The Lockets -- Chapter 3 [Sunshine]

Snowflake left for New York the previous night. She could not take it—I know. I could not blame her; I was feeling a bit resentful, too. Why would Father do such a horrible thing to her—to us? A wedding was inevitable, and when it had taken place, there were some things to change, maybe even everything.

Of course, I could not resist thinking of Theresa as a witch step-mother like those in the fairytales—a villainess who would hypnotize an innocent child’s father and trick him into doing a lot of insensible activities. Weirdly enough, I even depicted Theresa stirring a pot of boiling water where Snowflake and I were floating—dead! The recurring midnight atrocities gave me the chills as if they could really happen. I realized then that fantasy novels should be seriously left on their own.

So I woke up the next day to the harmonious twitter of birds nesting at the roofs. Subdued sunshine shone through the curtains, creeping onto my bed. I loved watching the sunlight stretch over my blanket as if it were greeting saying me a good morning. Well, I did at least hope it was a good morning. Everything that had happened last night was still confusing me. I wish it was all a nightmare, like the witch that boiled Snowflake and me to death, but unfortunately it was not.

I slowly sat up, rubbing my eyes. My head started to hurt. I swore I would never cry myself to sleep again. Holding my forehead, I softly grunted as if I lacked the strength to show my pain. Adding to the physical pain were the disturbing events. Confusing. Part of last sentence? They were too much for me to handle, but at least, they gave me more reasons to hold on tighter to the memories Mother had left us. Thanks to those unfortunate events, I was given a sense of obligation to take care of the necklace she had given me. In fact, the very next thing I did when I sat up was to clasp the necklace.

Thin, cold lace coiled on my fingers, but I did not feel the bulge. I reached behind my neck and still did not feel the pendant. I hastily took off the necklace just to find out that the locket was not there anymore.

Trying to be calm, I unhurriedly looked under my pillows and blanket.

None.

The pain in my brain The (unintended?) rhyme here sounds odd. Pain in head sounds better to me grew but still I tried to endure it as I slowly crouched down under my bed to look for the locket. I failed to see anything.

I sat on the carpeted floor with my hands on my knees. “Don’t panic,” I told myself. Taking a glance of the open window, I thought of the least possible thing to happen: maybe someone had broken in.

I gradually pulled myself up. Wobbling a bit, I pulled out the drawers and flung open the cabinets. None Nothing else was missing. I let my eyes wander around my room to see anything suspicious. Everything was in perfect order; everything was where I had left it. I could not think of any other reason how I could have lost the locket.

I winced as the throbbing in my head crept to the inner sockets of my eyes. Maybe a nice warm bath will help me think better, I thought.

Bit by bit I managed to step inside my bathing room, still trying not to give in to any panicking. Everybody can lose something in a while, I thought.

I soaked myself in the bathtub. I could stay in there all day. The warm water crawled up my spine and somehow eased the pain in my sinuses. I love all the synonymes you use for headache! I stared at the white tiles, my eyes half closed. The other things that occupied my mind were the huge changes in my life. I remembered Cloud. What could he be doing? He did not seem to mind waking me up. Maybe he was still asleep. Or maybe he was too uncomfortable to bother how I was doing.

Almost taking a nap, the water slowly cooled off and told me that bath time was over. Eyes closed, I rose from the tub, feeling my hair tips poke my shoulders. Wiping my hair with a towel and wearing my robe, I decided to go out of my room.

But before I could turn the door’s knob, I sighed to myself. “Stupid,” I whispered, “a man is out there, not your sister.” I let go of the knob and changed into my clothes first. What other daily habits should I get rid of besides ambling about the condominium in a towel? I could not think at that moment; I did not want to think at that moment. Elucidating I am fine with use using big words and such, but I have no clue what this one means and neither will a general audience to myself would be kept for later.

“Cloud?” I called as I fixed my gray blouse. I always wore dark neutral colors like black because I loved them. When Snowflake moved out, I had even turned the condominium’s theme to neutral colors. All you could see in my place were the colors white, gray and black. “Cloud?” I called out again, but I didn’t get any answer.

I looked at the plain wall clock above the couch. It was already eleven forty-five in the morning. It seemed too late for Cloud to be still asleep. Did he really sleep this late? , I wondered.

I walked past the living room and the center table caught my attention. Potato Chips wrappers were clattered on the table and DVDs joined the mocking jubilation. Musing, I remembered the time I secretly explored Cloud’s backpack. I had wanted to know him more so I dared myself in the immature escapade, and I had been fairly disillusioned with what I had seen: candy wrappers, crumpled papers, a used shirt and an empty spray bottle. None of my conjectures were correct. Why he had to carry his bag everywhere he went when none of the items it contained were useful, I did not know and or understand.

“Cloud?” I said quite loudly. I softly knocked on his door. “Are you awake?”

No answer was given. Okay, so he wants some privacy.

A bit frustrated, I went back to the kitchen and mixed a cup of coffee. I drank while pacing. I was very anxious for no apparent reason—at least, for no reasonable reason.

Suddenly, an intolerable pang of pain pierced through my head, making me uncontrollably throw the cup. I clawed my head as if I could tear out the pain. I leaned back against the refrigerator and deliberately bumped my head back twice. Then I managed to face the refrigerator, tightly gripping the cold, metal handles. Abruptly, the pain ceased.

I took a deep breath and slowly opened my eyes. The pain I felt was much, much worse than the headache I had when I woke up; it started to scare me.

Still panting, I raised my eyes on the stainless doors. My eyes caught a yellow note covering the corners of the bills pinned with it. I took it and hastily read it:

Dear Sunshine. Went home to Mom. I know, I sound like a Momma’s boy, but trust me, the real reason I can’t stay there is because I’m a man. Cloud. I think of the Old Spice commercials when I see this. XD

Amused, I gently folded the note in my hands. He’s a man. A smile crawled on my lips as I lifted my eyes. This is ridiculous.

I looked ahead and saw myself in the mirror above the dinning table. I was someone you could say who was pretty but lacked attractiveness; I lacked appeal. Sometimes, I even wonder why, Snowflake and I were twins, but when I had compared myself with my sister, she seemed what you could call ‘hot’ and I seemed what you could amusingly refer to as ‘quaint’.

