by Mara Lynne
I find myself blushing and smiling every time he praises me. I can’t even count how many times I fall speechless with his words. Colin Verne has always been my staunch admirer since time memorial. I liked him too because he was the funny boy who played a squire once in our theatrical plays. He’s smart and friendly, and I had a crush on him. Despite his size and teeth, I always thought he was charming and cute. Then his family had to move to the west.
“You, Colin, how are you? Why are you in Jersey?”
“Visiting some relatives. You still know my Granny Alice, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, I do! How is she?”
“She’s sick and most probably going.” I hear a tinge of sadness in his voice. Suddenly, I recall Dad.
“Are you okay, Angel?”
“Yeah, I feel sad for you.”
He leans forward and rests his hands on the counter table. “People die,” he tells me. “We just have to accept these things happen.” Then his eyes start to study me. “How long have you been working as a waitress?”
“Four years while in college, for funds to keep rolling each day,” I reply, but I am still thinking about what he said. Dad is still too young to die, and I don’t think I can ever accept it.
“Wow, you’re amazing!” Suddenly, those eyes of his are dripping with admiration. “You’re going to finish school this year?”
“Yeah, hopefully.”
“You can do it, Angel! You are smart and… beautiful and—”
“Excuse me!”
Damien Etheridge bangs his glass against the table. So sudden, in fact, that I am completely stunned, and I feel my heart lurching to my throat. “I need a refill.” That devilish grin breaks through his cold but threatening front.
Sighing, I take his glass and refill it.
“Make it two, Angel,” he adds in his husky and seductive voice. “My new friend here might want to have some fun tonight.” Pertaining to Colin. “Hi!” He flashes his grin to the astounded Colin Verne. “I see you’re getting a little cozy with my Angel.”
My fingers stop making another glass of beer when I hear the adjective my which I feel is misused.
“Your Angel?” Colin clarifies in disbelief.
“Nah, I’m pretty sure about that.” My staggered eyes meet his as he continues, “Everyone in the diner likes her so I see you’re quite a victim tonight.”
What is he talking about? And why is he even here? Just when I thought I am free from him, he’s back to his annoying antics. Where does he get this persistence? I can feel my blood surging through my veins, pushing me to ignore the silliness of it all and just treat him as invisible.
“You have a very weird sense of humor!” Colin says as he reaches for the beer I just brought in. “You know this guy, Angel?”
“Damien Etheridge.” He extends his hand to him.
“Your name sounds familiar.”
“It should be,” Damien cockily replies as he winks at me.
God! I can’t take this anymore.
“Colin Verne,” says Colin. “A chemistry student at UCLA.”
“Ah, a future chemist.”
“Damien, why are you here?” I interjected.
“I need a beer.”
“You got your beer. So now go!” I irately say.
“It’s okay, Angel. I can spare an hour or two for my new friend here,” Collin says.
I honestly don’t know if Colin is serious. I know him to be a very approachable and affable kid back then, and he hates bullies. Damien Etheridge is predominantly the greatest bully in the diner tonight. I know Colin noticed it. There’s no mistake. Behind those words Damien just uttered must be some demeaning implication. But what I am really surprised about is Colin’s unlikely response to him. I was expecting him to ignore the guy.
“Etheridge, huh? So where did I hear that name?” Colin mumbles after sipping his beer.
“You can just hit Google tonight, my friend.”
I am at the back table, yet I can clearly hear their conversation. I just pray that they keep their cool. Men whose egos are hurt are definitely going in for trouble. I don’t want flying bottles, saucers, or glasses tonight.
“Are you Angel’s boyfriend?”
Colin’s question stuns me, compelling me to defend myself.
Where on earth is Colin’s sanity? What made him even say that? I find myself running toward them to stop Damien from saying anything. My secret is in danger of being divulged.
“No! No! No!” I frantically say. “Damien and I are schoolmates!”
I see Damien silently laughing. Obviously, he’s amused to see me so defensive. He’s done it again—pisses me off and ‘hellinizes’ my day! Yes, hellinize — my coined word for making one’s day run through hell.
I shoot him a glare, one that kills, and he stops laughing.
“Are you guys insane?” Colin jokes after seeing us act like cat and dog.
“Ask that to Angel,” mumbles Damien.
“Are you done with me, Etheridge?” My brows arch and my hands are on my hips.
After seeing me fuming, he gathers his legs and finally got the conscience to leave.
“Yeah! Good day, my Angel,” he said, leaving behind a smirk.
“Hey!” I call.
He turns to face me, still wearing that smirk I’d pay to wipe out of his face.
“You haven’t paid your bill yet! It’s four dollars and fifty cents.”
“Swipe my card!” he proudly counters, then goes straight out of the door. His three girls follow, parading their heels and short dresses like beauty queens.
“Card?” Colin’s face is jammed with questions. He couldn’t be thinking anything else, could he? Surely, he doesn't think that Damien and I are an item.
I quickly scoot out of the counter to the lockers where the staff stores their bags for safe keeping. His credit card is safely kept together with my ATM card. If some thief would have robbed my bag, he’d probably be stunned to see two cards so opposite. One obviously has an unlimited account while the other so meager it can’t even buy a pair of designer shoes. I pull it out from my wallet and hurry back to the counter.
