The Night Orchid

by M. G. Hernandez

  4 months later

  “Stop fussing, baby. Just let me spray your hair one more time.”

  I’m standing in front of my full-length mirror in a state of a meltdown. I’m a nervous wreck, and I’ve been irritating my mother by constantly fidgeting and trying to bolt out of the room. It’s prom night, and my mom is putting some finishing touches on my hair. Meanwhile, I’m trying to control myself because this is the first time I’m going to a prom—or to a dance.

  “Relax, honey. We’re almost done,” she says as she places a bobby pin somewhere behind my head.

  As she tames an errant curl, I allowed myself to inspect my overall outfit. She helped me pick my prom dress, and we made an excellent choice. My dress is an A-line hi-lo dress where it’s short in the front and long in the back. It’s a spaghetti strap with a sweetheart neckline and burgundy lace overlay. I finish it with a pair of simple nude open toe strappy heels with ankle straps. My adoptive mom would’ve never allowed me to wear this, as it is revealing, but not my bio mom. She’s the one who picked the entire outfit.

  “There. All done,” she says, squeezing my arms. “You look beautiful, baby.”

  I look at myself. She left my hair down and let my natural curls cascade down my body, but she curled a few and put a smoothing balm, so it’s not frizzy and it curls beautifully. She clipped one side with a pretty rose gold barrette. My makeup is simple, only enough to emphasize my huge brown eyes, my long lashes and my full lips. With my dress that emphasizes my cleavage, my small waist and my tanned legs, I look good. Too good. And now I’m even more nervous.

  “Sweetie, he’s gonna love it,” she says, placing her hands on my waist. Then she frowns. “Maybe a little too much. Are you going to need condoms tonight?”

  “Mom!” I cry out in shock and embarrassment.

  “Well, honey, you’re talking to someone who got pregnant at sixteen. At least, you’re both eighteen now, so you guys are better off than me and your dad.”

  I’m turning red, and I can see it from the reflection in the mirror.

  “Honey, you’ve had the sex talk, right?”

  I guess we’re not done with this, yet. “Yup. If there’s one thing your sister was good at, it’s keeping me baby-free. I had a detailed sex education at thirteen and she got me birth control pills and Plan B as soon as she enrolled me at Wakefield High, just in case I —and I quote—‘can’t control my urges.’”

  She frowns. “She is a bit excessive.” Then, she shrugs. “Well, honey, at least you’re all set. It all comes in handy because now you’re in a relationship. Knock yourself out.” Then, she pauses. “Wrong choice of words. Don’t get knocked up.”

  I sigh. “Mom, this is awkward, but Julian and I already talked about this. I’m not ready, and I’m not gonna be for a while. He’s going to wait.”

  She smiles. “That’s great, sweetie. He’s a great guy. I’m glad you found each other.” She gives me a hug. Then she releases me, holds me at arms’ length and arches an eyebrow.

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, I’ve been taking the pill, just in case.”

  “Good girl. He’s clean?”

  “Oh my god, mom!”

  “Well?”

  I sigh and wave her off. “Yes, he got tested. He’s clean.”

  She gives me another hug. “You’re gonna have so much fun tonight!”

  Suddenly, I hear a knock on the door, and we turn. Mama is standing in the doorway of my room, and I relax. I love my mom, but she can be too much sometimes.

  “Can I speak to my granddaughter, please?” she asks. “Alone. And stop fussing over her. You’re making her uncomfortable.”

  She waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, please. It’s just sex talk. Right, honey?”

  “Bye, mom. Love you.”

  She giggles. “Alright, I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

  But before she leaves, I stop her and give her a proper hug. “Thank you, mommy. I look beautiful, and it’s because of you.”

  “Oh, sweetie,” she sniffles. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

  “Ok, off you go,” I say, ushering her out of my room before she gets more emotional. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

  When she’s gone, my grandmother takes me by the hand and looks at me. “You are a beautiful mixture of your father and your mother. He would’ve been so proud right now.”

  I look at her now with a little more depth than I used to. My mother is fair-skinned, but Mama shares the same brown skin as me. Though not as curly, her short hair has ringlets that resemble mine. In her wide eyes and full lips, I see her genetic contribution, and I can imagine her looking like me in her youth. “Mama, tell me about my father.”

  She sits with me on the edge of the bed. “Mahal, your father is just like you, and I’m not talking about your physical features.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She switches to Tagalog, which she normally does when she’s about to drop a bomb. “He’s like you and I. He can see things and communicate with spirits.”

