Manila Marriage App

by Jan Elder

  My sodden blouse and ruined shoes were beyond repair. There was no way to make pricey pea-green sling-backs presentable. Besides being unsalvageable, my left shoe squished. I had a change of clothes in my carry-on, thank goodness.

  To my dismay, inside the small bag I found a partially open shampoo bottle, a pair of soapy Nike’s, two drenched shirts, and wet, dappled blue jeans. At the very bottom, I felt one dry top—my fuchsia cartoon character nightshirt. It was better than nothing, and would have to do.

  Heading back toward the lavatory to change, I spotted our considerate flight attendant signaling me. She’d witnessed the entire debacle. Disappearing into the cockpit, she returned in triumph with a pair of red flip-flops. Men’s flip-flops. “The captain sends his compliments,” she announced with delight.

  They were way too big, and hardly a positive fashion statement, but I’d take what I could get and be grateful for it. I thanked her, and scuffled back down the aisle to a softly snoring Imelda. With her head tilted to the side, she exuded cuteness.

  Back in my seat, I grabbed the crime novel I’d been reading and tried in vain to finish chapter two. It was no use. Abandoning the book, I concentrated my attention on the spectacular glow of the sunset outside the window. The sun pitched into the water with the speed of time lapse photography and, in short order, the lights dimmed, a sure indication it was time to snooze. With nothing to distract me from my reveries, my insides were jumping like a grasshopper on amphetamines. I did my best to relax, envisioning bubbling brooks and fields of wildflowers.

  Several sleepless hours later, the engines throttled back, and the plane began its descent. The seatbelt sign chimed, and the loud speaker crackled. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Tomás. We’ve begun our approach and will be touching down at Ninoy Aquino International Airport in approximately ten minutes. Please fasten your seatbelts and stow your tray tables. The temperature outside is a humid ninety-seven degrees with no chance of rain.” He paused to take a breath. How many hundreds of times had he made this speech before? Some people had all the fun. “Thank you for flying with Philippine Airlines and welcome to Manila. Please enjoy your stay.”

  2

  Eager to get through customs in the busy Manila airport, I lined up with dozens of other passengers. I was ready to show my passport and declare my destination. The official glowered at me with apparent suspicion but nonetheless stamped my passport. I’d always wanted to be a world traveler. The stamp made me proud.

  Gathering my luggage and my purse, I passed through the gates, made my way onto the concourse, and found there was no one to greet me. I was sure I’d e-mailed the correct flight information. Maybe I was in the wrong part of the airport.

  Pulling my instructions out of my bag, I scanned Timmy’s wrinkled letter. Nothing to indicate he was going to be late. I spun in a circle and spotted my beloved Imelda. She trotted up and hugged me as if she hadn’t just been sitting next to me for twelve straight hours. She explained that people picking up passengers were required to stay on the outer ring of the airport and pointed toward a short tunnel up ahead. Then she pressed a piece of paper with her address and telephone number into my hand, and nudged me in the right direction. At least I had one friend in this foreign land.

  With a quieter heart, I made my way through the tunnel to find a sea of enthusiastic faces searching for their loved ones. I couldn’t see anyone who resembled the picture Timothy had sent, and he should’ve been easy to spot. At six-four, he would be a good head taller than the vast majority of the crowd. At five feet eight inches, I towered over all of the women and most of the men, myself.

  I dropped my bags and was hunting for a bench to sit on when I saw the banner. A dashing Filipino man, I would guess in his early twenties, was holding up a placard reading “Miss Shay Callahan.” Fantastic. I had a ride, but Timmy lacked the courtesy to come fetch me himself.

  I wheeled my luggage over to the waiting young gentleman. His grin would light up a dungeon, and he seemed so happy to see me. My irritation vanished.

  “Miss Callahan?” His white teeth flashed.

  “That’s me.” I squared my shoulders and acted as if I hadn’t been wilting on a plane for endless hours. Wiping my brow with a crumpled Kleenex I found in the pocket of my slacks, I tried on my best American smile. I’d figured on high temperatures and humidity, but I hadn’t counted on the super-bright glare of the sun. This was the tropics all right. “And you would be…?”