My eyes traced my features: from my short, wheat-blond hair to my sapphire eyes, from my pointed nose to my pale lips and skin—I realized I definitely looked nothing like a Filipino.

I sighed as I bowed my head. It took me more than five seconds to realize what was happening: the yellow note in my hands was burning; my hands were on fire—blue fire; and strangely, I felt nothing.

“What in blue blazes!” I ran to the sink and turned on the faucet. The water drowned my hands but it was of no use. My hands were burning in flames!

I looked back and saw the note now incinerated. The fire was caught on the carpet and it spread fast. Watching the flames dance menacingly on my furniture, I strived to raise my feet and run, but they would not budge; my feet were stuck from where I was standing.And I could not even scream. It was as if my voice had been sucked out my throat.

The fire crept up on the table, swallowing everything—even fireproofed materials. I looked back at my hands. The flames were crawling up my arms, eating away my blouse’s sleeves. But strangely, I did not feel any pain, and my arms and hands were still whole.

Finding the strength to do something, I closed my eyes and screamed. No words came out. I just screamed.

My head twirled into a vacant space. It was like I was a dead spirit suspended in a vacuum. Without the least idea of the present occurrence with my physical body, I presupposed I was asphyxiated—strangled to death by the menacing blue flames. But I was happy to say the least, because the burning was not painful like I had always thought it would be; and if I were really just another unfortunate corpse, well, being dead was painless. It was as if all sentience were was just—gone.

But after that piece of time extracted from eternity, I managed to open my eyes.

I was tightly gripping on the handle of the refrigerator’s door. Cloud’s note was before me, along with the other papers—untouched.

I stood straight and looked around. Everything was in perfect order except for the cluttered center table in the living room which I could see from where I was standing.

I looked down on my hands. No flames.

I swore I saw something. I swore something happened. I swore I was dead. It was real—at least, to me.

Finally panicking, I ran to the bathroom, hurrying past by the pieces of cup on the carpeted, now stained floor. I spilled out all the pills in the medicine cabinet, fumbling on everything I took.

“Miss Sunshine, relax,” I whispered to myself. “Your life is not falling apart; you’re not gonna die yet. Just going crazy.”

My heart started to thump vociferously. Words in my mind: bipolar, or schizophrenic?

The pills flooded the bathroom sink. Then I realized: what was I looking for? I did not keep any medicines here for ill minds; there was no medication here for mentally deranged people. Mentally deranged. Just thinking of those two words made the hair on my arms stand up to their very tips. I was going insane—crazy. Oh good heavens…

I went to the living room and took out a coat. I knew what I was going to do: talk to a psychiatrist.

But when I was about to take my keys, my head began to hurt once more. I collapsed to my knees, grinding my teeth. And just like before, the unbearable pain suddenly left me. I slowly raised my hands. If there were cycling symptoms, I could easily predict when the disorder would attack me. Maybe I did not even need for a prolonged medication. But when I looked at my hands, I saw no flames.

The phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. I effortlessly stood up and answered it.

“Hello? Sunshine Leshathe speaking.”

A somnolent again, think of the general audience who will not understand this. Solumn, I think you mean, is the better word, deep voice spoke.

“Sunshine, can you drop by here? Theresa is coming for dinner and she wants you to see the wedding preparations.”

“Father, I—”

“She wants to spend some time with you.”

“I’ll be there by five.”

“Can’t you come earlier, Shine? Keep Daddy company.”

I smiled as if he could see me. “Okay.”

I looked at the clock. It was already three in the afternoon. How long had I been hallucinating? Hours? My pessimistic side showed up: I must have been really, really crazy. And my check-up would have to wait tomorrow.

I continued to take the keys—slowly. I was hesitant. What if I got attacked again by the disease? Or maybe I was being paranoid. I took the keys and put it in my pocket. I sighed in relief. No attacks.


♥


Moisture crept up my window as I drove to Father’s residence. The weather had started getting colder and colder the past few weeks, and I presumed that snow could start falling from the heavens any time now. I gave my whole attention as I drove; it took utmost mettle to drive when one knew he or she was mentally ill. I myself was persuaded—I was mentally challenged. How hard was it not to deny?

Father was in the open air of the balcony when I got to the penthouse. A bowl of food was on the table. He had prepared me some dry snacks—sweet potatoes fried in sugar. My stomach was ever delighted to eat my Father’s cooking after missing lunch.

“How are you?” Father started as he sat.

I’m insane, Father. I’m insane.

I sat as well. “I’m fine,” I said.

Liar.

I took the fork placed beside my plate and started eating. Father smiled at me and nodded.

“Delicious, Dad. As always.” I smiled.

He smiled, too.

“How’s Cloud?” he asked.

“He went back with Theresa.”

Father nodded his head. “Ah, why?”

“He said he’s a man,” I sarcastically said, remembering the note which still amused me.

Father blankly stared at me. “Ah…you can spend time together for awhile, if--he's--I mean--before he officially moves in.”

I laughed and I pointed at the food, but Father declined to join me so I bowed and finished my snack meal. Silence prevailed again.

“You’re a woman now, Sunshine,” Father abruptly said, putting his arms on the table. “And I can’t tell you what to do anymore. You’re now accountable for your every decision.”

There was a weird mixing of emotions within me when I heard Father’s statements—fear, confusion, misery. They blew me fairly hard like a thousand pillows were just thrown on my face; they were heavy but not painful.

I took a bite of the sweet potato, chewing slowly because my teeth had seemingly swollen. I perfectly understood that I was not a girl anymore. I had to take my own path and let go of certain things that were hindering me from growing.

Father blankly smiled at me till his cheeks grew red. After a moment, he shook his head and sniffed, fighting the thin line of tears in his eyes from falling. “Excuse me for awhile.” He stood up, sniffing. He walked past me and I listened to his footfalls disappear.

The only time I had seen—appropriately heard—him cry was when Mother had died. Father had been awoken awake all night, crying. He never knew, but Snowflake and I had been listening to his sniffs and sighs while we were leaning on the door of his bedroom. He probably had always cried alone.

I finished eating and drank the juice Father also prepared for me. A few moments passed by, I heard Father slowly approaching.