  I catch my breath for a moment. Then I hold her hand. “Mama, how many of us are there?”

  “Oh, quite a few.”

  I laugh. “You said that like, ‘oh, I bought a dozen eggs today.’”

  “It runs in the family, my dear, but they’re not here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your father and I were the only mediums here. The rest are all in the Philippines.”

  “Oh. Ok,” I say, contemplating the meaning of this. I have relatives I’ve never met in the Philippines who are just like me.

  “You’ll meet them in due time, mahal,” she says, reading my mind. “Life has a way of putting pieces of the puzzle together when the time is right.”

  I nod. “Did mom know dad had the gift?”

  She shakes her head. “Just like she doesn’t know that you have it. I’m not telling her any of this, either. Not that I want to keep secrets from her, but it’s just too dangerous with her side of the family.”

  Suddenly, we hear a knock at the front door.

  “Jo, he’s here!” my mother bellows from downstairs.

  My grandmother leans over and gives me a kiss. “We have all the time, my dear. Enjoy your night.”

  I stand and straighten my dress and take a deep breath. “I’ll see you later, mama.”

  She gives my arm an affectionate squeeze and sends me on my way.

  ***

  Brandon stands outside my front door in a black slim fit suit with black Converse. He has his hands in his pockets, looking around, appearing uncomfortable.

  “It’s a safe neighborhood, bro. No one’s going to mug you,” I said with a chuckle.

  He turns around and as soon as he sees me, he snakes his eyes from my face to my legs. He whistles. “Lookin’ good, sis.”

  I turn red. “Nice. Real gentlemanly.”

  He laughs. “Sorry, Jojo. But really, you look very nice.”

  I shrug it off, pretending the compliment didn’t embarrass me. “Thanks. It’s whatevs.”

  Then he glances around again, raking his hand through his hair. When he turns his attention back to me, he looks worried. “Listen, you sure your boyfriend’s ok with this? Not really wanting to have another fat lip, you know.”

  I wave at him dismissively. “Yeah, he’s good. Trust me. He knows we have to go to the mandatory rehearsals. He’ll meet me there at 6.”

  I step out of the house and close the door behind us. Brandon looks at my feet with an arched brow. “Jojo, you sure you can perform in those heels? We’re playing for a straight hour, you know.”

  I show him my brown satchel. “I got my sneakers in this bag. Relax.”

  “Ok, then. Let’s go,” he says, walking towards his truck. “You don’t mind if we make a pit stop, do you? We’re early.”

  “That’s fine.” As I enter his truck, I check the time on my phone. 4 pm.

  Brandon turns on the engine and puts it in gear. “Ok, practiced the song?”
>
  I nod. “So, after we play the King and Queen slow dance, we go straight to our duet?”

  “Exactly.” He glances at me and catching my fidgety fingers, he pats my hand. “You’ll be fine, sis.”

  I smile nervously as we make our way out of my grandma’s neighborhood and onto the freeway. We’re on our way to the Rose Hotel. The doors will open at 6:30, but the prom committee mandated the live band to be there by 4:45 for rehearsals. I happen to be a part of the live band.

  As I look out the window, I think about how much my life has changed during these past four months. Julian and I are officially “boo’d up.” I finally got my driver’s license. I got into Stanford and UC Berkeley, but I chose the latter, to Julian’s disappointment. It took me two months to convince him we’ll see each other often because the universities are only an hour away from each other. After explaining to him that their music program is more to my speed, he finally relaxed and was supportive.

  I didn’t have to use my apartment money anymore as my mother moved my grandmother and I to a nice three-bedroom apartment near my school as she didn’t want me living alone. Last, after weeks of urging from Brandon, I finally auditioned for his reggae band, “Ganjah 5,” which was changed to “Ganjah 6” as a respect to their new female vocalist and bass player. For the first time in my life, I finally feel like a normal teenager.

  There are other parts of my life, however, that have remained unresolved and less than rosy. Mr. Cunningham’s trial begins next week. This, unfortunately, causes many sleepless nights and nightmares. The case with my adoptive parents is also pending. I heard that they’re no longer in Wakefield but are still in California because of the condition that they may not leave the state until the trial is over.

  As the hotel comes into view, I take deep, calming breaths. But Brandon makes a right turn onto a street a block from the hotel.”I think you made a wrong turn.”

  He shakes his head. “We’re making a pit stop, remember?”

