She barely eats during the flight. When we had pizza in my apartment, she only had one slice and the rest she gave to Peach. Same when we had chicken wings, she only got one, and she gave the rest to me and Peach. During the flight, she mostly slept and only had green tea for breakfast.
"What do you want to eat?" I ask her.
She looks at me, confused, looking restless. "Can I have ginger tea? I don't know when can I have it."
I look on the web about what food and drink are good for a person with lung cancer. Ginger tea is one of the excellent food to take.
"I think we can find the nearest café from here." I say to her.
She looks better than she was earlier this morning. I guess she's just hungry since she only took a bite of baby back ribs on the plane.
"What do you want to eat?" she asks.
"I ate on the plane. You barely had anything."
We look on the internet for a nearby café. According to the web, the nearest café from the airport is five minutes away. Our limo will arrive in about 30 minutes to an hour. We have more time.
"Can you walk, or do we have to get a taxi?" I ask her.
She looks offended.
"I'm not polio! I can walk, Jimbo! I can even run!" she yells while stomping her feet.
I gawk at her, watching her having a tantrum like a baby. I am so shocked at how she reacts. People start looking at us. This is so embarrassing.
A man runs towards us. She sees the man running toward us, then she points to the man and he stops halfway.
"I'm not crazy!" she screams.
Another man runs to us. I stop closer to her.
"Stop making a scene." I grit my teeth. "You don't have to scream."
"But you make me look weak! And these people are acting as if I'm planning on murdering you!" she stomps her feet again.
She fears showing her weakness to others but herself. She doesn't want to be seen as weak so she can act like crazy and a spoiled brat. I can see nothing in her personality but her quirkiness, toughness, and bubbliness. Though, I've seen her fragility and vulnerability before, and I thought she was comfortable enough to share it with me.
"Sorry." I whisper.
"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but you have to leave now. You're making a scene here." The man says.
Two men are assisting us to leave.
"I apologize, sir. We're leaving now." I say.
She shows her passport to the man and they let us go, and got scared.
"You work here, right?" she asks.
"S… sorry ma'am. Y… yes ma'am." The biggest man stutters.
"W… w… we got an order. We're very sorry." The other man says.
They both look scared to death.
"Don't worry, I won't report you." She says. "Wait there."
She walks closer to me. "Will you wait for me outside?"
I nod, holding our luggage. And do what she said.
Who are you? Why do you have authority over everybody we meet? I don't know you and you didn't even let me get to know you. What are you afraid of? Why are you afraid?
I've been waiting for her for a minute or two and after four minutes, she pops up in the two automatic glass doors.
"Catch me!" she says, jumping and hugging my neck. I struggle with my feet to find my balance while she's hanging on my neck. When I finally got my balance back, I just realize she's weightless.
"I'm so happy we're here!" she says to my neck. "Thank you for being here with her."
People barely appreciate people's effort and time these days. My heart is in joy seeing her this joyous and hearing how she appreciates me. When in reality she forced and dragged me here. This girl differs greatly from the type of person I am and maybe it's the reason why she vibes with me and enjoys accompanying her.
She wipes her tears and lets go of me before I can lose my breath.
"Let's get a taxi and feed you." I joke.
The café is simple and Instagramable. She takes a lot of pictures the entire time until it bore her.
"Do you have soup?" she asks the waiter.
"We only have pumpkin soup, ma'am." The waiter replies.
"That's fine. Don't forget my ginger tea." She says.
"And to you, sir?" the waiter asks.
"Iced tea." I order.
"Black coffee is better." She says.
The waiter and I look at her.
"Give him black coffee instead." She adds.
"I just had coffee on the plane." I say.
"That's all, thanks, waiter." She says ignoring me.
"Wait." I call the waiter. "You'll only have soup and ginger tea." I say to her.
"I'm not really hungry." She says.
"You need more than that." I say.
The waiter awkwardly stood next to our table.
"Do you have bread or something?" I ask the waiter.
"Garlic bread and egg sandwich." The waiter says.
"Garlic bread, please." I say.
"And water." She adds.
She glares back at me, annoyed. "Bossy."
I smirk at her. "Don't throw that word at me."
"But you're bossing me!"
"But you're the one who's bossy here."
The food arrives after 20 minutes. She finishes the soup fast. I read on the internet that people with stage 3 cancer have a hard time swallowing solid food. It only makes sense why she only ordered soup and tea, and the reason why she barely eats any solid.
Silence is at our table, joining our solitude. I pretend to check my phone as she looks uncomfortable chewing the bread I am forced to have for her.
"Who's looking for Peach?" I ask, looking at my phone.
"Mrs. Myra." She replies, uninterested in starting a conversation.
Instead of forcing conversation, I remain silent and play Mobile Legends. Twenty minutes later, someone calls on her.
"We're in Terra's Café. Can you please fetch us here?" she says over the phone. "Thank you." Then hangs up the call.
She calls for the bill.
She looks at me. "You're going to pay. The limo is coming."
