Orange

DAY 1 of 10

I had a bodyguard and driver called Timo, this massive six-footer with a receding hairline, complemented by these Ray-Bans he always wore. He could eat a whole damned cow and had a ridiculously high tolerance for alcohol. When he was in the army, he killed over twenty men, mostly those communist rebels. He’s some kind of a beast, that one, that’s for sure.

But one thing I liked about him was that he sort of had his morals in place, like how he never did dumb things like join some ex-para-whatnot-militia group that’d go power-tripping, carnapping, kidnapping, or whatever.

He also talked funny with his thick Visayan-region accent and muddled-up English. Then again, who am I to laugh. I couldn’t speak Filipino like, at all. Well, sure, Mom was American, but Dad was Filipino, but when our family left this country in the mid-80s, we went to New York and stayed there until the latter ’90s, so I grew up without practicing the language.

Actually, I didn’t see the sense in having a bodyguard. I mean, who in the world was I to actually have one. But Daddy’s orders were law. Still, Timo was good to have around, and given how long I’d be in the province, he’d probably be my new best friend.

IT WAS only my third day at Villa Nuñez and I was so miserable I wanted to kill myself. I was sick of my stupid old PlayStation, and Dad was getting all “Let’s hang out son, just you and me!” So after lunch, Timo and I took my black, bulletproof Expedition and fled from the rest house. Timo suggested we head out to this place called Bangui, a small town up north.

During the trip, I thought about this Bangui and pictured some backwater village of mud huts and bungalows. Well, that’s what ‘provincial’ sounded like to me. But when Timo said Bangui was a fishing village, my imagination went wild! I thought of dilapidated docks by the sea, stinky fly-infested wet markets, and shabby hovels with leggy fishermen inside of them. If it were that bad, we’d be so out of that little seaside village in no time.

We began descending this hill. An archway etched with ‘Mabuhay! Bangui‘ loomed ahead. I slouched on my seat and smoked a cigarette. We entered this valley where the village was located.

The town wasn’t as bad as I thought. You got shabby shanties here and there, and a couple of dark and wrinkly locals walking all over the place. But you also had these upscale homes fit for some upscale subdivision in Manila. I swear, this rich and poor disparity thing was chronic; it infested its way up to the furthest reaches of the Philippine Islands!

Bangui didn’t seem like a fishing village. I didn’t see crummy docks or wet markets, nor any fish stalls or people hauling nets with dead marine life. Maybe they hid that stuff somewhere in town, away from the main highway, like some dark secret you wouldn’t show the world.

We reached this place called a poblacion, the town center, I figured, and there were these dudes hanging around this park. One of them spat on the ground as we passed by. I guess these were the angry local layabouts whose rural dreams spanned as far as rural opportunity. There were also these provincial kids running around this amphitheater, all smiles and laughter with their fun little game of chase.

Timo pointed out the Municipal Hall, a building of white walls and red roofing, and said I should introduce myself to the mayor. But I wasn’t up for rubbing elbows with the local hotshot. In fact, I wanted the opposite; I thought of hanging around one of these more humble establishments around town. It was kind of an immersion trip—my little moment in Bangui. I told Timo to look for the most run-down place he could find.

We stopped by this eatery and left the car. I frowned at the name of the place—Memories Today. What in the world was that supposed to mean.

When we stepped inside, I realized Timo really did his job—this place, hands-down, was totally run-down! It had a rusty tin roof supported by half-decaying wood, and concrete block walls mashed up with dried chunks of cement. Scattered around were these tacky plastic tables and wobbly plastic chairs, and on one end of the eatery was a counter of gunk-filled tin pots—and I honestly wondered if it had some cockroach stewing in its stuff and drowning in the muck.

An old and wrinkly crone by the counter smiled at us and said, “Oy.”

We took a table in one corner. Timo pulled out a deck of cards from his pocket. “Play Pusoy Dos, Cris?” I nodded and told him to get two beers. When our drinks arrived, we began our game of cards.

