I haven’t ask his name.
I’m sitting on a chair next to the hospital bed after the treatment of my sprained ankle. The boy took care of the bill. He asked if I could contact a family member or that he would bring me home instead. Of course I declined the two options. This better be not known by Nan. She would only squeeze information out of me and I might spill the beans. As for walking home, I don’t think it’s a good idea to be with a complete stranger, though, I did gave him all my thanks after he left. My cheeks felt so hot every time he looks at me. It took all the courage to contain my fluster.
Nurses came back and forth, doctors in a hurry for their patients, some families suppressing their cries, while others remained their silence. I heard a faint voice from the other room where the driver was confined. The doctor was explaining something to the woman, I assume the driver’s wife, who was sobbing right outside the door. The woman’s shoulder was shaking, her face looked grave in sorrow. I suppose he passed away. With a deep breath, I focused my gaze back to the floor.
I limped with my bike in tow, but still managed to get home after being discharged – missing grandma already. Drawing near, I saw her gardening the flowerbeds near our porch. She quickly noticed the elastic bandage on my foot – causing her to drop the pruning shear and raced towards me.
“What happened? Where did you get this? Are you hurt anywhere?” She says this while body searching like a security officer.
“Nan. I’m fine, okay. It’s just a sprain.” She glared at me. And mind you, when that look starts – the explaining must be done.
“I was just riding my bike and I fell. That’s it.”
Then the beating happens. She slapped my back and my bum a few times until I let out a cough. After she was done, she said her sermons, “I told you many times not to ride that stupid old bike! No wonder you took so long to get back here. You’re not even doing your own laundry. And you came back here WITH an injury? For heaven’s sake Feleni!”
The nagging stops and we went silent for a moment. I inch closer and hugged her small frame. It’s best she doesn’t know I was almost hit by a car or got into shock. That would only worry her more. Hey – I’m sixteen but my grandma still puts sandwiches and orange juice on my bag when I go to school, picks me up after she went out from work in a messy hair, and asks me at dinner how my day went. Hence, her nagging is the least that could break me. That’s just her – caring a lot.
“Don’t scare me like that again dear. At least tell me where you’re going okay.” Her hand caressing my face. “Okay.”
Like a walking zombie, it was hard enough to step up to the stairs to get inside my room. Nan immediately supported me with an arm. She said that she cleaned my room when I was out and I just need to get some rest. So I did.
That night, I’ve been thinking about my plans here at Greenwood. I reached for my journal beside my bed – drawing some scribbles. As I turned a page, the two lines on my bucket list triggered contemplation. What more shall I add? Perhaps, something recreational or memorable – maybe something I’ve never done before. In my entire life, no one told me how to do some fun. I didn’t even know what ‘fun’ means. I’ve always told myself that there are things that I would never have. No dreams, nor expectations – seeing as I can’t even buy Nan a new pair of shoes. She always wear those faded Rockport.
I wrote the word ‘fun’ on my list as I stared at my window looking at the stars in the dark blue sky. The warm lamp light from the opposite window made me stare at my neighbor who was on his desk writing something. He must be writing a letter for his girlfriend or an anecdote (that’s romantic), maybe studying for the entire summer (that would be unlikely). This guy must be no fun at all just like me. To lift my spirits, I made another paper plane – took my aim – and with a swish it went.
This time, I didn’t anticipate the victory landing. Similarly, the plane stuck on the ledge of his window. Not my luck today. Surprisingly, I saw him turning to my direction but I hid down quickly. A shot of pain on my ankle made me squeal a bit. He almost got me. Still, I didn’t get to see his face, which would’ve been a good laugh if he looked so repulsive. Sneaking to look at him again, I stand on my knees with a hand propped on the ledge. He was already gone. Tsk. No fun.
A week passed, and every night I get to fly one paper plane on my neighbor’s window. I’m sure he wouldn’t notice, it was always blown by the wind seconds after. The sprained ankle healed and I was set on continuing my initial plan once again.
Before the ‘D-day’, Nan was doing her siesta during which I moved my bike on our garage because that’s the only room with a back door. The plan is – pretend to go to the bookstore (exactly the same way where I’m heading to) while sneakily going back at the garage and take the bike in stealth mode.
I woke up at exactly five ‘o clock in a warm and fuzzy morning putting the game face on. Wear my favorite blue floral dress with matching white sneakers and my little straw hat and head downstairs. Inside my bag is the résumé I pulled an all-nighter with. I ran to the garage and found my little bike beside the old minivan. Then, I glanced at Nan who was already busy with gardening this early. After a chomp of cereal, I kissed her goodbye and told her I am going to the bookstore nearby.
“Be here at lunch dear!”
“Okay,” I said with a smile.
She knew my love for reading ever since childhood which is why I was left off the hook. Feeling compelled to go, I acted walking towards the road. And when I moved past the garage – I turned towards the backdoor scampering to get my bike and hit the pedal. Mission success!
