I Hope Love Is... [On Hold]

Fifth Verse

Fifth Verse

Just walking down the street
it makes a big difference
if I'm not with you or not
rainy days make me warm and happy
as long as I see you...

-translated from “Exquisite Torture”
from Future Colors' first mini-album Love/Pain

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They both began to run.

Nothing was left behind in the cottages-- not Minha's bag, or his clothes, or the tote bag with Bea's wet clothes in it. The two vans, the jeep, and Manong Jay's car were no longer in the parking lot.

“They... left me behind,” Minha said incredulously. 

“Oh? Someone's still here?”

It was the old man from the guardhouse.

“Manong, have they all left?” Bea asked.

“That they did, about ten minutes ago,” he answered. “If you mean that group who were shooting here. Were you with them, Miss?”

“We took a walk down the beach,” she said. “When we came back they were gone.”

“You've been left behind? Tsk tsk,” the old man said. “It's a far walk to town.”

“Don't you have any tricycles here, Manong? Maybe we can hire someone to drive us to town.” The old man shook his head. “Motorcycles, then? Anything we can ride...?”

“Nothing, Miss. At this hour, if there's no one who's booked the resort overnight, me and my two sons are the only ones here. We have a motorcycle, but my other son took it to town, and he won't be back till tomorrow.”

“What did he say?” Minha asked.

“He said we have to walk if we want to get to town,” Bea said.

“Walk?!?” Minha's voice went up an octave, she was sure.

* * *

The road was clay, baked by the sun, cracked, and uneven in places where rainwater had made paths through it and washed out rocks and pebbles. The top layer had turned to a fine white dust that sifted over the trees and grasses on both sides. Bea looked at her cellphone again. It was past four o'clock, and still no signal. The shadows were beginning to lengthen across their path.

“Hurry,” she said to Minha. “We have to reach town while there's still light.”

“My feet hurt! And all this dust-- yuck!”

“It's going to be very dark here once the sun goes down. There are no street lights.” Bea looked back at him. He was standing in the middle of the road, his face scrunched up with annoyance. She went back and grabbed his arm. “Come on! More walking, less talking!”

He refused to budge at first, but then gave in and let her tow him along, albeit grudgingly. And then somehow, gradually, his arm slid gradually from her grasp until she was holding his hand. It was a warm, firm hand. She shot a look back at him, and he scowled back at her.

It must have taken less than thirty minutes to negotiate that one-kilometer stretch, Bea was sure, but it seemed like a very long time before they reached the asphalt road, the one leading to town. She dropped Minha's hand and leaned on one of the wooden posts supporting the Punta Paraiso sign, trying to catch her breath.