The
local tobacco company was baffled over their sales. One small town didn't hit
the business so much, true; but what was puzzling was the simultaneous withdrawal.
The company head deployed a number of researchers to investigate the matter,
but the endeavor did not yield very significant results.
Kelly forgot to buy cigarettes, and was slightly
surprised over two things: 1) that she had forgotten to buy cigarettes
and 2) that she had only remembered a week after she slipped past the sari-sari
store without stopping by to replenish her stash.
Her mother was secretly delighted over this.
Kelly overheard her talking to her father at breakfast one morning, saying
their daughter had perhaps finally thought of her health, and the people around
her, perhaps it’s growing pains; she’s
staying home more often now; that’s good, she now has more time for studies, I think now’s a good time to take
her back to Bible studies.
Along with the cigarettes went the singing.
Disappointment had begun to sweep over her band mates as she started to ditch rehearsals
more and more often. Her voice became raspier by the day and today, it was
gone. Bleep. Kaput.
She watched her thoughts
like movie scenes. Or clouds. That one looks like a hat; that one’s a dildo.
She watched her feet lead her to the hardware store instead of her 7:30 Psych
101 class. The first thing she asked for were 4 buckets of white paint and a
roller. She walked around the block back to her room. She painted her walls
white, and never left.
* * *
Since
his wife died two years ago, he had not gone out much, had not drunk as much,
nor did he smoke as much anymore. He checked his phone to see how many more
people had been looking for him. He read the messages, saw the missed calls but
never really answered them back except if they had anything to do with work.
He, after all, still had to keep his job to eat and pay the rent. But he found
that it had become harder and harder to roll off the bed to take a shower and
dress for work. Not that he wanted to stay home; his body was really getting
heavier. He checked his weight on the scale and each day he saw that he had
been gaining pounds fast. It bewildered him, because he had not seemed bigger
since the weight started coming on. He attributed it to aging, but he was only
34.
One
day, he found his body impossibly heavy to drag off the bed when he awoke. He
opened his eyes, checked the clock and found he still had three hours before he
had to leave for work. He wanted to return to sleep; he had been having such
interesting dreams of the same place these past few nights. He was on the same
cliff in his dream lit dimly by two moons. There was a white house. He got
there on a flying arm chair, the kind that elementary schools used. He wanted
to stay there; it was so surreal, mysterious, absolutely so much more interesting
than the art havens he frequents almost every night, regardless of whether or
not he was the sole customer of the evening. There was a woman in the house
that he wanted to talk to just before he woke up, and he desperately wanted to
go back, but sleep would not return sooner than he wanted; he had to be a
little more patient. And as he impatiently waited for slumber while staring at
the walls, it was then when he noticed that the outer layer of the walls had
all chipped off, revealing the old white surface underneath. The outer blue
layer was falling off by itself. He stared at it until sun up, until the walls
had all turned white. And as easily as the paint was chipped off the walls, he
fell asleep, and never left the room.
* * *
And
so Kurt wrote to ask for help.
Lately,
Kurt had been perturbed by questions to which he could not find answers. He
took a piece of paper and jotted down all the riddles in as organized a manner
as possible to make it easier for Vera to understand; but even with this task
he was not successful, because two hours later he found himself writing on the
seventh page with seemingly no end to it. So he resigned himself to the option
of discussion, and decided to invite his best friend for a beer or two; anyway,
he hadn't seen her for quite a long time now, what with the latter being so
busy with arrangements for her own wedding. There was something he needed to
talk to her about, he had told her. Very important.
Vera
arrived in an ecstatic and frenzied mood; she was on the phone when she walked
in, rattling off instructions about the flowers. She sat down as she was on the
last five minutes of her call and looked as if she needed more arms to carry
her shoulder bag, her laptop bag and her papers. Kurt helped her settle in on
her seat as she clutched her phone between her head and shoulder.
“Busy,”
Kurt said. An emphasis. And because he had nothing better to say. Or perhaps
more because he did not know how to broach the subject of his disturbing
emotions amidst the excited clutter that her friend was. To talk about it felt
like puncturing the happy bubble she was enclosed in. It seemed inappropriate,
and this disheartened him. Clearing his mind seemed to him a very slim chance
that night.
“The
wedding's in two months, Kurt! And my fiancé wants the color of the flowers
changed; he said it's too – what's the word he used? –‘kiddy.’ We had a little
argument and I later realized he was right so, yeah, I caved in, called up the
coordinator, called up the florist – oh, and by the way, your suit is ready. I
need you to go to the boutique this week for your fitting. The sooner the
better, so they can make necessary adjustments as early as possible. I want
everything to be well organized and...”
Vera
went on about her wedding preparations within the duration of two beers and in
between, Kurt muttered a few syllables about work. By the time all that was
done, it was 11 o'clock and he was drained.
So
they said their goodbyes, called it a night. Kurt hailed a taxi for Vera,
hailed another for himself. Passing through his homeward route, the landmarks
were left unnoticed because Kurt was focusing on the beginnings of rain pelting
on the taxi windows, which of course led to him not realizing he was home. He
paid the taxi driver, trotted up and into his room on the second floor of the
apartment building. Kurt then opened the closet and found the buckets of white
paint he had saved up for when he needed it, and now was that time. He started
by moving out his furniture and so he could paint the walls white.
* * *
I am slipping back into
that old room: all white space. And though familiar, it always seems new. There
is nothing there that hints of presence. No imprints on the floor or the walls
to show the absence of furniture. Windows without curtains, nor a respectable
view. No cigarettes to pass the time. Anyway, there is no time. Here, sunlight
enters and exits like a ghost, but I could not care about the time here. Nor
you, if you had such a room.
I remember this lady in
the office. She graduated top of the class. She now has a fiancé. Soon, she
will get married. Have kids. Die in gratitude for all the blessing she will
have received. Blah blah blah.
* * *
_________,
Philippines – At least 27 bodies were found in separate locations yesterday
according to the local police of _____ town. So far, ongoing investigations
have yielded zero results as police are puzzled over the circumstances
surrounding the deaths of the individuals.
According
to local authorities, all bodies were found in rooms either freshly painted
white, or whose paint has chipped off. Police have ruled out murder, as there
was no evidence of foul play found in the crime scenes. Police are considering
suicide based on one short note written by one of the victims, but this has not
been verified. Some have suspected this to be part of a cult activity, but
based on investigations conducted, the victims barely have any
connection to each other.
As of
today, local authorities are communicating with family and friends of the victims all aged
18 to 35.