He came back with a dusty box.

“Another gift from Mom that you failed to give us?” I joked.

He smiled, and then turned stern. Gradually, he opened the box and said, “The locket conceals many secrets.” He showed me the books inside the box. Closing it again, he handed it to me.

“What do you mean, Father?” I asked, baffled. “What kind of secrets?”

“Secrets you cannot ask me for help because I myself don’t comprehend.”

I hugged the box in my lap. It was only about a foot wide and a foot long and a foot high. I sighed and looked at Father. He was gazing upwards—to the heavens. I joined him. The sky grew gray and grey like the abrasive rocks in the bay; the horizon was designed with city lights and the poking head of the Space Needle.

“Do you really love Theresa?” I asked with mettle, looking back at Father.

Father looked at me, eyes brightened. He pursed his lips again, that awfully wearisome smile.

“Yes, Sunshine,” he said loud and clear. “I do love Theresa.”

I reached for his hand. “Please do,” I despondently said.

Then there was a knock at the door. I beat Father from standing up, wanting to seem like an understanding daughter.

“Oh, hi, Sunny!” Theresa exclaimed when I opened the door, her moss eyes twinkled. She seemed excited to see me—and I wished she really were. “How are you?”

I reluctantly smiled and remained silent; accepting a step-mother–to-be who was obviously still a stranger to me was not an overnight episode. And Sunny? It must have been the most terrible and irritable name that was given to me. But I could get used to it, I hoped. After all, I had to admit, Theresa did seem nice.

Theresa’s excitement apparently lessened at my silence. I always forced myself to be conscientious, but I honestly wished she knew that I deliberately did not answer.

“I brought crème brûlée,” she said cheerfully.

I stared at her impassively as she showed me the paper bag in her hands. I had probably forgotten all about being assiduously conscientious because I suddenly felt an impulse to become determined to kill her with my impassive stares. Just a warning though--I was still not ready to accept her. But she should also know that I knew I will—someday, somehow.

I stepped aside to let her in.

“Honeybunch,” Father blurted.

Of all the sweet names. I rolled my eyes as I close the door behind them. I did not turn until I heard them speaking again. Oh good heavens…I did not want to see them kissing again.

“Dinner is ready,” Father said, then I knew it was safe to face them.

We all went to the dining table. Theresa laid the paper bag on it, taking out a rectangular, stainless container. I assumed the crème brûlée was in it.

Father put a bowl of viand on the table, just beside the bowl of rice. Once plates were set out, I started to eat so I would have an excuse of not responding to anyone; but every time I swallowed a piece of meat, I felt like retching it on Theresa. And immediately disposing the mean thoughts that were harboring my mind was not an easy task.

Theresa opened the container, revealing the French delicacy was placed beside the Filipino dish Father had cooked—Adobo. French had just won over my native food’s appearance.

“Did you know Theresa’s half-French?” Father asked me in his long-forgotten élan Huh?.

I slowly shook my head, continuing to eat even though my stomach was almost about to burst.

Theresa sat beside me. She and Father were facing each other. They started to talk and I started to feel like a hapless puppet.

I looked at Theresa. She glanced and threw a bright smile at me. She was beautiful, I had to admit. And I hoped that she would be beautiful inwardly as well.

Shifting my eyes to the empty seat in front of me, I remembered Snowflake. She always used to sit in front of me. Mother sat to my right, and Father sat on my left. A small, square table made of kawayan is where we used to eat.

“I hate kamote*,” Snowflake had complained once.

“Now, there, Snowflake,” Mother had replied, “why—you love kamote in coconut juice cooked in sugar and milk. Why do you hate it now?”

“The strands get sticked stuck? between my tooths when it is cooked this way. Did you cooked some in coconut juiced, Inay?”

Father laughed. Snowflake always had had something to complain about, did she not? And I, I had always been silent. Yes, the strands got stuck between my teeth as well, but I would eat silently, refraining from any impetuous whining.

“Yes, dear,” Mother sweetly said.

Snowflake thumped the table in great joy. “I will have three platefuls!” She laughed, showing the gap in her teeth—the gap where her baby tooth used to be.

I smiled as I watched Father ruffle her hair. Meanwhile, Mother had already brought the pot of sugary desert on the table. She put some in Snowflake’s bowl and turned to me. She beamed at me, and I would never forget the way she beamed at me. It was like a pot of sunshine was poured on me.

“Would you like some,” a female voice asked, “—Sunny?”

The foreign name interrupted my thoughts. Theresa was offering a cup of crème brûlée—ochre and sunburnt. It sure looked delicious.

“No, thanks.” I forced a smile.

Theresa looked seemingly despondent; but she tightened her lips to make it seem like she was not.

After diner, I happily volunteered to wash the dishes. Keeping Theresa out of my sight for even just a minute could ease up my heart—and mind. I took my time, slowly rinsing each plate, spoon, fork and glass.

“Sunny!” Theresa’s voice could give me a heart attack anytime now. “Come on, I’m going to show you something.”

If I could only tell her that I was taking the time to put that last plate in place, that I was intentionally being slow-paced. But I could not, because bluntly saying that would hurt her--and Father.

Drying my hands on my pants, I leisurely went to the living room where papers scattered on the center table. I sat on one of the single couches, remaining silent because I was afraid I would say something offensive. I was tempted back in the kitchen, and the temptation was growing. So I just listened to Theresa and Father as they talked about the weddings—the designs, the gowns, the guests.

I secretly smiled to myself. The preparations reminded me of Mother and Father’s wedding ceremony back in the Philippines--back in the time line.

Of course, they were married before we were born, but their ceremony was held when Snowflake and I were five years old.

“Don’t I look pur-dy!” Snowflake had exclaimed.

I looked at her from head to toe, rubbing my chin as I pretended to think hard. Her curls were falling on her cheeks; she wore a light rose dress; the basket of vermilion flowers clung to one of her arms. After a long look, I said, “Yes! You look utterly stum-ing.”

“Stum-ing?” Father punched in. I screamed as he began to life me, carrying me on his shoulders. “Don’t you mean stunning?”

“Stunning!” I echoed. “Snowflake, you look stunning!”

Snowflake laughed. “Dad my turn!”