The sun shines brightly in the clear, blue sky. Fluffy clouds drifted irresistibly in big chunks of cotton balls – I want to snatch them from above. Oh! The sweet caress of the sultry wind that hits thy skin like a silk scarf sends thy heart ablaze. And the cute pastel houses setting the whole mood of early sunshine. It was pure bliss! Before my thoughts could trail off to somewhere else, I was already near the spot. The ride only took eight minutes from home – quite the benefit.
Everybody in this town, including me, probably would agree that Lake Revel is one the most magnificent view in the entirety of Greenwood. Lush tall trees with leaves in shades of mahogany, pink and yellow, pines in deep emerald, shiny sparkling lake water, and a peaceful atmosphere that calms your wary soul – birds chirping melodically – music to my ears.
It truly is the diamond of this place. I can’t help but to step on the brakes and wonder with awe. I closed my eyes and inhaled the fresh breeze when suddenly a loud revving noise – with girls shouting into the background – was getting closer and closer. They drove past me and the massive cloud of dust entirely filled the unpaved road like a dessert storm. Okay – now the peace is disturbed. It was a red Mercedes-Benz, no wonder those people were very haughty. Humph. So much for that, I steered once again to my destination.
A large domed roof structure was extending from the entrance of the building over an adjacent driveway in the grandest and fanciest style, in curved intricate embellishments. This resort is such a heart-stopper. I’m too early to get here but that’s fine – they say the early bird catches the worm first.
Heading towards the front desk, a lady dressed in a red uniform asked, “Welcome to Lake Revel’s finest Royal Villa Resort! Do you have a reservation?”
“I…uh…I am here to apply ma’am. I saw the poster at the post office.” I said.
“Oh! I understand. Come, I’ll lead you to the hiring manager.” She ushered me to an office with a huge black door – a sign pasted that reads ‘Personnel only.’ The lady walked out of the room and closed the door, leaving me alone. In five minutes time, another woman arrived looking stern in a black suede stilettos, pencil skirt and white polo top, her hair in a tight bun. I guess she must be in her thirties: those hands are full of bulging veins.
She sat down on an executive chair near a wooden desk with a name plate ‘Mrs. Hyacinth Arborro’.
“So – you’re here for the position,” She said with her eyebrows raised.
“Yes, ma’am. Here – this is my résumé.”
She reached for it and thrusted me the common questions used during interviews. The typical – Tell me about yourself, why should we hire you? Yada-yada-yada-yada. At the end of it, my handkerchief’s crumpled in soaking sweat. In every tick of the clock, it felt as if this moment is eternity. The questions were easy. It’s just my nervousness that somehow fails me. My voice literally cracks at the end of my sentences - ruining my attempt to sound maven.
“A pleasure meeting you. We’ll be in touch.” The woman then puts down the folder – a signal for my exit. Okay. What does that mean? Did I make it or not? I badly wanna ask. But that would make me sound impatient. Confused, I went for the door and a group of loud dinosaurs – I mean heavily makeup Barbie wannabes came out from the hallway. They appear to be arguing.
“I told you this hoops makes my face looks small. You’re just jealous.” A five foot ten chick, with skinny legs in frayed denim skirt, glossed lips and shimmered pink eyeshadow, checks her manicure. The other girl with thick beachy hair looked as if she was hurt and said, “Ah! No way. They look hideous on you! This would totally turn off Kennedy!” Pointing at the girl’s hoops. God! They were bickering in those whiny annoying tones.
I was too engrossed in their conversation that I forgot to move my feet to the driveway.
“Hey– Look who’s here.” A girl in Aaliyah bangs (cheap version) and cropped graphic tee grinned at me while chewing on a bubble gum. My first thought was that she looked like one of those girls who wouldn’t run laps or do calisthenics on P.E. She even did the judgy-face.
“Guys! Check this out. Another Mary spotted here!” she laughed at my below-the-knee skirt.
The other two girls altogether mocked a laugh. “Well well well – this looks a lot more pathetic.” The tall chick played on my braids. Oh, I see why this is happening. I looked nothing like them. It means I’m in another type of species – Okay. I fixed my glasses and pretended I wasn’t gossiping. The one with the beachy hair snatched my glasses and throw them. Afterwards, she pushed me and I fell. As a result, I searched the floor like an idiot in a copious blur.
They’re mean bitches. Annoying ones! Ugh. I crawled to the right and found it. Attempting to restore my lost dignity, I shake off any dishevel so as to remedy my rumpled dress then ran off to get the bike. The last thing I want to be is getting ganged up by dinosaurs. I drive as fast I could without looking back. A faint prickle on my neck.
In the end, I shrink away AGAIN. I never really had the guts to stand up from those who made me feel inferior. In this case - it’s either fight or flight. And I am at a disadvantage here. There’s three of them, therefore, I have no choice.
Siesta - an afternoon rest or nap, especially one taken during the hottest hours of the day in a hot climate.
With Bright Tomorrows, end of Chapter Two.