“Your papa,” Timo said, “sleeping well in the house.”

“Sure,” I replied. “You know it’s his vacation Timo, not mine.” I grinned at him. I was going to whack the man’s deck with my diamond flush.

“It is wonderful day for siesta,” he continued, “under coconut tree with mango juice.”

Right. A wonderful day. Here we were at some shanty home, it was a scorching summer afternoon, and that wall fan wiggling away in the corner wasn’t helping any.

I narrowed my eyes at Timo. “So, what’ve you got?”

He placed down a straight flush and instantly won the game.

I frowned at him. He laughed and shuffled the cards. “So Cris, you now play Pusoy Dos and is new pastime in the province?”

“I don’t know, Timo. I’ll find my pastime soon enough.”

An hour later, we ran out of cigarettes. I walked to the old lady by the counter.

“Hey. You got cigarettes?” I said.

“Ania?” she said in return.

I paused. What in the world was Ania? I couldn’t speak Filipino, but I understood most of it. And this old lady wasn’t talking to me in Filipino. It was probably Ilocano, the region’s local dialect.

“Filipino only, okay?” I said.

“Ania?”

I rolled my eyes. “Never mind. I want cigarettes.”

She knitted her brows.

“Marlboro!” I made the motions of puffing a cigarette.

She nodded but said something else. “Mano ti kayatmo?”

“Mano what? Can’t you speak Filipino? Or English?”

“Saan ka a maawatan, ading. Mano ti kayatmo?”

Well, jesus christ, I couldn’t understand a frickin’ damned word she was saying! “I said one pack of Marlboros, just one pack!“

“Pak?!” she exclaimed and started laughing like I’d just said a joke.

And then, from behind me came another woman’s voice:

“Kayatna ti sangapakete a sigarilio. Marlboro, Manang.”

I turned around—and got the surprise of my life.

There was a young woman standing behind me, and she was so damned pretty I was stunned! You would never find this kind of pretty in some god-knows-where town! She looked completely out of place in this dilapidated eatery!

She had long, raven black hair that fell past her shoulders. Her gaze was silent, piercing, with those sly set of dark eyes. She had a small nose and mouth, perfectly matching her pretty face. She was dressed in a light blue t-shirt labelled ATENEO, A.M.D.G., white denim shorts, and white sneakers.

God. She was beautiful!

“Hey…” I mumbled to her.

She didn’t reply and just looked at me. She withdrew a little, crossed her arms, and eyed me from head to toe. She then gave the old lady a very pretty smile. They hugged, exchanged words in that funky dialect, and then she cried out in delight and hugged the old lady once more.

I swear, I could not take my eyes off this young woman! She was sleek and exotic like a Ferrari you just had to look, and take another look, and another, and so would everyone else! I was totally scoping her out—her body, her curves, her long sexy legs…

“Talaga a kitkitaennaka, Anna,” the old lady said. “Dayta guapo unay nga agtutubo…”

I shifted my eyes from the young woman’s legs to her face. She was frowning at me.

“So that’s what you want?” she said. “One pack of Marlboros?”

Perfect English. Amazing!

“Right.” I grinned. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

She said nothing and simply looked at me. I was about to speak, but she nodded toward the counter. “Your poison’s ready.”

I took the cigarettes and faced the old lady. “This is one pack of Marlboros.” I shook my head and put them in my pocket.

I turned to the young woman. “So, you mentioned…”

She was already out the door.

“Wait!” I chased after her.

“Oy!” the old woman shouted, “Saanka pay a nagbayad!“

I ignored her and hurried out the door.

“Hey, wait up!” I called out to the girl.

She turned and looked at me silently.

I finally caught up with her. “Hi,” I said, panting a little, because of that poison I always smoked. “I’m just surprised seeing someone like you here.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly. “Why?”