She stands, leaving me at the table. After paying for our food, I run after her.
"I just want to go to the hotel and have a decent rest." She says.
A real limo parked in front of us. Big black limo and I've never been in a limo—never in my life. I dreamed of being in one.
The driver opens the door for us. She gets inside while I'm still baffled. The driver looks at me, pointing for me to get inside the limo. The ride was so silent until the driver hums.
"How long have you two known each other?" The driver asks.
I look at her waiting for her to answer the question for us. She ignores the question, and the driver looks at me through the rearview mirror.
"N…" I start but got cut off.
"No long enough." She says.
"How do you handle her?" he asks directly to me.
I look at her, gawking my eyes.
"Brutal." I whisper.
She slaps me on the face. I glance at the driver, pleading for help.
"Who gave you permission to answer that question?" she yells.
The driver is giggling.
"N… no one." I say.
Sometimes, I feel I know her, even though she's making it hard for me to know her. But I assume too much in a little time I know her. She's too hard to find and too rare in this world; the more I get to know her, the little I get to know about her. Days with her are unpredictable.
"S… so, how was it?" he asks again.
"He's fine. I haven't tortured him yet." She replies.
"Well, who are you?" He asks me again.
"Jack. His name is Jack."
Again, the question is for me, but she answered for me. I sit and watch them talk, over the course of listening to their conversation, it occurred to me that they know each other. She whispers something to him and he turns the vehicle to the busiest part of the town.
I'm not really a religious person. My parents are Catholic, I was born Catholic, both parts of my family are Catholic, and my family is devoted and rooted in my great-grandparents. Though, being raised in a Muslim country as a Catholic is a bad idea: it brought questions to me about my religion and faith. I can't call myself religious like my parents, but I attend mass and do pray, not just often like my parents and grandparents. When I was little, whenever we went on a vacation in the Philippines, I grew hatred of churches. Mom used to go to every damn church in every part of town; big, small, popular cathedrals, parishes. And I didn't understand it. There's no Catholic church Middle East. I can only go to church when we're in the Philippines, so I don't understand the importance of churches. Besides, both religions are very different. They're talking about different gods and may have different ways of praying. I don't get it and somehow it made it hard for me to understand the concept of God and religion. As a matter of fact, I only understood Catholicism when I stay here and attended masses every weekend. Being with her brought nostalgia; I feel a little again. The way I see it, hopeless people seek God. When my grandma was on her deathbed, mom and I visited every church from morning to night every single day.
She holds my hand, and we enter the church together.
"I'm ready to die, but I'm not sure if God will accept my soul." She says while we're entering.
We sit in the middle pew. I expect her to kneel and pray, but she just stares at the Crucified Christ.
"You know, I don't know if God will accept me, too. I doubt His existence most of my life."
"Why? Don't you believe that someone made us?" she scoffs. "If you'll die soon, either God or Satan won't accept you."
"What?! It's just that I grew up in a Muslim country and my parents are Catholic."
"Understandable."
She stands, leaving me in the middle to go in front of the altar. I follow her, but she stops and shakes her head. She sits in the front pew. Wonder why then. I understand she doesn't want me to hear her prayer.
I know how to pray, but I remain seated after I make a sign of the cross, then maybe stare at Crucified Christ. I'm sure He'll hear me and grant my prayer.
Christ, I know I don't pray a lot, but how are You doing? Maybe you don't know it, but the reason why I don't pray much is that I know You're too busy, and some people need You most than I do. I don't want to be a bother. But I'm here now with a special girl. I hope she's here with me to pray for her cure and nothing else. You're the answer to all. Please hear my prayer and cure her illness. It's impossible, but nothing's impossible with You, dear God. I never had motivation in my life until I met her. I don't think I need her, nonetheless, I'm sure You will never let your children in harm. Amen.
I'm done with my prayer, but she's still kneeling. I decide to wait outside with her driver. He smiles at me like we're long friends.
"Finally, we're left alone. How the two of you met?" he asks.
"We met when she moved into my apartment building where I'm renting." I reply. "May I know you?"
"Oh, I see. She didn't mention it to you."
"She's, uh, a little complicated."
"I know. I'm one of her butlers." He explains.
"Butlers." I whisper, nodding my head.
"You see, she doesn't want to talk about her family, but don't ever think she's spoiled because she's not."
"She's not that hard to handle as much as she makes it seem." I say.
"Thank you, I appreciate it."
We both look at her as she's walking out of the church. She stops in front of us.
"Stop talking about me or I will punch the both of you!" she yells at us.
"He told nothing but good things about you, madam." The butler says.
She turns and beams at me. "I see that you and Henry are getting along."
"Yes, ma'am." I say to her.
"I want to go to Magellan's Cross." She says to Henry.
"I thought you want to rest." I say.
"I really don't like you talking." She says to me.
Then "the driver" and "the butler" have a name.
