by Wilde, Ora
Which was at the opposite direction of the way to our house!
“Where are we going?” I asked him, shouting, as the wind and the noise of the engine drowned my voice.
“Here and there,” Darwin answered as he increased the speed of his bike.
That ‘here and there’ was revealed to be a lap, or rather a series of laps, around the outskirts of the campus. We did nothing but circle the road around school, honking at pedestrians, twice beating the same red light, and overtaking Principal Daley’s station wagon thrice. Principal Daley was such a slow driver that he was still in the same street on our third lap.
We just went around in circles. He never spoke a word. His eyes were focused on the road. Even during turns that seemed careless... even when he roughly accelerated his bike from time to time... even when students who saw us screamed to greet him... his eyes remained fixated on the road.
What was bothering him, I wondered?
I think it was on the eighth lap when I finally decided to break the silence between us.
“Will we just keep doing this until evening?”
He didn’t answer. He kept on driving.
“Do you want to talk about something?”
He didn’t reply. He didn’t even show the slightest sign that he would answer my questions.
Then I remembered what my mom and Uncle Charlie shared yesterday... about a tragedy that Darwin had to endure. They didn’t want to talk about it, at least not at that time, but I did have an idea that it was about his mother. Before she even married Uncle Charlie, my mom told me that he was a widower, though I never really inquired about the circumstances of his previous wife’s death.
“How did your mom die?” I asked him when his bike slowed down to allow some pedestrians to cross the street.
Still, he didn’t answer.
But something about him changed at that exact moment. My arms were still wrapped around him and I felt his body stiffen. I saw his grip on the throttle tighten. I saw him bend forward, lowering his head and keeping it farther away from me. Then he revved up the engine once more and we sped off... faster than before... faster and faster with every passing second.
We deviated from a seemingly endless circuit that we traversed repeatedly and followed a more familiar route. In a matter of minutes, we were home.
I removed the helmet and gave it to him. He just threw it near the bushes by the side of the mailbox before darting straight towards the door.
“Hey Darwin!” I called out, imploringly. “Please... if I said something bad, I’m sorry.”
He stopped and turned around.
“Elizabeth, you owe me two favors, correct?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered, my voice filled with glum.
“The first favor... never, ever talk about my mother. Ever!” he instructed, forbiddingly and furiously. “You don’t talk about her, you don’t ask about her, you don’t think about her. Understand?”
I just nodded, my heart filled with sorrow and incertitude.
He went inside the house. I was left standing on the brick path leading to the doorway, staring blankly at my own home and wondering about what, exactly, I said wrong that affected him that much.
Will he? Won’t he?
These were the questions which hounded me that Saturday afternoon.
Thursday and Friday were like a blur, which was a relief. I thought they were going to be painfully slow days, given the fact that Darwin never - not even once - talked to me despite sitting beside me in class. Chelsea Summers flirted with him as usual, of course, but I didn’t care as much as I did three days ago. My mind was focused on something else.
At our house, we didn’t talk as well. For two nights, he went home really late. It wasn’t surprising, not even a single bit shocking. He was fucking Chelsea Summers, after all, and he sure as hell can’t fuck her during daytime in school. They had to wait for the darkness of the night and the privacy of wherever to do the deed.
I really hated that girl.
For two days and two nights, no word was exchanged between me and my stepbrother. Hence, I was never able to verify if our deal for that night was on. He might’ve been really pissed at me. He might’ve decided to call it off without even informing me. He might’ve thought of it as a form of revenge for my perceived insensitivity.
How was I supposed to know that his mother was an off limit subject?
I looked at my bed. My yellow sundress - tight-fitting at the top and free-flowing at the bottom, knee-length and beautiful - was laid on the sheets. It was what I planned to wear for Emerson’s party... the very first party I was supposed to attend outside of family gatherings and birthday celebrations when I was a kid. Is a sundress even an appropriate attire? I was almost sure that the girls there would be wearing something chic, something fashionable, something sexy and slutty and cool. But I had no outfit like that. My yellow sundress was the prettiest one I had.
It didn’t matter. I didn’t plan on staying there for long. I just wanted to see what people my age do at parties like that. I just wanted to experience what it was like.
But without Darwin, I won’t be able to go... which was totally absurd. At eighteen, I should be old enough to make adult decisions. Going to a party that was practically twenty minutes away from home was not even that adult of a decision. Teens my age don’t need their parents’ permission. But my mom has always been very protective of me. You were such a fragile baby, she once said, I promised to myself that I would protect you if you’d only survive that first night at the hospital.