  Those extra-white teeth appeared, again, as he pumped my hand vigorously. “Danilo. Danilo Reyes. I’m Dr. Flynn’s teaching assistant. He sends his apologies. He had something important to attend to and says he will make time to see you when we return to the seminary.”

  He would, would he? How delightful.

  I must have looked droopy because Danilo scooped up all of bags with a flourish—he was stronger than he appeared—and slanted his head toward the parking lot. Rivulets of perspiration trickled down my back, the air so heavy it was hard to pump oxygen in and out of my lungs. What had possessed me to come to The Philippines during their hottest month of the year? I fished my sunglasses out of my purse—the pair Brianna said made me as glamorous as Marilyn Monroe—and trudged along behind.

  Belted in the passenger seat of Dr. Flynn’s gold mini-SUV, air conditioning blasting, I settled back.

  Danilo had been surveying my disheveled state with apprehension, but after a bit, he seemed satisfied he’d be able to deliver me alive and passably fit.

  The vehicle took off like a clay pigeon shot out of a launcher. The word aggressive didn’t begin to describe Danilo’s attitude behind the wheel. We were driving on a divided three-lane highway, and the traffic was crazy. I’d never seen anything to match it. Being from the DC area, I was familiar with congestion extraordinaire, but this was a completely different sort of chaos.

  Five vehicles were squeezed across those three lanes, all moving fast and furious. We were in the middle of a melee and to either side of us sped a car, a truck, and a strange form of compact bus. The extra-scary part was each vehicle was moving a scant foot (or less) away from the others. I thanked God that Danilo was driving. I shut my eyes and hung on.

  “Miss? Miss? You OK?” Danilo reached over and patted my hand. “Miss?”

  I dared a quick peek and was closing my eyes again when Danilo snorted. Was he laughing at me? OK, I suppose I could give him that. It must have been funny seeing the frightened American lady cringing in fear over…traffic. I lifted my chin, pulled my seatbelt taut, and tried to concentrate on the scenery whizzing by.

  We were on the outskirts of the big city, and next to the road stood numerous stores, businesses, and run-down buildings. The writing on most of the signs was in both English and another language I didn’t recognize. We passed over a dry riverbed with shacks and dilapidated sheds of all shapes and sizes crowded close together. I gestured toward the distressing sight.

  Danilo’s lips thinned. How sweet that his emotions were such an open book. Most men were so hard to read. “Much of my country is poor. People do whatever work they can to feed their families. In the stormy season, the rains come and the river returns to wash away all those makeshift homes. That is the bad time.”

  A group of children played in the rubbish by the overcrowded highway. One of the boys had on a frayed Washington Redskins t-shirt two sizes too big for him. The shirt made me grin. The ‘Skins were my team. The kid next to him wore a Breathe-if-You-Hate-Duke shirt. I chuckled at that one. Even though I’d gone to Cornell, I had a soft spot for the Maryland Terps, and we were avid Duke haters. How curious that a missionary box, most likely from the DC area, had made its way here.

  I gave them a wave, and the boys waved back excitedly. The Duke hater waved one last time as the kids disappeared over the embankment followed by a skinny yellow dog.

  I scrutinized my chauffer. He was dressed in clean, pressed jeans, an orange polo shirt, and Adidas shoes. He would have fit in at any college in the US.
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  We cruised on in silence until the main seminary came into view. Danilo sailed passed the main gate and kept on driving until we came to a narrow dirt road on our right. He turned onto the dusty lane and drove slowly up the almost vertical hill, steering with care around the deepest ruts. At the summit stood the seminary back gate. Danilo pushed in a code on a keypad, and the door swung open. To the right sat three parked cars on a cement pad with one space left in the middle. The sign on a high, metal fence behind the empty parking place read “Dr. T. Flynn.” Danilo maneuvered the car into the gap with barely enough room to open the car door. I dragged in a deep breath, and slid out.

  “Miss Callahan, I’m going to leave your luggage in the car, if that’s all right. The guest house is occupied so Dr. Flynn is working on where to put you.”

  “No problem.” I patted his shoulder. He really was a nice young man.

  “Bayani will watch over it.”

