Never have I ever imagined that I'll be having this great chance of dancing with only a pantie on. But then, it's happening. Right now.
Ten minutes pass, four songs have been played, and the fifth one is about to end when the sound of shattering glass happens to bother me. I fleetly press the stop button of the music player to think for a while about what's going on and where that sound came from.
There are two possible scenarios that came across my mind after I hit the music player. One, it's either Mamma who comes back already and that breaking sound is coming from the clock that falls from the wall when she closes the door in full force. Or two, Papà's favorite cat sneaks into the kitchen sink and then suddenly hits a plate or a drinking glass.
To think of the first scenario, it's a bit impossible knowing that Mamma left the house twenty minutes ago and the average time travel of going to school is fifteen minutes-not to mention the other time to be consumed when talking to the principal and when going home. Meanwhile, about the other assumption, it's also a little strange to assume that it's the cat's fault because the last time I saw it was when I walked past Papa's room and it's there, locked inside, sleeping. I also thought of the robbery thing, but there's no way a robber could enter the house. Mamma locked the door when she left, and the only way to open it is through keys-which only the three of us have.
Not thinking any further, I decided to go out of my room to clarify things that keep on bugging me. I didn't mind wearing clothes at all. I continue walking with only a pantie on.
I hide behind the cupboard next to the room divider and peek through the living room where I heard the crashing sound. I scan the entirety of the space and scrutinize everything I see. From the couches to the television, from the door to the windows, from the ceiling down to the floor-where broken pieces of familiar violet ceramic glass are scattering.
At first, I'm thinking that it was just a normal vase. Not until I catch a glimpse of the artificial white tulips resting above the tea table where they shouldn't be there. It should be in Mamma's favorite again violet vase she brought during her first visit to Spain. Unfortunately, it's not there. Because the vase was there, on the floor, pulverized.
"Mamma's gonna kill me for sure!" I say, patting my forehead.
"She will?" says a voice out of nowhere.
"Yeah. That's a fact," I reply-unbothered. . . at first. But when I realize I am alone, I freeze in awe. Eyes growing big. Heart thumping fast. Hairs on my neck rising.
"Who was that?"
"It was my fault," the voice says. Then giggles. Then says again, "but I can buy a new one." Then there follows the giggling once more.
I turn my head in the slowest possible movement toward the TV cabinet where a giant white rabbit stuffed toy is displayed on its side. "Wait a minute. Was that you?" I bring out with my heart still thumping. "You can talk?"
The voice, a girly, surprisingly brisk voice, clears her throat. "Oh my. How can you so pervert and dumb at the same time?"
I step back away from the cupboard, turn myself in 180 degrees, and then. . . shit. I scream at top of my lungs.
And it isn't just me. She screams in surprise too!
"Intruder!" I yell, feeling the husks of my voice.
She screams continuously, covering her eyes with her palms, and repeating the same words over and over. "Oh my. . . Forgive me God for I have sinned!"
I wonder why she acts so weird. So I ask her. "What's wrong with you?"
She lifts her right hand and lets her index finger point to my. . . boobs? I take a deep breath and slowly look down. Then, luckily, I notice that what she did is a good way of showing respect. "Oh!" I chuckle. "Wait. Let me get dressed first."
I rush to the bedroom and pick up my clothes from the laundry basket. I put them on as fast as I can, and go back to the living room with my cheeks blushing in embarrassment.
"Done." I sigh in relief. "So, why are you here by the way?" I ask while raising a brow.
She pokily takes off her hands from covering her face. She makes deep breathing, closes her eyes for about five seconds, and opens them as soon as she raises her head to face me. "That was–" She tries to avoid her laugh but she couldn't. "--Big."
I part my lips. That was really really really embarrassing. I want to bury myself alive!
I look at her with lines drawn on my forehead. It's like I have seen her before. She's so familiar. Bunch of thick hazelnut curls, soft chocolate tone, five foot four, too many accessories on her hand-both right and left-and on her neck-and even on her ankle. She has a great choice of fashion. To be exact, she wears a cream-colored top with spaghetti straps and a denim above-the-knee skirt, and a leather buckle not passing even in a single hole. So yeah, all in all, she's like a walking Christmas tree who can't wait for December to come.
"I know you!" I yelp in full excitement when I remember I'd met her before. "You live next door!"
She chortles. "Yes, I do. And we just met yesterday." She twirls her hand through her bush-like hairs, lifting her lips while looking straight in the direction of the shattered vase. Her smile fades as she walks past me to kneel down on the floor where the broken pieces are scattered. "This looks very expensive."
"Yes, it is. That's why I'd be in serious trouble when Mamma finds out everything."
"But this is old already." She glances at me. "I think it's good that I broke it so she can buy a new one to replace this year-old weird-colored flower vase."
"Adding salt to the wound?" I shrug.
"What do you mean?"
"Nevermind. Just clean those things up and I'll deal with the tulips." I say, snagging the flowers from the tea table, and walk out of the living room. Right before I could step away from the space, I hear her throw off some gibberish that make me skid to a halt. "Sorry? But what did you say?"
"How about the artificial tulips? Are you gonna throw them?" Confused, she asks.
"No. I'm hiding them under my bed, and when Mamma looks for it, let's both pretend we saw no vase. Or even tulips." I explain seriously.
"Oh yeah! And we're friends from now on." She flaunts an ear-to-ear grin.
That's how I met Laikyn Skyer. The one and only friend I ever had in my life so far. It's pretty funny to think how our friendship started, especially when it began in a very awkward spin-off where she broke Mamma's favorite vase without even explaining how she got inside of the house.
It's the moment that catch myself stuck in a snowball effect-muddled, not knowing what's going on. But minutes after, she explains everything that clears the clouds in my head.
"I know you're wondering how I got here."
"Of course I do."
"Here's why." She seats herself on one of the stools of the tea table, reviewing the container of different flavors of tea bags. "I met your mom in the hallways and she asked me if I could keep an eye on you. I said yes, and that's what I'm doing right now. Keeping an eye. On you."
"But, the door was supposed to be locked," I state, reaching out for the windows to open them.
"It was locked. But your mom lends me her spare key," she expounds. Arms crossing. Legs crossing. "And oh! About the vase, I accidentally hit it with my hair."
"Obviously," I reply, watching how the curtains go dancing like white ladies after the ferocious wind sweeps against them. "With a hair like that, it's really possible to hit things and break them."
After her not-so-believable explanations of how she broke the vase, we jump onto another set of topics to talk about. Just like how I ended up stripping, why we migrated here for no reason, how her crushes dumped her after they found out she had feelings toward them, and more of the same.
It's a very satisfying moment to discuss silly things with a new friend and at the same time feel something I never felt before. It's also a good time to laugh with her in my own humble abode. She's funny. Really funny. Not until she shares something that makes me pull out a grimace.
"By the way, there's a guy who knocked on my room this morning and asked me if I owned the letter folded into an airplane. And I was like, 'No! That's not mine! I don't write letters. I'm not into letters'. And then he was like, 'Oh okay. I thought it was yours because it seemed like it came from your apartment's window. It was a good letter though.' And then he walked away, not saying anything at all. I haven't seen his face because he wears a black face mask and a black hoodie jacket. But his voice, oh God! I swear he's handsome!"
The letter she's talking about. It's the exact letter I sent out of my window last night. Finally, someone was able to read it.