“Oh, my ice princess,” Mother butted in as she carried Snowflake.

I and Father stopped our laughs. It was the first we saw Mother in her wedding dress—a simple wedding dress she had sewn herself. I remembered how lovely she had looked even with such a plain gown. I looked down and saw Father’s smile—well, it was upside-down, but I knew it was a smile, certainly not a frown.

“Why, you look so lovely, my dear,” Father said.

They walked up to each other and gave each other a smack. I looked at Snowflake; she looked at me. We giggled. Then the photographer interrupted.

“Smile!”

Our position was not altered. We simply just 'paused'.

Still a bit dazed from the memory, Theresa turned to me.

“The theme would be—white, silver and green,” she said, anticipating for a comment or suggestion from me. But I gave none.

Theresa then turned to Father when she did not get any response from me.

“What kind of green?” Father laughed. I glanced at him, not moving my head. He looked greatly satisfied—happy.

Suddenly, I felt a sense guilt rip through my inner being. I knew in my heart that I was fighting for Snowflake and me—for our feelings. But seeing Father plainly happy, somehow, I urged myself to forgive—forgive him, and myself. I wanted to stop my concealed hatred because all that I was doing was being utterly selfish.

I faced Theresa. I was about to smile and join their discussion when she began fanning sheets of papers before me. My forgiving thoughts soon melted away, and the tinge of guilt died.

“Sunny,” she said in a cheerful tone, “what do you think is the best design?” Theresa pointed out to the first one in the left. “This could be my wedding gown—real emeralds, isn’t it great?”

I looked intolerantly at the sheets of papers, scrutinizing the intricate designs. Finally, I found the voice to say something.

“Are those real emeralds?” I impatiently asked, finding a reasonable reason on why I should act impudently.

“Why, yes, of course.”

“Dad?” I ejaculated you probably will never want to use this word. No one will ever get the intended meaning, throwing my father a tiresome look.

“Yes, dear?” he asked.

“Real emeralds?” I looked at Theresa, not angrily but worryingly, throwing away the fact that they were probably aware of how expensive everything were. “You’re using real emeralds for a gown you’ll be using for not more than five hours?”

After throwing me a baffled look, Theresa managed to smile. “I’m not going to throw away that gown. I’m going to keep it.”

“Are you planning to get married thrice?”

“I mean in a box—for memories to cherish,” she snapped, her smile fading away.

“Real emeralds—in a box—to be kept forever?” I looked at Father. “How could you allow this puerile thing to happen?”

“Wha--” he stammered. “Sunshine I do not underst—”

“How many”—I guillotined Father’s words—“of the world’s population are suffering from lack of food, shelter and clothing?”

Father confusingly looked at me; Theresa did so, too. And I did not care if they thought that I was bickering.

“And how many of those people had already given up their lives because their dreadful conditions could not be endured anymore? And you’re wasting money on some stupid ceremony?”

Theresa bit her lower lip as she bowed her head. Father was turning pale and made no movements. I continued to speak but with a calmer tone.

“If Mother was alive—you know that she would rather have crackers and soda in a reception and spare money to build an orphanage than to see herself celebrate luxuriously while watching unfortunate juvenile breathe their last breaths.”

Father looked blankly on the table while Theresa hugged herself. I could not help the tears—I cried.

“It was not the premonition of guilt,” I continued, my voice cracking, “it was her sincere love.”

No one dared to move except for me. I stood up and as I walked past Theresa, I clutched her by the shoulder. “I’m sorry.” I took the box before walking up the door, and, breathing deeply before I finally exited, I said my last sentence to Father without looking back at him and Theresa.

“I just don’t know you anymore.”


♥



My heart never felt so far from my Father and Mother as I drove home that evening; all of us had taken a path away from each other. I cried as I reminded myself that I was now on my own.

When I got home, I closed my eyes and slammed the door behind me, panting. Slipping down my back against the door, I hugged the box. All I would see when I take a step in the living room were a spotless grand piano, tall, silk lamps, carpeted floorings and glass walls—all of which I had chosen and bought myself. I had just audaciously disputed about plush living when I myself was wasting my life in luxury.

I was confused. I did not know if I did and said anything right. Just one good thing would relieve me, but I could not think of anything I had done right—even just one.

At last, I stood up and strived to enter to my room. Cloud was there, cleaning up his mess. Feeling my presence, he looked up to me.

“Why didn’t you come?” I enquired. “Where have you been?”

“I should be asking you that question,” he snapped.

“I was at Dad’s. We had dinner with your mother.”

“My mother?” He smirked.

I ignored his sarcasm. “Now where were you?”

“In my room," he answered.

I raised my brow. “Then what was the note for?”

“What note?” he asked, perplexed.

“The note that says you’ve gone to your mother ‘cause you’re a man,” I said ironically.

“I don’t remember it.” His cheeks slightly flushed. “Must have done it when I was asleep.” I warily raised my eyebrows at him. “I’m somnambulant”—he juggled the balls of crumpled wrappers in his hands—“and a heavy sleeper.”

I discreetly laughed as I started off for my room. Oh, Cloud...

“Hey,” he called; I faced him. “Haven’t you had dinner yet?”

“I have.” I smiled, feeling a warm feeling inside me. At least someone still seemed to care.

“Oh—" he said, quite seemingly disappointed. "Good night.”

"Did you have dinner?"

"Are potato chips dinner?" he gagged. "Go to sleep, sis. Good night."

I sadly looked at him. “Good night.” I went to my bedroom and locked myself away.

I threw the box on my bed and changed into my nightgown. The moonlight being my only source of light, I faced a mirror and pulled up my hair in the dark. My eyes dilated at the sight of something unbefitting on my face; swirls of blue marks were crawling on my cheeks by the ears.

I dropped the brush on the floor, frozen.

I knew that there were secrets about the lockets—secrets I would have to figure out on my own, I had guessed. But I never thought of the secrets as being numinous numerous. And now, I had thrown away all my suspicions that I was indeed insane. I believed what I was seeing—that amidst the shadows, a delightful but menacing event was taking place. There, right there on my chest, fairly above my breasts, glowing like the moonlight still and attached like an apple’s seed was the pendant’s sapphire stone.