I did survive that night, because, well… lo and behold! Here I am! I have been in good health since then, but my mom, it seemed, always saw me as that delicate infant she held in her arms… the same infant that had a fifty percent chance of seeing the world outside.
I sulked on my seat as I continued to look at my yellow sundress. As the minutes turned to hours, it became clearer and clearer that I wouldn’t be able to wear it.
My mom called me for dinner but I declined to eat. I wasn’t hungry. Disappointment can do that to me. I guess she understood. Rather than allowing me to go to the party by myself, however, she just kissed my forehead and told me that I’d get over it by next week.
Thanks Mom! That was very reassuring!
God! My last year of high school and I’d graduate a party virgin. That makes two things that I’m completely immaculate of.
Shallow but true: a tear dropped from my eye. I wanted to blame my hormones, but it was weeks away from my period. I was sad. It was a simple disappointment that I knew would pass, but I was sad nevertheless. No one ever wants to be sad, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.
It was then when I heard a honk from outside my window.
I opened the pane and peered. It was Darwin, on his bike, dressed in a nice black, long-sleeved dress shirt folded a quarter below his elbows, with a pair of black jeans and dark-colored street sneakers to complete the ensemble.
He looked dashing!
Ravishing ,even!
“Are you dressed?” he asked, shouting, as he saw me looking at him. “We’re late.”
“But it’s just seven-thirty!” I screamed back at him, a wide smile quickly formed on my face.
“Ah... that’s right,” he replied, “we have to be fashionably late!”
“Uhuh!” I agreed, still with a ludicrous smile that didn’t want to disappear.
“Okay then, I’ll come back for you after an hour or so,” he said as he put on his helmet and drove away.
As soon as he was gone from my sight, I literally sank on the floor clutching my heart, with the same smile that never yielded. He kept his word... he kept his word! He went through for me! He’s bringing me to the party!
Crap! I only had an hour!
I immediately got up and looked at my yellow dress once again. What shoes should I pair it with? It was an off-shouldered piece, so should I wear a strapless bra or a regular one? I don’t have big breasts, so shoul
d I use some paddings? How about my underwear? Would the outlines of a bikini cut be visible under the thin fabric of my dress? Should I wear a thong? And my hair? Light brown and long... should I go for the Sunday Mass look and tie it up in a ponytail? Or should I let it loose? Curls maybe? A headband? Accessories! But what accessories would look good with my dress? A bib necklace? Should I keep it simple with earrings and a single pendant necklace? Glasses or contacts?
God! So many decisions to make! I have no ready answers. It’s not as if I go to parties everyday!
I looked at the clock. Fifty-six minutes left and I haven’t even taken a shower yet.
I gotta start moving...
I held on to his waist tightly, just like before. He only knew one speed it seemed: super fast. As he skillfully navigated his bike from one side to the other to avoid slower moving vehicles - and a grandmother crossing Amethyst Avenue while carrying a grocery bag - I tried my best to drop my entire weight on the seat just to prevent my dress from being lifted by the wind. Good thing I wore a ponytail. His helmet would’ve ruined any other style. Same thing would’ve happened if I insisted on wearing my glasses. Good thing I got a new pair of contacts last month.
We arrived at Emerson Perdew’s place, a huge mansion in the middle of a sprawling landscape of oak trees and the greenest grass I have ever seen outside of a golf course. The driveway was already filled with cars from guests, so we had to park a little farther.
We descended from his motorbike and started our way towards the house. I took a closer look at Darwin. He was marvelously hot... more than usual. His dress shirt complemented his body really well, and his all black attire was a perfect representation of his - admittedly - alluring mystique.
Ahhhh... his mystique.
He was a bad boy. There was no question about that. He had this aura that was both frightening and bedazzling. Any girl who sees him would immediately sense danger... but it was a thrilling kind of peril, one that just begs to be experienced.
But those times that he actually talked to me... those times when he was caring and sweet... those times when he showed me that he was actually capable of feeling joy... those were the things that made him enchanting for me.
He talked about me and my duality. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.
“Duality,” I uttered as I bumped his arm with mine.
“What?” he asked, with his usual scowl.
“You said I was a woman of duality,” I said, “someone who walks two paths, someone who breathes two lives.”
“Yeah... and?” He was visibly confused about where the conversation was headed.
“When you said that... I think you were talking about yourself,” I replied with a smile.
And he cleared his throat. He actually cleared his throat! The almighty Darwin McKenzy actually cleared his throat! I got him where I wanted him!
“Hey, I was reading your palm,” he answered with assertiveness that I knew was feigned.
