Blank Canvas

Chapter Twelve

Mom walked in a defeated manner to the door as I began to draw an outline of Totoro with a grey pencil.

The four of us had a quiet dinner. I was getting accustomed to wordless meals. There were wads of words to be said and to be heard but there were no adequate ways to say them. I was not going to voice out my mistake. Mom was not going to admit that she made a hasty decision.

Mom's intense look never wandered off her plate while mine strayed everywhere else except that place where our eyes could rendezvous. It was easy but it was not. Family matters were never easy to solve like sliding block puzzles or connect-the-dot drawings. It would take more than a few basic skills to fix a family problem, whether it was big or small.

As I was about to turn off my bedside lamp, a distinct drumming sound echoed from the other side of my door. It was Celia. She took a tentative step toward me. As I looked at her in the dim light, I saw her face. I knew that whatever tiff we had was already forgotten.

"I heard about Mia's stunt. That was genius. Perhaps, next time, you will give me a heads-up about your plans to make Tim squirm." She was kidding. A smile played on her lips.

I returned her smile as well as her humor. "Well, our evil scheme was thwarted. Our short-lived plans to sabotage Tim are officially over as of today."

"There's always tomorrow," she said with a wink.

I lay on my side, facing her, and nodded my head. "There is. Except that tomorrow is not enough to make Mom change her mind. She's still going to marry him." Immediately, I turned pensive.

"Is that so bad, Talia?"

"What is?"

"Mom and Tim getting married."

"No. But it's not what I want." I could be honest around her without fear of judgment. I let my gaze settle over to the ukulele that stood upright on the floor next to my desk. Dad gave me the string instrument many Christmases ago. Celia, Mia and I were not musically talented. Unless you would count Mia's relentless banging of a kick drum which was also a gift from Dad. "Celia, do you ever ask yourself why Mom and Dad's marriage ended?"

I remembered that day. Mom and Dad spoke to us. They explained as best as they could, and that was it. The next day, a rainy Saturday, I watched from the picture window downstairs as Dad hauled out his things and moved out. Before he accepted the job in Cebu, he used to live in a tiny apartment somewhere in Malate and worked in a museum. We used to spend our weekends with him.

Celia blinked. Then she said, "No, but I know that there was a legitimate reason why they are not together anymore. For me, that was somewhat enough. They were not teenagers who married when they were sixteen and parted ways because Dad liked broccoli and Mom preferred kale. It wasn't as shallow as that. They were happy for sixteen years. That's a long time. They did not wake up one morning and said that they no longer wanted to be married. It was deeper than a matter of clash of opinions and probably a lot harder to understand."

"They were young, though. When they became together. Not teenagers but still, they were in their early twenties."

"They genuinely loved each other," she said in a dreamy tone.

"I know," I said. I heard the distant sound of thunder rolling. I looked at my window and saw a streak of lightning from afar as it illuminated the sky. "Do you think Mom still loves Dad?"

"Yes. But not the same way as she did ten years ago. Not the same way as she loves Tim now."

I frowned a little. "Are you Team Tim or something?"

"No. We are on the same team. Don't be silly."

"Would you like Dad and Mom to be together again?"

It took a full minute for Celia to respond which meant that the question was not easy. Celia had ready answers for almost everything, even science-based ones. That was one of the many reasons why Mia liked to pester her about why the sky was blue, why our hair was black in color and why was the wedge of cheese wrapped in paper that was in the refrigerator smelled like feet. Even she was unsure of what the answer was, she tried as objectively as she could.

"To be honest, no. They seem happier this way." Her beautiful face was deep in thought. "Lots of people think that the world is getting boring. It's not. It's turning warmer, maybe. The people, on the other hand, becoming colder. Sometimes, the world seems small and dangerous. But it's never dull. Don't you think that the world is getting more peculiar with each passing day? I was at the dentist today and I read this magazine about the world's weirdest. Did you know that there is a baby out there that is named after a social media platform?"

"Poor kid," I said. I hugged my pillow closer. I was not following her exact train of thought.

"Did you know that scientists discovered a psychedelic frogfish?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Did you know that there is an oyster-flavored ice cream in existence? I'm mildly curious of its taste, by the way."

I grimaced. "That sounds nasty but we're hardly strangers to odd things here." In our country, we contend with the uncanny and uncommon on a regular basis. Then we turned it into a punchline, a meme or a running joke in a gag show. Because that's how most of Filipinos cope, by laughing their way out of any problem, trauma or sadness that they have. I don't think it's healthy but there are worse ways, I guess. I tugged on my pajama top and said, "Besides, what does that have to do with our current conversation?"

"Nothing," Celia replied.

Silence mingled with the unique scent of petrichor.

"Everything is changing, Talia. Everything will. That's what I'm trying to say. Some things are not what they used to be anymore. All things are bound to transform. What I'm saying is not about this conversation. It's about our current situation."

A confused look appeared on my face. My sister sounded like a false seer whose fingers moved rhythmically around a crystal orb, claiming that she could see beyond what the eyes could perceive. I asked, "What does that have to do with Mom and Dad?"

Celia closed her eyes. "Everything."

"I hate it when you're vague," I said. "And when you use metaphors."

"I know," she replied. "Sorry about that."

After a few more minutes of silence and bated breaths, my sister stood up and said goodnight. I watched as the lightning cast a glimmer of light on her retreating form. My door closed and she was gone.

Image Source: Urban Nation (Museum for Urban Contemporary Art)

Little Hood Rat by Herakut