Snowflake left for New York the previous night. She could not take it—I know. I could not blame her; I was feeling a bit resentful, too. Why would Father do such a horrible thing to her—to us? A wedding was inevitable, and when it had taken place, there were some things to change, maybe even everything.

Of course, I could not resist thinking of Theresa as a witch step-mother like those in the fairytales—a villainess who would hypnotize an innocent child’s father and trick him into doing a lot of insensible activities. Weirdly enough, I even depicted Theresa stirring a pot of boiling water where Snowflake and I were floating—dead! The recurring midnight atrocities gave me the chills as if they could really happen. I realized then that fantasy novels should be seriously left on their own.

So I woke up the next day to the harmonious twitter of birds nesting at the roofs. Subdued sunshine shone through the curtains, creeping onto my bed. I loved watching the sunlight stretch over my blanket as if it were greeting me a good morning. Well, I did at least hope it was a good morning. Everything that had happened last night was still confusing me. I wish it was all a nightmare, like the witch that boiled Snowflake and me to death, but unfortunately it was not.

I slowly sat up, rubbing my eyes. My head started to hurt. I swore I would never cry myself to sleep again. Holding my forehead, I softly grunted as if I lacked the strength to show my pain. Adding to the physical pain were the disturbing events. They were too much for me to handle, but at least, they gave me more reasons to hold on tighter to the memories Mother had left us. Thanks to those unfortunate events, I was given a sense of obligation to take care of the necklace she had given me. In fact, the very next thing I did when I sat up was to clasp the necklace.

Thin, cold lace coiled on my fingers, but I did not feel the bulge. I reached behind my neck and still did not feel the pendant. I hastily took off the necklace just to find out that the locket was not there anymore.

Trying to be calm, I unhurriedly looked under my pillows and blanket.

None.

The pain in my brain grew but still I tried to endure it as I slowly crouched down under my bed to look for the locket. I failed to see anything.

I sat on the carpeted floor with my hands on my knees. “Don’t panic,” I told myself. Taking a glance of the open window, I thought of the least possible thing to happen: maybe someone had broken in.

I gradually pulled myself up. Wobbling a bit, I pulled out the drawers and flung open the cabinets. Nothing else was missing. I let my eyes wander around my room to see anything suspicious. Everything was in perfect order; everything was where I had left it. I could not think of any other reason how I could have lost the locket.

I winced as the throbbing in my head crept to the inner sockets of my eyes. Maybe a nice warm bath will help me think better, I thought.

Bit by bit I managed to step inside my bathing room, still trying not to give in to any panicking. Everybody can lose somethi.ng in a while, I thought.

I soaked myself in the bathtub. I could stay in there all day. The warm water crawled up my spine and somehow eased the pain in my sinuses. I stared at the white tiles, my eyes half closed. The other things that occupied my mind were the huge changes in my life. I remembered Cloud. What could he be doing? He did not seem to mind waking me up. Maybe he was still asleep. Or maybe he was too uncomfortable to bother how I was doing.
.
Almost taking a nap, the water slowly cooled off and told me that bath time was over. Eyes closed, I rose from the tub, feeling my hair tips poke my shoulders. Wiping my hair with a towel and wearing my robe, I decided to go out of my room.

But before I could turn the door’s knob, I sighed to myself. “Stupid,” I whispered, “a man is out there, not your sister.” I let go of the knob and changed into my clothes first. What other daily habits should I get rid of besides ambling about the condominium in a towel? I could not think at that moment; I did not want to think at that moment. Elucidating to myself would be kept for later. Though I am impressed by your vocabulary, it is best to stick with more common words people know without having to look them up.

“Cloud?” I called as I fixed my gray blouse. I always wore dark neutral colors like black because I loved them. When Snowflake moved out, I had even turned the condominium’s theme to neutral colors. All you could see in my place were the colors white, gray and black. “Cloud?” I called out again, but I didn’t get any answer.

I looked at the plain wall clock above the couch. It was already eleven forty-five in the morning. It seemed too late for Cloud to be still asleep. Did he really sleep this late? I wondered.

I walked past the living room and the center table caught my attention. Potato Chips wrappers were cluttered on the table and DVDs joined the mocking jubilation. Musing, I remembered the time I secretly explored Cloud’s backpack. I had wanted to know him more so I dared myself in the immature escapade, and I had been fairly disillusioned with what I had seen: candy wrappers, crumpled papers, a used shirt and an empty spray bottle. None of my conjectures were correct. Why he had to carry his bag everywhere he went when none of the items it contained were useful, I did not know and understand.

“Cloud?” I said quite loudly, knocking on his door softly. “Are you awake?”

No answer was given. Okay, so he wants some privacy.

A bit frustrated, I went back to the kitchen and mixed a cup of coffee. I drank while pacing. I was very anxious for no apparent reason—at least, for no reasonable reason.

Suddenly, an intolerable pang of pain pierced through my head, making me uncontrollably throw the cup. I clawed my head as if I could tear out the pain. I leaned back against the refrigerator and deliberately bumped my head back twice. Then I managed to face the refrigerator, tightly gripping the cold, metal handles. Abruptly, the pain ceased.

I took a deep breath and slowly opened my eyes. The pain I felt was much, much worse than the headache I had when I woke up; it started to scare me.

Still panting, I raised my eyes on the stainless doors. My eyes caught a yellow note covering the corners of the bills pinned with it. I took it and hastily read it:

Dear Sunshine. Went home to Mom. I know, I sound like a Momma’s boy, but trust me, the real reason I can’t stay there is because I’m a man. Cloud.

Amused, I gently folded the note in my hands. He’s a man. A smile crawled on my lips as I lifted my eyes. This is ridiculous.

I looked ahead and saw myself in the mirror above the dinning table. I was someone you could say who was pretty but lacked attractiveness; I lacked appeal. Sometimes, I even wonder why, Snowflake and I were twins, but when I had compared myself with my sister, she seemed what you could call ‘hot’ and I seemed what you could amusingly refer to as ‘quaint’.

My eyes traced my features: from my short, wheat-blond hair to my sapphire eyes, I must have seen the phrase "sapphire eyes" used a million times. I challenge you to come up with a better description; I know you can. from my pointed nose to my pale lips and skin—I realized I definitely looked nothing like a Filipino.