“Yeah right!” I told him. “Look... between the two of us, you’re the one who shows two sides almost every single day. In school, you’re tough and uncaring and downright eccentric. At home, you’re like that too, but sometimes, you show a different aspect of your personality... a softer you, a more affectionate you, and dare I say, a better you.”
“Elizabeth...” he started.
“Betty!” I insisted.
“Elizabeth,” he stressed to my dismay, “I’ve moved in for, what? Less than a week? I don’t think that’s enough time for you to claim that you know me.”
“I dunno about that,” I rebutted with a wink, “you seem very transparent to me.” A lie, but I had to say it as I continued to press him for his thoughts.
“So you’re an expert at reading personalities now?” he asked, rather sardonically.
“Just the personalities that are too obvious,” I stated while closing my eyes and widening the grin I was flashing.
He sighed and started to quicken his pace. I almost stumbled as I tried to keep up with him.
“What if I’m just moody?” he asked.
“Moods have triggers,” I said. “Your... duality... isn’t triggered by anything. It’s weird. You’re weird.” I covered my mouth as I restrained from tittering.
Then an amazing thing happened.
He looked at me and smiled, giving me a nice, close view of his heart-melting dimple. He grabbed my hand and he began to run, tugging me along with him.
“Let’s hurry up,” he said. “The party’s waiting for its princess.”
He clutched my hand securely, as if he was afraid that he would lose his grip. But his grasp wasn’t too tight. No. It was strong without being hurtful, taut but tender at the same time, resolute and protective. He kept running and I ran with him... thank God I went with boots instead of heels!
I stared at him as we sprinted towards the mansion. He was still smiling, as if he was excited about what lied ahead. He was like a kid who was about to venture into a wonderful adventure... regardless of how hollow that adventure was. I savored his smile, his touch, his presence... only to be consumed by disgruntlement once he let go of my hand as we reached the arched entrance that led to the party inside.
Side by side, we stepped into the mansion and we were greeted by loud house music and a sea of teenagers dancing and drinking and conversing in groups. I eyed the girls, and they were dressed in the same clothes that they usually wore in school.
Crap!
I was overdressed!
My very first party and I would be the laughing stock!
Then he placed his arm around my shoulder. His fingers dangled from his hand as they brushed against my collarbone. His touch stirred up my senses and made me a little woozy with delight.
“Don’t mind what they’ll think,” he said softly. “Just have fun.”
His words were enough to give me the confidence that I needed, but then...
“The most beautiful girl in this place deserves nothing less,” he continued as he removed his arm and walked straight into the crowd, disappearing from my sight in a matter of seconds.
I was all alone.
And I was beaming… giddily happy like a little girl.
He said I was beautiful. No! He said I was the most beautiful girl in this party. I strongly doubted that, but it was nice to hear. Especially from him.
“Betty!” Maggie shouted as she emerged from the throng of drunk and frolicking humanity. She hugged me tight and gave me a peck on the cheek.
“Hey Maggie,” I greeted her.
“I’m so fucking glad that you made it!” Her voice was different... delirious, hyped up, free.
“You’ve been drinking, I can tell,” I said.
“Hell yeah!” she confirmed as she gave me a slight nudge. “It’s a fucking party, Betty! Loosen up!”
“Maggie, we’re way below the legal drinking age,” I reminded her.
“Screw that!” she screamed at me. “Look around you... these are people from school, the same age as us. Do you see anyone drinking soda? Fuck no!”
“This would get you in trouble,” I warned her.
“Yeah right,” she replied as she dismissed my concern. “Like who would know?”
And with those words, she led me across the sea of people, both familiar and unfamiliar and in various manners of merrymaking, towards the end of the hall...
Towards the bar.
Five shots of Tequila and I was drunk. I haven’t been drunk before but I knew I was drunk. I was swaying to the sound of a Chris Brown song, the title of which I don’t even know. I hated rap music. Yet, I was dancing to one.
My voice was slurring and I was laughing at thoughts that never humored me before.
Maggie found it funny that I had a weak tolerance for alcohol.
“You’re such a baby,” she said as she continued to cackle hysterically.
I sucked my thumb as a reply, something which ordinarily I would’ve despised, but that night, it made us crack up
with nary a care in the world.
Then Emerson passed by and he smiled at me. I smiled back.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Betty,” he said.
“I’m so glad I’m here,” I answered, with a grin which I knew looked ridiculous, but again, I was past the point of caring.
“Hey Maggie,” he continued as he turned to face my best friend, “why don’t you and Betty join us in the first room upstairs for a little game?”
“Oooohhhh, I love games!” I quickly interceded.