She's starting to pant, showing her tiredness. She needs to rest, that's all I can see. I want to read her mind, but she's too hardheaded. Henry doesn't say a lot. We drive to the Magellan's Cross but we just park and wait for the people to subside. Henry is not letting her out to join the people out to the church; saying it's not safe for her and the people if we go to a crowded place like this one.
"Maybe we can go somewhere safer?" I ask her.
"Ma'am, listen to us. This is not a safe place for you." Henry says.
We've been waiting for the people to subside for 10 minutes, but she's not listening. She opens the door angrily and marches toward the lady. The lady is holding a paper with a face of a Saint to a foreigner.
"Hey!" she yells at them.
"What a war freak." I whisper, opening the door, then lean on the limo.
"Is this the first time you see her acting like that?" Henry asks.
"Yeah."
"I saw worst, honestly." He says.
"Hey! You're embarrassing for our country!" she yells to the lady. "You're scamming this foreigner! You must be ashamed of yourself!"
People are looking at them. I feel sorry for the foreigner.
"What's the matter with you?" the lady finally speaks. "I only sell to feed my family."
"Should we go to her?" I ask.
"It would only make her mad." Henry says.
"My problem is, you're an embarrassment to our country scamming people! Why can't you just have a normal and decent job instead of scamming, huh?" She screams.
It must hurt her throat by screaming. I want to come to her but Henry is just standing watching her and not even bothered, seems he's used to this kind of her attitude. I've never seen her making a scene before. I wonder what's in her head. Though she made a scene at the airport, I think I must be wrong and she can handle herself. No need to worry about this girl.
A police officer arrives at the scene. She explains to the police what she witnessed, and the foreigner made testified. They arrested the lady.
"I hate this place." Walking to us.
We head to the suburb after she gets inside the limo. She fell asleep next to me, leaning her head on my shoulder, looking like an angel. She's still a mystery to me and I always want to change that. If only I can change her future, we can live happily ever after.
After an hour, Henry turns to the left, to a secluded area. Tress piled like soldiers with flowers in a line. At the end of the trees are huge gates, and a mansion that looks like the White House. Henry opens the window and presses something, then he continues to drive inside. We park in front of the big white house.
"Have you woken her, Jack?" He asks.
I can't just wake her. I don't know where I am and I never expect myself to be in a palace!
I shake her slowly. She moans, then looks at us dead tired.
"Home sweet home, madam." Henry says.
She rolls her eyes. "Bury me." She opens the window next to her and looks outside. "Is anyone inside?"
"Your grandfather is waiting for you." Henry says.
"Ugh, why are we even here?" she asks, annoyed.
"Your grandfather wants to see you, madam." Says Henry.
"I guess I have no choice." She looks at me, frowning. "Come."
The house is so big and knows that she's not just a daughter of a businessman, but her fortune is more.
One of the biggest mysteries is that she seems to be very different here. I knew her as a sweet girl. Now, she's an authority.
She pauses in front of the door, silently; she stares at the house. Despite her bubbliness, sweet mask, and being bossy, deep within she's sad. I know she fears death. She only said that she's ready to die because she knows it will come sooner and it's the only future that she has. But I know she fears it—scared of the unknown. I follow her to the house. Inside, it looks simpler than what's outside.
Her grandfather greets us. I assume she lost her grandmother, based on the pictures on the wall.
"Oh, princess!" her grandfather says.
She stands completely still while her grandfather is hugging her.
"This is Jack." She says, pointing at me.
"And what's your relationship with my granddaughter?" He asks.
I wait for her to answer me, but she just looks at me.
"Uh, we're friends." I say.
She rolls her eyes. "We're not staying here. I booked a hotel for us."
"But I haven't seen you in ten years. Why can't you just stay here? You'll be needing Henry." Her grandfather says.
"Grandfather, are you living alone? Where's auntie Cashmere and her family?" she asks, changing the topic.
She looks uncomfortable talking to her grandfather with me. I distance myself and got a tour with Henry. Henry is not a talker, and it's fine with me. The house is enormous, with a pool and a tennis court.
"I never thought she's this rich." I say to Henry.
"Do you really know a little about her?" He asks back.
She goes to me in the garden, asking Henry to give us time. He stands from the concrete bench and she sits next to me.
"Would you be okay with staying here for a while?" She asks.
"Why not?"
She brushes her face disappointingly with her hands, then throws her facemask on the ground.
"I hate this place! I hate he asked us to stay! I hate them!" she screams.
"Hey, I'm here with you. Stop screaming. You're just hurting your throat." I say.
She smiles at me, then leans her head on my shoulder. She slaps me and I don't know why.
"Hey! I thought we were cool!" I scream.
"Friends? You call us friends!?"
She continues to slap me. I feel my face burning, scared to death like this.
"Why did you call us friends!?" she yells.
She doesn't like how I called us. She said she only wants a friend and here I am! What else does she want?
I sigh. Now, I understand we're more than friends because she decides it. I don't want to fall in love with her because she's going to leave me. I don't think she can change her mind about me.