“Because you look so, you know… out of place?”

“I look out of place?” She narrowed her eyes. “Maybe you look out of place, not me.”

Well, well. What do we have here…

“I guess so.” I smiled. “I’m not from here, obviously.”

She looked at my car plate. PHILIPPINE SENATE. She looked at me.

“I’m Cris, by the way. Cris Trinidad.”

People would then typically ask about my surname, and then what country my mom was from, and then they’d associate my last name with Senator Trinidad, my father. But this girl didn’t. She just nodded a little, turned away, and said, “Look, I have to…”

“Cris?” Timo suddenly called out from the eatery. “You’re okay?”

I raised my hand, signaling everything was cool—so far. I wanted to see where this was headed. I faced the girl once more.

And man, could she stare! She had this deep, unnerving gaze that’d make anyone feel real conscious. I bet most guys would’ve avoided her eyes.

But I wasn’t just any guy. I stared back.

“Don’t go just yet,” I then said. “Why don’t you join my friend and me for a few drinks. Want a Coke? A beer? Anything?”

She measured me up for several moments. She then folded her arms. “No. I’m not interested.”

And then, she just stood there, looking at me, waiting for my reply.

I grinned. “Come on. It isn’t every day I meet the local village heartthrob, you know.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth slightly opened.

“Cat got your tongue?” I wanted to ask her and laugh. But I kept my mouth shut.

“Your friend,” she said, knitting her brows again. “The one by the table with the cards? He doesn’t look friendly.”

“He’ll be friendly—if you hang with me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Listen, whoever you are—I have to go.”

“I told you; my name’s Cris. And you are…” I looked at the shirt label upon the shapely curves of her breasts. “From Ateneo? Or… maybe you’re just wearing that shirt?”

She scowled at me, crossed her arms again, and didn’t answer.

“What’s your name?”

She was silent for a moment. “Anna.”

“Anna…” I wistfully replied.

Suddenly, I had this really weird, out-of-nowhere thought—I began imagining how she’d be like in bed. Why was I getting this feeling she’d be awesome… like totally wild and awesome! Unlike Cher… all quiet, passive, never game for anything more than just…

“Hello? Can I go now?” she said.

I snapped out of my daydream. “No, wait. What about that sex?”

Did I just say sex?!

“What?!” she replied, and man was she pissed off!

Jesus christ! “I meant the drink! You know—sex on the beach? Or a margarita? We can, like… have that. On the beach… you know…”

She said nothing.

I cleared my throat. “So… my treat? I’ll even throw in some… uh… food? If you want.”

“Like you can stomach it.”

“What?”

She gave me a smirk.

Who does she think she is. I wanted to laugh and say “Whatever,” and just leave. Instead, I said something really stupid.

“Well, I sure as hell can stomach you.”

Right after, I wanted to shoot myself. She was about to react, but I didn’t give her time. “I mean, all this stuff I’m doing takes guts, so I can, uh… stomach it… you know… Stomach, guts…” Shit. Talk about a state of verbal panic! I’ve never thrown so many stupid lines in thirty seconds!

She replied, her voice rising, “I am not thirsty, I am not hungry, I am NOT interested, and I said, I have to go—okay?!“

And then, she just stood there again, waiting.

I narrowed my eyes at her and smiled. She frowned at me and said nothing. We stared at each other for several moments.

“Well, what’s stopping you, Anna?” I nodded to the road behind her. “Go.”

Her expression faltered. I maintained the gaze. A smile played on her lips. She turned and walked away.

I watched her leave, the breeze upon her long dark hair. My eyes moved from her sexy waist, down to her curves and hips, to her long, shapely legs.

She turned at the corner, glanced at me, and disappeared from sight.

I returned to the eatery and sat across Timo.

“What was that?” he said as he shuffled the cards.

I smiled. “Timo? I just found my new summer pastime in the province.”

“What is pastime?”

I arranged my cards. “Anna.”