs. After all, she was wearing a pair of jeans and a buttoned-down gray blouse, not at all undignified for a train ride and a casual meeting in a café.

She arrived ahead of time and purposely picked an inconspicuous spot, a corner table. Five minutes passed their scheduled meeting time and the other party arrived. He was wearing plain shirt and jeans. His face was devoid of any expression, just as hers. He carefully sat in front of her. There was a weight in the air that made both of them hard to breathe.

Introductions or greetings were superfluous at this point. Both knew each other. Roma was the one to set this meeting and so took the lead on ordering. She motioned for a waiter. Black coffee, extra hot was hers. The waiter noted her order, and then with a genuine smile without any teeth showing, pen and order slip still in hand, asked her companion what he wanted. He looked hesitant, shook his head lightly. He actually didn’t want to order.

Unable to think of anything from the menu, I’ll have what she’s having, he thought to himself. Ever since she had communicated with him, he had tried to exercise extra caution on his words and actions. After all, the situation they’re in couldn’t be clammier, and he felt like he had since been walking on thin ice. I’ll have what she’s having. If those words abruptly slipped out of his mouth, out of recklessness, he would have been slapped with But dear, you already had. And that could have been coupled with a forceful and revengeful punch on the face. It may have been a minute or so of fumbling on his words, but the waiter didn’t seem to be rushing.

Black coffee, he finally said. Two orders of black coffee, the waiter recapped. Would you like it extra hot as well? Anticipating needs was part of his customer service, though it still seemed too personal and too hard a question for an afternoon coffee. No, thanks.

Their cups of black coffee resting on the table, they both looked like they were nestled in their seats, neatly as though a little girl’s tea party play scene, only silence permeated. It had been a while before Roma could put words in her mouth. A lot were going in her head and she didn’t know how or where to start.

She was ostensibly in deep recollection for a time, endlessly tracing the rim of her cup with a finger. With a voice bereft of any emotion, she finally spoke. Why?

He silently swallowed the saliva that had built up in his mouth. Of course, she would be throwing more difficult questions, downplaying those of the waiter’s. Incapable of producing a response to the one-word question that seemed like the ray of light that would then illuminate the whole dark room he surmised she was in, he looked down on his coffee, subtly shaking his head a couple of times.

Roma breathed in, a deep one. She decided to shift, and start with the specifics instead. She threw factual questions that had deemed factual answers, those which a news writer would, apart from What; because the answer to that being a given fact to the both of them.

He appeared taciturn, probably surmised how capable those facts, even those miniscule elements were, of causing more damage to an already wounded cat, that there wasn’t a single detail he let out. Call it being polite, at the very least, regardless of the fact that he willingly had a sexual affair with his ex-girlfriend from long ago, whom he was practically aware has been this person’s love interest for so long.

Roma was not getting the answers she wanted, however she restate her questions. You two are too good a team, she thought to herself. First, you agree to have sex, and then agree to shut up. She noticed her coffee getting cold, while his, probably colder, was barely consumed. After having a refill, she inhaled as though breathing in the steam from the cup, then loudly let the air out through her mouth. Good team up, huh?

Not that she haven’t thought of seducing a man before. Someone who was head over heels for her, all in her blue sleeveless dress, fully-made up gear, not for her own bodily pleasure, but for pure retaliation. She looked at the man in front of her. Suddenly, there was a fleeting idea. Fleeting as it was, it was gone, even before she could imagine what catastrophe was bound to it.

They departed the cafe with nothing to rejoice. Not that she expected to gain anything more to it than answers. Answers that didn’t come anyway. Apologizing couldn’t undo anything, she realized, and he too, must have thought it.

***

Marcia broke out in a sweat, as she jolted up from a terrible dream. She was walking along a pavement, hand in hand with Roma.  By the looks of it, it was their own neighborhood, populated with unfamiliar people. The sun hid from the clouds, perhaps it was a relatively cool weather, encouraging for an afternoon walk. A few unfamiliar people they would come across with would stare, which she found strange.

Suddenly, Roma tugged at her. She wanted to run along the shore, which they were strangely been transported to, but neither seemed to bother how. As she was about to move her feet, there was a weight that made her unable to move. She was afraid to look down, yet she needed to know what was keeping her. Her armpits dampened as she realized what the people before were staring at – her tummy. It had a very huge bulge, a full-grown pregnancy. When did this happen? It was as if they were oblivious all along, had been living their life happily, walking along the streets hand in hand, and then someone must have squeezed in the fruit of knowledge into their afternoon tea. As they became awaken to the fact, Roma shook her head, bit her lip, hurt. She let go of Marcia’s hand. She ran and ran, to where the sun was setting on the edge. But it seemed an endless shore. And she was left behind.

Marcia’s heart was pounding when she opened her eyes. With the curtains drawn, it was hard to tell time of the day. Her cellphone was still in her bag and the wall clock had long been needy of fresh batteries. Navi had her tail upright again, intently looking at her. She felt the sides of the bed where the remote control was. Quite right, the late afternoon news had just started, and the cat was hungry.

After feeding the cat, it was about to get dark and she had no urge for sleeping, or eating. She had nothing to do. And the crabs want out of the basket.

She opened the fridge for a beer, but there wasn’t any. Funny how people would point a finger on alcohol to salvage theirselves, she thought. But last night, she was totally alone in this, for she was sober and was a fully consenting adult. She poured a glass of cold water, looking for that reason.

Looking back, they have separated years ago, so closure was out of the question. Their relationship had been cut clean, like a sheet of paper, neatly and smoothly with a newly sharpened knife. No rough edges to it.

What if after all, she thought, there was this miniscule piece of the other half left? Roma, there is this tiny piece of him that obliviously clung inside me, and he has that tiny piece of me inside him.  We had to retrieve those pieces to fully let go.

Strange as it may seem, but they had a plain intercourse, as if searching deep into the other, finding that missing piece and going home a complete set of puzzle. As they parted ways, they both understood they fully let go, and were going back to their separate lives.

But she had to cry. On the onset, she knew there wasn’t alcohol or tangible puzzle piece to blame. She gave up scouring for that excuse and started to take in what it truly was – an unforgivable, irretrievable point blank mistake.

***

Lighting indeed is the destructive force. Yet thunder could be damaging, too, that is, to one’s eardrums, couldn’t it?

Within a couple of months, the two seemed to be taking those simple steps back to their places, after the damage has been done and the tears had been shed. They would stroll around the neighborhood on Saturday afternoons, alternately fix dinner, feed the cat, wash the dishes, do the laundry, sleep together in their bed, one’s arm cuddling the other.

One near-summer day, the weather had been oddly twisted. An unforseen surge of rain happened, with no lighting or thunder, just a heavy amount of water being discharged from the sky. Unable to do their afternoon walk, Marcia cooked instant soup and heated some day-old loaves from the pantry. The three of them, including Navi, the cat, curled up on the couch, blanketed in each other’s warmth. Roma was gently caressed by the other, while she stroked the cat in circling motions on its soft white fur, thinking – whether she had actually worn the blue dress that hung in her closet. While it smelled of moth balls, it seemed to reek, subtly, of her own perspiration.