I sighed as I bowed my head. It took me more than five seconds to realize what was happening: the yellow note in my hands was burning; my hands were on fire—blue fire; and strangely, I felt nothing.

“What in blue blazes!” I ran to the sink and turned on the faucet. The water drowned my hands but it was of no use. My hands were burning in flames!

I looked back and saw the note now incinerated. The fire was caught on the carpet and it spread fast. Watching the flames dance menacingly on my furniture, I strove to raise my feet and run, but they would not budge; my feet were stuck from where I was standing. And I could not even scream. It was as if my voice had been sucked out my throat.

The fire crept up on the table, swallowing everything—even fireproofed materials. I looked back at my hands. The flames were crawling up my arms, eating away my blouse’s sleeves. But strangely, I did not feel any pain, and my arms and hands were still whole.

Finding the strength to do something, I closed my eyes and screamed. No words came out. I just screamed.

My head twirled into a vacant space. It was like I was a dead spirit suspended in a vacuum. Without the least idea of the present occurrence with my physical body, I supposed I was asphyxiated—strangled to death by the menacing blue flames. But I was happy to say the least, because the burning was not painful like I had always thought it would be; and if I were really just another unfortunate corpse, well, being dead was painless. It was as if all sentience was just—gone.

But after that piece of time extracted from eternity, I managed to open my eyes.

I was tightly gripping on the handle of the refrigerator’s door. Cloud’s note was before me, along with the other papers—untouched.

I stood straight and looked around. Everything was in perfect order except for the cluttered center table in the living room which I could see from where I was standing. I looked down on my hands. No flames. But I swear I saw something. I swore something happened. I swore I was dead. It was real—at least, to me.

Finally panicking, I ran to the bathroom, hurrying past by the pieces of cup on the carpeted, now stained floor. I spilled out all the pills in the medicine cabinet, fumbling on everything I took.

“Miss Sunshine, relax,” I whispered to myself. “Your life is not falling apart; you’re not gonna die yet--just going crazy.” My heart started to thump vociferously. Words in my mind: bipolar, or schizophrenic?

The pills flooded the bathroom sink. Then I realized: what was I looking for? I did not keep any medicines here for ill minds; there was no medication here for mentally deranged people. Mentally deranged. Just thinking of those two words made the hair on my arms stand up to their very tips. I was going insane—crazy. Oh good heavens…

I went to the living room and took out a coat. I knew what I was going to do: talk to a psychiatrist.

But when I was about to take my keys, my head began to hurt once more. I collapsed to my knees, grinding my teeth. And just like before, the unbearable pain suddenly left me. I slowly raised my hands. If there were cycling symptoms, I could easily predict when the disorder would attack me. Maybe I did not even need for a prolonged medication. But when I looked at my hands, I saw no flames.

The phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. I effortlessly stood up and answered it.

“Hello? Sunshine Leshathe speaking.”

A somnolent, deep voice spoke.

“Sunshine, can you drop by here? Theresa is coming for dinner and she wants you to see the wedding preparations.”

“Father, I—”

“She wants to spend some time with you.”

“I’ll be there by five.”

“Can’t you come earlier, Shine? Keep Daddy company.”

I smiled as if he could see me. “Okay.”

I looked at the clock. It was already three in the afternoon. How long had I been hallucinating? Hours? My pessimistic side showed up: I must have been really, really crazy. And my check-up would have to wait tomorrow.

I continued to take the keys—slowly because I was hesitant. What if I got attacked again by the disease? Or maybe I was being paranoid. Indecisively taking the keys and putting them in my pocket, I sighed in relief. No attacks.

♥


Moisture crept up my window as I drove to Father’s residence. The weather had started getting colder and colder the past few weeks, and I presumed that snow could start falling from the heavens any time now. I gave my whole attention as I drove; it took utmost mettle to drive when one knew he or she was mentally ill (plus abrupt headaches). I myself was persuaded—I was mentally challenged. How hard was it not to deny?

Father was in the open air of the balcony when I got to the penthouse. A bowl of food was on the table. He had prepared me some dry snacks—sweet potatoes fried in sugar. My stomach was ever delighted to see my Father’s cooking after missing lunch.

“How are you?” Father started as he sat.

I’m insane, Father. I’m insane. I sat as well. “I’m fine,” I said. Liar. I took the fork placed beside my plate and started eating. Father smiled at me and nodded.

“Delicious, Dad. As always.” I smiled.

He smiled too.

“How’s Cloud?” he asked.

“He went back with Theresa.”

Father nodded his head. “Ah, why?”

“He said he’s a man,” I sarcastically said, remembering the note which still amused me.

Father blankly stared at me. “Ah…you can spend time together for awhile, if--he's--I mean--before he officially moves in.”

I laughed and pointed at the food, but Father declined to join me so I bowed and finished my snack meal. Silence prevailed again.

“You’re a woman now, Sunshine,” Father abruptly said, putting his arms on the table. “And I can’t tell you what to do anymore. You’re now accountable for your every decision.”

There was a weird mixing of emotions within me when I heard Father’s statements—fear, confusion, misery. They blew me fairly hard like a thousand pillows were just thrown on my face; they were heavy but not painful.

I took a bite of the sweet potato, chewing slowly because my teeth had seemingly swollen. I perfectly understood that I was not a girl anymore. I had to take my own path and let go of certain things that were hindering me from growing.

Father blankly smiled at me till his cheeks grew red. After a moment, he shook his head and sniffed, fighting the thin line of tears in his eyes from falling. “Excuse me for awhile.” He stood up, sniffing. He walked past me and I listened to his footfalls disappear.

The only time I had seen—appropriately heard—him cry was when Mother had died. Father had been awake all night, crying. He never knew, but Snowflake and I had been listening to his sniffs and sighs while we were leaning on the door of his bedroom. He probably had always cried alone.

I finished eating and drank the juice Father also prepared for me. A few moments passed by, I heard Father slowly approaching.

He came back with a dusty box.

“Another gift from Mom that you failed to give us?” I joked, my smile suddenly fading when I remembered I had lost the locket. Holding my chest I said, "I lost the locket."

