Orange

It was a long trip back home. I wasn’t up for any music or driving fast; I just moved along the empty highway, all that dark landscape around me. It wasn’t about Anna, how bad the evening was, or how she was obviously playing me. Then again, all her taunts really hit hard and got me thinking about my life.

I reached the gates of Villa Nuñez and drove through the narrow dirt road until I got to the rest house. As I left the Expedition, Timo came out of the driver’s quarters and asked me how things went. I told him about Michael. He said I should be more careful around these parts. I told him to stop acting like a goddamned nanny.

But it’s true some peasants defected over to those rebel groups. Dad told me that happened when the marginalized were pushed too far. Michael didn’t seem like one of those people. Sure, he was some rural-poor farm boy, but he didn’t strike me as one of those extremist, ideological whatevers. Still, I guess I should watch myself better, in case I came across any of those marginalized, angry, insurrectionists.

I told Timo about the beers in the Expedition, the ones I bought from Anna’s store. He and the others could take them. I didn’t want them anymore.

MY ROOM was silent. I was staring at the sliver of smoke rising from the ashtray, my mood dipping by the minute. I turned to my laptop and watched the screensaver photos fade by.

Me, with all tipsy-smiling Cher, partying away at some random bar somewhere… Me, unsmiling, with Dad, black and green graduation togas everywhere, the DLSU logo behind us… Me, in some recent highbrow event in Manila, with all these other rich kids decked out in their suits, smug and smiling, wine glasses in hand…

I shook my head and closed the laptop.

I WAS in the living room, staring blankly at the widescreen, PlayStation in front of me. Music was pounding; lights pulsated from the tube! I reached for the remote and shut the system—

The entire room was suddenly dark and absolutely still.

I went to the bar, took a shot of Black Label, and headed to the veranda overlooking the beach. With the whiskey in hand, I opened the glass sliding doors and stepped into the night.

It was breezy and somewhat chilly, even if it was summer. There were a few stars shining above, and scattered clouds slowly glided across the darkened sky. I looked to the horizon and recalled how, just hours before, it was a collage of all those fiery colors. Now, it was black and dull.

I opened a pack of cigarettes and smoked a stick. It still tasted crappy, but I smoked it anyway.

I then thought about Anna, her mannerisms, her remarks, all that nasty stuff she said to me. Despite her insults and how she treated me like dirt, I somehow just… felt she was not a bad person. That, deep inside, she was actually a really good person… 

I sighed. Well, maybe next time, it’d work out better. Maybe—if I stopped acting like a jerk.

I took another drag of my cigarette. I swear, it really tasted terrible. I took one last puff and threw it away. I wanted to ditch that stupid old habit really soon. I took a shot of whiskey and stared into the night.

I started thinking about what I’d do now that college was over. Dad had everything planned out. “It’s all taken care of, Cris,” he’d always say. When I was threatened with suspension because I was caught cheating in class, Dad said, “It’s all taken care of.” When I beat up some guy at a party because he bumped my shoulder and made me spill my drink on my shirt, Dad picked me up at the police station and said, “It’s all taken care of.” When I got into a car accident with that stupid, raging lawyer who threatened to sue me to hell, Dad told me over the phone, “It’s all taken care of.”

And just last week, he asked me what I wanted to do now that I graduated. I said I didn’t know. He nodded and said, “Okay, so you will work with me at the firm. It’s all taken care of.” But I didn’t want to work with him. I wanted to do what I wanted to do! And that only made things worse because I had absolutely no idea what I really wanted!

Honestly, I wanted to do something clean and good. But that wouldn’t work. Not in this country. The minute you did what was right, everything would conspire to make it go wrong. Good and right wasn’t tolerated in the Third World. It was either shot down and buried, or exported and lost overseas.

I had downed a quarter of the Black Label by the time I left the veranda. I closed the sliding doors and saw the posh, modern living room all draped in shadows and gloom—those sprawling sofas, that fully-loaded top-end bar, that widescreen television and PlayStation by those large windows overlooking the dark sea. It was terrible. I swear—seeing that large, upscale, frickin’ empty room all swathed up in nothing but shadows could’ve made me cry.

I stumbled around in the dark until I finally got to my room. I locked the door and collapsed into my beanbag. I wanted to switch on my mini-component and play some music, but another thought struck me, sinking my mood even further.

Last month, Dad told me he put money in my account. “Summer allowance,” he said, from some local-based project he received. I checked my ATM and saw I had an extra five hundred thousand bucks. I wanted to withdraw the money, throw it all at Dad’s face, and say, “You think I need your money? I don’t need your fucking dirty money!” Still, I took some of the dough, bought a new computer and wardrobe, and that stupid mini-component I was staring at right now. And that pointless, super-expensive stereo system was mocking me! I was succumbing to a life I did not want!

I had half the mind to go to Dad’s room and tell him I wanted to go back to New York. I was done with this miserable, corrupted, good-for-nothing Philippines! But I didn’t go to his bedroom. I just stayed in my room and drank more whiskey. I switched on my mini-component and played it real loud. Maybe it’d piss Dad off, he’d knock on my door, and ask what the hell was going on. And then, I’d tell him everything.

But Dad didn’t wake up. He’s a very heavy sleeper. You could throw the Senator into a goddamned swimming pool and he still wouldn’t wake up!

By then, I was totally wasted. I crawled from my beanbag to the stereo and turned it off. I couldn’t even get to bed and just lay sprawled on the floor.

As I drifted off to sleep, I started thinking about Mom, recalling what she told me way back, when we were all together as a family, halfway around the world. “Your dad’s homeland, that faraway beautiful country, your country… Remember why you are there, Cris… Always… remember… why…”

And then, all that shit happened—and I had nothing left but questions! All those same old questions I never found answers to! WHY did that have to happen? Why couldn’t I change things? Why the hell didn’t he!

But I was too drunk to get mad, too drunk to cry.

As these thoughts about Mom circled in my head, I curled up on the floor, closed my eyes, and fell asleep.