  A man as big as an offensive lineman, swaggered out of a nearby guardhouse. With his muscular frame and crisp, white uniform decorated with gold buttons, he radiated intimidation. Without a doubt, I’d be safe with him escorting me down any dark alley. He closed the gate (also complete with sharp spikes on top) and wrote something down on a clipboard. The grounds of the campus stretched out beneath us.

  Danilo motioned for me to follow, spun, and bounded down the first steep flight of steps. I was preparing to sprint after him when my gaze fell to my feet. Oh yeah. Flip-flops. Carefully, I placed one foot after the other, scurrying behind, the foreign trees and flowers a blur as I tried to keep up. When we neared the bottom of what had to have been over a hundred steps, the campus leveled out. Good thing. All the speed walking I’d done at shopping malls should have made me more fit.

  Now I understood question number eighteen on the marriage application. Was I able to climb plenty of stairs? In retrospect, I suppose that should have been a warning. And sometime soon, we’d be going back up. Scary thought.

  Danilo was still on the move, and I rushed after him. He disappeared into the Faculty and Student Center, a newish stone and glass building. Inside, the décor was modern and comfortable and much appreciated puffs of cool air circled around us. The race down the stairs in the steaming heat had left me winded. It surely couldn’t be nerves that had my heart pounding in my ears.

  A sofa and chairs in the lobby called to me, but I soldiered on and did my best to keep up. We trekked down a long hallway lined with offices until we arrived at a large corner office on the left. Before entering, I took a moment to compose myself and smooth my flyaway hair. My fingernail scraped on a patch of dried peas behind my left ear. What was the point in primping?

  Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I strolled into the room. Behind a massive teak desk sat the man I’d come to meet. The photo he’d e-mailed me didn’t do him justice. Not by a long shot. If I’d been the obvious sort, my jaw would have dropped to the floor. And there’d be plenty of drool.

  He stood as I entered the room, cool gray eyes raking over me. His bio had told me he was a tall man, but the head shot hadn’t captured the aura of authority he projected. Mister-too-important-to-pick-me-up didn’t say a word, although that intense stare roamed my face with apparent disbelief. Perhaps he was confused as to my shabby state, but he didn’t have to be rude.

  We glared at each other. In fact, he examined me as if he were judging a heifer at the county fair. If he were testing my mettle, I was not going to be the first one to blink. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head, loosened his lips, and said the words I least expected. “Miss Callahan, you’re blonde.”

  Words spilled out of my own mouth before I could filter them. “Whoa, nothing gets past you does it, Dr. Flynn?”

  “In the picture you sent me, you were a brunette.”

  Well, he had me there. Before last Tuesday, I had been a brunette. Light brown, but still brown. I straightened my spine. “Hey, I didn’t go platinum or anything. The appealing color you see before you is called Golden Latte. Two measly shades lighter.” Huffing, I pushed my long mane behind my ears hoping no remaining traces of peas were visible. “And what am I doing justifying my personal color preferences to you? It’s my hair.”

  He kept staring at me. “Putting that issue aside, you’re also not…how shall I put this? You’re…you’re not what I expected. You’re way too…”

  “I’m way too what?” My chin rose, as did my ire.

  “Oh, never mind,” he mumbled. His head hung down and, I swear, his feet shuffled. That was unexpected. Was he arrogant or bashful?

  Either way, still standing in the doorway, I’d had enough of this strange exchange. Since he didn’t seem to know how to greet me like a decent human being, I’d give him a demonstration. “OK, let’s try this again. Dr. Flynn, I presume? I’m Shay Callahan. You know, the woman you ordered with a ‘keen mind, and a rational outlook on life?’”

  I strode across the room and extended my hand. As I moved forward, my rubber-clad feet entwined and down I fell on the hardwood, gliding to a stop in an untidy tangle. My purse hit the floor, skittered past the desk, and landed at Timmy’s feet.

  Personal stuff scattered everywhere, some of it highly embarrassing. Rising to my knees, I gathered up what I could and lifted my head.

  His eyes danced as he tried his best not to snicker.

  My humiliation gave way to fury when the suggestion of a smile tugged at his lips.