He smiled. "Don't worry about it." He then turned stern. Gradually, he opened the box.

His statement surprised me. Don't worry about it?

“The locket conceals many secrets.” He showed me the books inside the box. Closing it again, he handed it to me.

“What do you mean, Father?” I asked, baffled. “What kind of secrets?”

“Secrets you cannot ask me for help because I myself don’t comprehend.”

I hugged the box in my lap. It was only about a foot wide and a foot long and a foot high. I sighed and looked at Father. He was gazing upwards—to the heavens. I joined him. The sky had grown gray and grey Gray and grey? Those are the same color. like the abrasive rocks in the bay; the horizon was designed with city lights and the poking head of the Space Needle.

“Do you really love Theresa?” I asked with mettle, looking back at Father.

Father looked at me, eyes brightened. He pursed his lips again, that awfully wearisome smile. “Yes, Sunshine,” he said loud and clear. “I do love Theresa.”

I reached for his hand. “Please do,” I despondently said.

Then there was a knock at the door. I beat Father from standing up, wanting to seem like an understanding daughter.

“Oh, hi, Sunny!” Theresa exclaimed when I opened the door, her moss eyes twinkled. She seemed excited to see me—and I wished she really were. “How are you?”

I reluctantly smiled and remained silent; accepting a step-mother–to-be who was obviously still a stranger to me was not an overnight episode. And Sunny? It must have been the most terrible and irritable name that was given to me. But I could get used to it, I hoped. After all, I had to admit, Theresa did seem nice.

Theresa’s excitement apparently lessened at my hostile smile and silence. I always forced myself to be conscientious, but I honestly wished she knew that I deliberately did not answer. All she was to get from me at that moment was a smile.

“I brought crème brûlée,” she said cheerfully.

I stared at her impassively as she showed me the paper bag in her hands. I had probably forgotten all about being assiduously conscientious because I suddenly felt an impulse to become determined to kill her with my impassive stares. Just a warning though--I was still not ready to accept her. But she should also know that I knew I will—someday, somehow.

I stepped aside to let her in.

“Honeybunch,” Father blurted.

Theresa walked past me.

Of all the sweet names. I rolled my eyes as I close the door behind them. I did not turn until I heard them speaking again. Oh good heavens…I did not want to see them kissing again.

“Dinner is ready,” Father said, then I knew it was safe to face them.

We all went to the dining table. Theresa laid the paper bag on it, taking out a rectangular, stainless container. I assumed the crème brûlée was in it.

Father put a bowl of viand on the table, just beside the bowl of rice. Once plates were set out, I started to eat so I would have an excuse of not responding to anyone; but every time I swallowed a piece of meat, I felt like retching it on Theresa, and immediately disposing the mean thoughts that were harboring my mind was not an easy task.

Theresa opened the container, revealing the French delicacy that was soon placed beside the Filipino dish Father had cooked—Adobo. French had just won over my native food’s appearance.

“Did you know Theresa’s half-French?” Father asked me in his long-forgotten élan.

I slowly shook my head, continuing to eat even though my stomach was almost about to burst.

Theresa sat beside me. She and Father were facing each other. They started to talk and I started to feel like a hapless puppet. I looked at Theresa. She glanced and threw a bright smile at me. She was beautiful, I had to admit. And I hoped that she would be beautiful inwardly as well.

Shifting my eyes to the empty seat in front of me, I remembered Snowflake. She always used to sit in front of me. Mother sat to my right, and Father sat on my left. A small, square table made of kawayan is where we used to eat.

“I hate kamote*,” Snowflake had complained once.

“Now, there, Snowflake,” Mother had replied, “why—you love kamote in coconut juice cooked in sugar and milk. Why do you hate it now?”

“The strands get sticked between my tooths when it is cooked this way. Did you cooked some in coconut juiced, Inay?”

Father laughed. Snowflake always had had something to complain about, did she not? And I, I had always been silent. Yes, the strands got stuck between my teeth as well, but I would eat silently, refraining from any impetuous whining.

“Yes, dear,” Mother sweetly said.

Snowflake thumped the table in great joy. “I will have three platefuls!” She laughed, showing the gap in her teeth—the gap where her baby tooth used to be.

I had smiled as I watched Father ruffle her hair. Meanwhile, Mother had already brought the pot of sugary desert on the table. She put some in Snowflake’s bowl and turned to me. She beamed at me, and I would never forget the way she beamed at me. It was like a pot of sunshine pouring on me.

“Would you like some,” a female voice asked, “—Sunny?”

The foreign name interrupted my thoughts. Theresa was offering a cup of crème brûlée—ochre and sunburnt. It sure looked delicious.

“No, thanks.” I forced a smile.

Theresa looked seemingly despondent; but she tightened her lips to make it seem like she was not.

After dinner, I happily volunteered to wash the dishes. Keeping Theresa out of my sight for even just a minute could ease up my heart—and mind. I took my time, slowly rinsing each plate, spoon, fork and glass. What, no sporks? D: Hahaha just kidding.

“Sunny!” Theresa’s voice could give me a heart attack anytime now. “Come on, I’m going to show you something.”

If I could only tell her that I was taking the time to put that last plate in place, that I was intentionally being slow-paced; but I could not, because bluntly saying that would hurt her--and Father.

Drying my hands behind my pants, behind your pants? That is...awkward. I think a better phrase would be "on the back of my pants" perhaps. I leisurely went to the living room where papers scattered on the center table. I sat on one of the single couches, remaining silent because I was afraid I would say something offensive. I was tempted back in the kitchen, and the temptation was growing, so I just listened to Theresa and Father as they talked about the weddings—the designs, the gowns, the guests.

I secretly smiled to myself. The preparations reminded me of Mother and Father’s wedding ceremony back in the Philippines--back in the time line.

Of course, they were married before we were born, but their ceremony was held when Snowflake and I were five years old.

“Don’t I look pur-dy!” Snowflake had exclaimed.

I looked at her from head to toe, rubbing my chin as I pretended to think hard. Her curls were falling on her cheeks; she wore a light rose dress; the basket of vermilion flowers clung to one of her arms. After a long look, I said, “Yes! You look utterly stum-ing.”