“Wait for a second, Damien!” I say, running toward the door.
It’s time to cut ties with Damien. The first way to do this is to return his credit card.
My eyes narrow to search for any Lamborghini car in the parking space, and I see one just near the post where Maxwell’s name flickers like the Vegas lights.
“Damien!” I call as I see him just about to get inside without his beneficiaries. Where have they gone?
He coolly throws his car key in the air and catches it in seconds, and then turns around to face me.
“Did I forget something, Angel?”
What is with Damien’s voice that makes the sound of my name a little too strange and disturbing to my ears?
“Your credit card.” I hand it over to him.
“Have you swiped it?”
No.
“You stay there!” I feel shame eat the only remaining chunk of self-esteem I have. Why do I always lose myself when he’s around?
I run back inside and hurriedly swipe the card on the device. I feel Colin’s stare on me. I’ll definitely redeem myself when I get back to him later.
But Damien’s gone, his car gone too.
It seems like I have to hold onto his card for a little longer. I slip it into my pocket and return inside.
“That Etheridge guy is quite annoying,” says Colin.
“Sorry about that. He likes the attention.” I smile at him as I check the time on the wall. It’s ten minutes before we close.
“Your attention?” he teases.
I shake my head.
“No! He’s a brat.”
“Some rich kid?”
“Some rich kid who likes to bully,” I answer.
Chapter 9: Messing Up Heads
Colin asks for my number, saying he wants to stay connected. When Ray finds out, he shrieks inside o
ur locker, jumps with joy, and says, “You finally found a man worth your time!”
“It isn’t like that, Ray. He’s just a friend.”
“I have been watching you and that super hot Colin Verne from the kitchen. He has his eyes on you the whole time!”
“It’s because we’re talking. One way to have good communication is to maintain eye contact. Maybe he’s just practicing it.” What a lame excuse! Even I noticed how keenly he fixed his eyes on me.
“Nonetheless, he still asked for your number. What’s next to that? A date maybe?”
“Ray, I have school, two jobs, multiple loans to worry about, and Dad and Mom, I just don’t have time for dates or anything like that.” I pick up my bag and together we walk out of the diner. We make sure the doors and windows are locked, and the power is turned off.
Moments later, we are still waiting for a cab.
“Angel, a little inspiration won’t hurt.”
“Not this time.”
Ray clasps my hands. “Colin might just be the right person you’ve been waiting for. Don’t let this opportunity slip out of your hands, dear Angel.”
Just like how I didn’t forego the opportunity with Damien. Now, I can’t pull him out my life so easily. I don’t want any more regrets, especially because of a stupid question and Damien’s infantile behavior.
“What’s Etheridge doing at the counter by the way?”
“The usual.”
“I thought you’d say you’re discussing de Vere,” he mutters as he interlaces our fingers and leads me for a short walk. He can squeeze the truth out of me this way.
“Alright.” I hold onto his arm. “I wasn’t in his car because of assignment or Shakespeare or for whatever pathetic excuse. I went to him last night.”
Ray pulls me to a stop.
“Hold on right there! Don’t say a word until you hear me.”
He falls silent. I can almost read what is running through his mind, and I must correct it as fast as I can.
“Nothing happened, but we were this close. “I show him my index and thumb fingers with an inch gap. “Nothing happened, I swear to God.”
“You mean you almost did it?”
“Yes, but I stopped him.”
“You went there just to stop him?”
“What are you trying to say?”
Ray breathes heavily. “Why did you even go there in the first place?”
“I was tempted. I’m sorry. I’m just human.”
“Because humans make mistakes and nobody’s perfect, let’s say you’re forgiven by universal law. But Angel, never ever do that again!”
“I promise.”
“Okay, enough of this older sister me.” He smiles at me while jiggling his head. “Let me be Ray this time. How’s Damien?”
“What?”
“Damien and his body and his touch and his… you know.” He winks at me.
“Oh, God! I can’t believe you!”
How can he reprimand me and still want to hear about last night’s mischief?
“Angel, I lost my innocence the very moment I first laid my eyes on Etheridge.”
“You never told me that.”
“It was from five years ago, and we didn’t know that he’d be going to Princeton. He was on TV because he was jailed for smoking pots in a club.”
“It’s good that he didn’t put that on his resume or he wouldn’t have won the Student Council.”
Damien was and is infamous. He was all over the television five to six years ago because of his non-conforming behavior. At the age of seventeen, just right after graduating from high school, he was involved in several drug dealings and lots of other troubles. When all this happened, I was just fifteen and still in high school. For the next two years, Damien was shunned away by colleges, so by the time he entered college, he was a couple of years older than me. But because he got powerful and influential back-ups, he was cleared of his past discretions and the rest was history. Despite all his mischief, he won the Student Council presidential run. How ironic!
“Did you see him smoking pots?”
“No, maybe he’s changed.” I don’t really know much about Damien except for a few facts I saw on TV and the newspapers. He was in rehab for months, so I guess it was enough to change him.
“Did he kiss you?”