  Gritting my teeth, I tried to get my feet back under me. To my absolute astonishment, I found my left flip-flop was stuck to the floor. I’d managed to step on a sticky wad of gum, thus explaining my clumsy tumble. A sweet, lingering scent came from my flip-flop.

  “Miss Callahan? Are you all right?” Did Timmy have to keep gazing at me as if I had twin antennae growing out of my scalp?

  “Just fabulous, thank you for asking.” I took off both shoes and wobbled to my feet.

  Turning my back on him, I marched over to a nearby camel-colored couch to sit and lick my wounds. I took a second to organize my thoughts and focused my attention on the austere and orderly space. Positioned in the far corner facing a large window was Timothy’s desk. His view amazed me. Sure, there were exotic sights galore, but that’s not what caught my attention. Across a courtyard, a dozen or more children played on seesaws, swings, and jungle gyms. The window glass did little to block shrieks of delight. I would have imagined a man of such great importance would have wanted a quieter office.

  Just a few yards beyond the playground ran the busy highway we’d driven in on. Traffic zoomed by at an alarming rate, but I was pleased to see a sturdy fence kept the kids in and the danger out.

  While I’d been mulling, Timmy had gathered my belongings, and strode over to hand me the pile, along with my purse.

  I gave him a nod, whipped out some tissues and hand sanitizer, and worked on my sticky sandal. A wave of wooziness hit me, and I was tempted to put my feet up on the book-laden coffee table in front of me. Instead, with as much dignity as I could muster, I crossed my ankles, and placed my hands in my lap. “Whose children?”

  His face brightened. “Are you fond of kids?” He looked so hopeful my irritation melted. Well, some of it. Man, he was hot. “Many of our students are married, and we built the playground for their children. Would you care to meet some of the kids?”

  I wanted to, but my gritty lids were fast on their way to closing down for the day. I was trying to figure out a good way to say “maybe another time” when I heard the awful squeal of brakes, followed by a sickening thump. Outside, traffic screeched to a halt, motor vehicles slithering to a stop mere inches from one another. There was a moment of profound silence, and then the cacophony began. Amidst shouts and honks, a piercing scream came from not far away. I could hear panic in that scream. Heart in my throat, I ran to the window, fearing the worst.

  3

  Timothy, Danilo, and I raced through the seminary front gate to the scene of the collision.

  Pandemonium reigned. In
the middle of the gridlock sat a wailing woman clutching a young girl—perhaps three or four years old. Long black hair had fallen over the child’s features, and it was obvious she was in serious condition.

  Everyone knew Dr. Flynn. The crowd divided as if parted by Moses. I was close behind him, so I couldn’t see his face, but I knew the exact instant he sighted the waif. He sucked in a breath, broad shoulder muscles tensing. I could hear him praying under his breath. “Lord, help me know what to say and do.”

  Timothy waved for Danilo and asked him to bring the car around. Was he planning to take the child to the hospital himself? Not a bad notion since it was a sure bet an ambulance would have a hard time reaching the accident site. It was clear the kid needed a doctor and she needed one now.

  While we were all waiting for Danilo—and that included a crowd of at least a hundred—Timothy squatted down to determine the child’s condition with probing eyes. She was lying on the pavement with her head cradled in her mother’s lap. He placed a tender hand on the girl’s forehead and started praying again. What could it hurt? His words calmed the mother somewhat, and what was even more of a shock, they made me feel better, also. When he’d finished talking to God, he turned toward the mother. “What’s her name?”

  In a small, cracked voice, she said, “Annalisa, but we call her Pinky. She’s…she’s only four.”

  “She’s a beautiful child. And what’s your name?”

  “Liwayway Rojas. You are Dr. Flynn, the teacher.” She chewed on her bottom lip and attempted a tiny smile. The anguished woman couldn’t have been more than a child herself—around twenty, maybe twenty-one.

  Timothy laid a comforting hand on her back. “Yes, that’s me.” He sank to the ground next to her, folding his long legs under him. “Even though Pinky’s unconscious, she’s breathing well. But her left arm appears to be broken, and she has a bump on her head and some scrapes. I think we should take her to the hospital. Are you OK with that?”