  “Oh, that’s right. Sorry,” I said. “Where are we going, by the way?”

  He says nothing, but as I peer out, the scenery becomes familiar. I see an expansive area of land with a great lawn, littered with flowers, flags and small tombstones. We’re at the Holy Cross Cemetery. I nod my head in understanding. We’re visiting Alexa.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” he asks.

  “Not at all,” I reply. “Thank you for letting me come with you.”

  When we park, he hops out while I remove my heels and put on my sneakers. I follow him as he walks over to her grave. I watch him locate it and place a corsage on her plaque. Then he stands over it quietly. I walk over and stand beside him.

  Alexa’s plaque is simple and neat. She has fresh pots of flowers on top, like someone had just placed them. No doubt her parents come frequently to visit. I read the message on the bronze plate bearing her name.

  Alexandra Mikaella Ocampo

  January 9, 2000-January 9,

  “What we have once enjoyed, we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.”

  – Helen Keller

  We say nothing for a minute. Then, suddenly, he stirs. “I should move on, shouldn’t I?”

  I shake my head. “Take as long as you need.”

  “I fucked up big time. I cheated on her.”

  My mind suddenly goes back to my out-of-body experience when I had the cardiac arrest. I had forgotten about it. “Brandon, I have something to tell you.”

  “What?”

  “I had a dream about Alexa four months ago.”

  I feel his eyes on me, but I continue to look at Alexa’s plaque. “She forgives you.”

  He remains silent, and I continue to stare at the ground. I don’t know how he’s taking it. But I remember something else. I had a new dream last night. “There’s actually one more thing.” I pause and breathe. “She loves your new song. The one about the flowers. And that she wants you to be happy.”

  He snaps his head in my direction, eyes as wide as saucers. “How do you know about that?”

  I shrug, and I have no words to explain it. At least none that he’ll take.

  “Can you talk to spirits, Jojo?” he asks. “I mean, I only wrote that last night, and I’ve told no one about it.”

  I bite my lip as I think about how I should address this, but the best I can do right now is stay silent.

  He nods as if understanding me. He speaks. “That song is about a white flower that kept popping up in my dreams. In time, I started associating it with her. I turned it into a song, and it’s about enduring love and the pain of losing someone. It was also about me asking for her permission to move on.”

  I take his hand and squeeze it. “She already gave it.”

  We say nothing and allow the serenity to take space between us. We continue to stand in companionable silence, enjoying the warm breeze with the hint of gardenias and citrus.

  ***

  Brandon’s voice wafts through the ballroom, like a lovelorn teenager singing about warm nights and summer flings while the band accompanies his singing with the best live music this town offers. We’re a pretty good Hawaiian reggae band, and the touch of pop, hip-hop, and R&B reaches a wide range of musical tastes among the crowd.

  As I stand on stage next to him, I feel my fingers dance along the strings of my bass guitar, feeling the vibe and island energy. I smile as I watch the senior class dancing and grooving to the music, making me beam with pride.

  Finally, we finish our third song and Dee, our senior class president, joins us on stage looking stunning in a gold slinky gown with a deep V. She sees me and gives me a wink before taking the mic.

  “Is everyone having a good time?” she yells over the microphone.

  Everyone screams excitedly, making her giggle with delight. “Alright, y’all, let’s give it up for Ganjah 6. They’re tearin’ it up!”

  The crowd screams again. Then, she adds, “But special shout out to the newest member of the band, though. Everybody give it up for my girl, Jo Ligaya. She’s fuckin’ hot and she’s killin’ it!”

  I hear the chaperones gasp and Principal Dwyer yell, “language!” But the crowd doesn’t notice as they clap and scream for me in appreciation. Brandon and the band smile at me in encouragement while I turn red with embarrassment. But I let my eyes roam over the crowd to find a six foot two, blond Adonis with ocean eyes.

  As Dee announces the prom king and queen, I find Julian standing in the back of the room, casually drinking something from a red cup with one hand in his pocket. Though I’ve seen him earlier during dinner, I still can’t get over how his tux emphasizes that broad shoulders, trim waist and that body. He’s a Greek sculpture, coming alive to grace us with his presence.

  He locks his eyes on mine, making the butterflies in my stomach go wild. I grip my guitar tighter as I watch him lower his cup and lick the liquid off his lips. I remember the way he devoured me with one smoldering look the first time he saw me today. He’s looking at me the same way as he watches me from across the room. I gulp as I burn where I stand, and it’s not from the stage lights.