“What kind of kiss?” I innocently ask.
“Kiss! Touching of lips, or his lips touching any part of your body.” He didn’t really kiss me in the mouth. It was more of light brushing. I don’t think it can be called a kiss, was it? But he did suck on my breast and my torso, and at the thought of it, I blush.
“I know what a kiss is!” I reply as soon as realize I am burning at the memory of that steamy night.
“So, did he kiss you?”
Do I have to tell him? It’s a very personal matter, even if Ray’s my best friend. So I answer him the way I know I can escape. “Isn’t kissing the first thing or the foreplay couples do before they perform the highest form of union of two bodies?”
“Cut it, Angel! I don’t need a lecture from you on the applied philosophy of sex. I just want to know if Damien is one damn good kisser!”
“Ray, your question is just like asking me the relationship of sex and biological reproduction!” I insist. I know he hates philosophy, so I’m going to batter him with what he hates the most. “Can one exist without the other?”
“Which you find a difficult question to answer!” Looks like he found a loophole to my counterattack.
“What?”
“That’s a theoretical question. It has really no definite answer. Thus, we only have opinions from the experts.”
“And so?” What is he trying to prove now?
“So how did the question about Damien’s kiss become so difficult to answer?”
Now, I get what he means. He is trying to connect his kiss question with my philosophy question. If Ray’s sexual preference wasn’t male, then I would have definitely chosen him as my boyfriend. He’s smart, and he’s got the entire attitude to be someone’s man.
“I shouldn’t have undermined your intellect, Ray!” I say, shaking my head as I applaud him silently in my head.
“Sometimes, Angel, I think you are a sapiosexual.”
“No, I am not!”
“You are! You like to twist the brains of all the males who talk to you, and you make your selection, and then come up with the top five most intelligent men, then you choose from them who wins the top plum,” he replies.
“I don’t do that!”
“You do! You just think you’re rambling, but the truth is you’re sizing up the person you’re speaking to. And no one — no one — has ever caught your attention so far because those axons and dendrites in your head are crazily fast to think of a witty rebuttal.”
“Ray, I just like a good conversation.”
“Admit it, you’re a sapiosexual. Let’s just hope that Colin is a highly intellectual Homo sapien who can keep up with that crazy brain of yours!” He flashes a smile at me.
“I can’t believe you’re slapping labels on me!” I roll my eyes at him.
“Actually, I’m letting you see the things you deny to see. You like intelligent people. You are attracted to intelligent men either in its romantic or platonic sense!”
“I’m not choosy.” It’s not like I’m looking for geniuses or a partner in life whose IQ is greater than Einstein. Where is this conversation heading to?
“I’m just asking you about Damien’s kiss, and what did I get? Some theory that half of my brain can’t even tolerate!” he complains as he calls for the approaching cab. “I swear, I need some glucose!”
Am I really choosy when it comes to men? In elementary, all my crushes were nerds and geeks. In high school, I was in love with a fictional character in the person of Sherlock Holmes. I find their way of talking so amusing that I thought they can talk all day without getting exhausted and running out of ideas. Plus, they can explain things thoroughly unt
il an average person understands what they are saying, even if it takes a lifetime. I’m not into the professor-types, but I think I just want someone who can pique my curiosity, someone who can stir my brain to look for answers or someone who I can listen to all day telling things I do not know. Maybe I am what Ray says I am. Maybe it’s the reason why I never have boyfriends because I haven’t found the one who can make me feel what highly intellectual boyfriends do.
Speaking about my love life, I am not looking for one… then Colin Verne crosses my mind. If he asks me to go out with him, what shall I do? Can I even afford to have fun while pretending that everything’s okay in my life right now? Can I even go on a date?
Before I proceed upstairs to Dad’s room, I visit the finance department to see Dad’s tentative bill. My eyes pop out of their sockets when I see tons of zeroes. I’m exaggerating, but having four to five zeroes on these papers is a big deal for a destitute like me. The cost is larger than what I have in my savings. Not even my monthly paycheck can help.
Then my eyes widen even more when I read laboratory test requests I find unusual for Dad’s case.
“Why did Dad need a biopsy and a CAT scan?” I ask the clerk on the desk.
“Those were requested by Dr. Martin this morning.”
“Why did he request them?”
“It’s a doctor’s prerogative, Ms. Mohr.”
“But they are for…” I pause. I cannot stomach the realization.
“We need the down payment after tomorrow, Ms. Mohr. The amount you need to pay before we perform other tests is in the bill.”
“Other tests?”
“Dr. Martin is the only one allowed to tell you. He hasn’t given us the list of new tests,” says the lady clerk. “It’s a rule that the patient consents to the tests before they are done.”
So Dad consented to be biopsied and CAT scanned? Only one crazy and horrifying thought run through my mind. It can’t be! It just can’t!
With dread, my legs brought me to the seventh floor where Dr. Martin’s hospital clinic is located. It’s almost eleven in the evening, and I know that doctors usually don’t see clients after five, but I am hoping to see him clarify some things. I want him to tell me that I am just overreacting, that the biopsy and the CAT scan meant nothing but just random tests.