“Stum-ing?” Father punched in. I screamed as he began to lift me, carrying me on his shoulders. “Don’t you mean stunning?”

“Stunning!” I echoed. “Snowflake, you look stunning!”

Snowflake laughed. “Dad my turn!”

“Oh, my ice princess,” Mother butted in as she carried Snowflake.

I and Father stopped our laughs. It was the first we saw Mother in her wedding dress—a simple wedding dress she had sewn herself. I remembered how lovely she had looked even with such a plain gown. I looked down and saw Father’s smile—well, it was upside-down, but I knew it was a smile, certainly not a frown.

“Why, you look so lovely, my dear,” Father said.

They walked up to each other and gave each other a smack. A...a smack? What exactly do you mean? I'm picturing a high five or hitting each other, or do you mean a kiss? I looked at Snowflake; she looked at me. We giggled. Then the photographer interrupted.

“Smile!”

Our position was not altered. We simply just 'paused'.

Still a bit dazed from the memory, I realized Theresa turned to me.

“The theme would be—white, silver and green,” she said, anticipating for a comment or suggestion from me. But I gave none.

Theresa then turned to Father when she did not get any response from me.

“What kind of green?” Father laughed. I glanced at him, not moving my head. He looked greatly satisfied—happy.

Suddenly, I felt a sense guilt rip through my inner being. I knew in my heart that I was fighting for Snowflake and me—for our feelings. But seeing Father plainly happy, somehow, I urged myself to forgive—forgive him, and myself. I wanted to stop my concealed hatred because all that I was doing was being utterly selfish.

I faced Theresa. I was about to smile and join their discussion when she began fanning sheets of papers before me. My forgiving thoughts soon melted away, and the tinge of guilt died.

“Sunny,” she said in a cheerful tone, “what do you think is the best design?” Theresa pointed out to the first one in the left. “This could be my wedding gown—real emeralds, isn’t it great?”

I looked intolerantly at the sheets of papers, scrutinizing the intricate designs. Finally, I found the voice to say something.

“Are those real emeralds?” I impatiently asked, finding a reasonable reason on why I should act impudently.

“Why, yes, of course.”

“Dad?” I said, throwing my father a tiresome look.

“Yes, dear?” he asked.

“Real emeralds?” I looked at Theresa, not angrily but worryingly, throwing away the fact that they were probably aware of how expensive everything were. “You’re using real emeralds for a gown you’ll be using for not more than five hours?”

After throwing me a baffled look, Theresa managed to smile. “I’m not going to throw away that gown. I’m going to keep it.”

“Are you planning to get married thrice?”

“I mean in a box—for memories to cherish,” she snapped, her smile fading away.

“Real emeralds—in a box—to be kept forever?” I looked at Father. “How could you allow this puerile thing to happen?”

“Wha--” he stammered. “Sunshine I do not underst—”

“How many”—I guillotined Father’s words—“of the world’s population are suffering from lack of food, shelter and clothing?” Guillotined? What do you mean by that? Guillotine means like beheading.

Father confusingly looked at me; Theresa did so too. And I did not care if they thought that I was bickering.

“And how many of those people had already given up their lives because their dreadful conditions could not be endured anymore? And you’re wasting money on some stupid ceremony?”

Theresa bit her lower lip as she bowed her head. Father was turning pale and made no movements. I continued to speak but with a calmer tone.

“If Mother was alive—you know that she would rather have crackers and soda in a reception and spare money to build an orphanage than to see herself celebrate luxuriously while watching unfortunate juvenile breathe their last breaths.”

Father looked emotionlessly emotionlessly isn't a word. maybe "blankly?" on the table while Theresa hugged herself. I could not help the tears—I cried.

“It was not the premonition of guilt,” I continued, my voice cracking, “it was her sincere love.”

No one dared to move except for me. I stood up and as I walked past Theresa, I clutched her by the shoulder. “I’m sorry.” I took the box before walking up the door, and, breathing deeply before I finally exited, I said my last sentence to Father without looking back at him and Theresa.

“I just don’t know you anymore.”

♥



My heart never felt so far from my Father and Mother as I drove home that evening; all of us had taken a path away from each other. I cried as I reminded myself that I was now on my own.

When I got home, I closed my eyes and slammed the door behind me, panting. Slipping down my back against the door, I hugged the box. All I would see when I take a step in the living room were a spotless grand piano, tall, silk lamps, carpeted floorings and glass walls—all of which I had chosen and bought myself. I had just audaciously disputed about plush living when I myself was wasting my life in luxury.

I was confused. I did not know if I did and said anything right. Just one good thing would relieve me, but I could not think of anything I had done right—even just one.

At last, I stood up and strove to enter to my room. Cloud was there, cleaning up his mess. Feeling my presence, he looked up to me.

“Why didn’t you come?” I enquired. “Where have you been?”

“I should be asking you that question,” he snapped.

“I was at Dad’s. We had dinner with your mother.”

“My mother?” He smirked.

I ignored his sarcasm. “Now where were you?”

“In my room," he answered.

I raised my brow. “Then what was the note for?”

“What note?” he asked, perplexed.

“The note that says you’ve gone to your mother ‘cause you’re a man,” I said ironically. Irony is the opposite of what is expected, how is that statement ironic?

“I don’t remember it.” His cheeks slightly flushed. “Must have done it when I was asleep.” I warily raised my eyebrows at him. “I’m somnambulant”—he juggled the balls of crumpled wrappers in his hands—“and a heavy sleeper.”

I discreetly laughed as I started off for my room. Oh, Cloud...

“Hey,” he called; I faced him. “Haven’t you had dinner yet?”

“I have.” I smiled, feeling a warm feeling inside me. At least someone still seemed to care.

“Oh—" he said, quite seemingly disappointed. "Good night.”

"Did you have dinner?"

"Are potato chips dinner?" he gagged. "Go to sleep, sis. Good night."

I sadly looked at him. “Good night.” I went to my bedroom and locked myself away.

I threw the box on my bed and changed into my nightgown. The moonlight being my only source of light, I faced a mirror and pulled up my hair in the dark. My eyes dilated at the sight of something unbefitting on my face; swirls of blue marks were crawling on my cheeks by the ears.

I dropped the brush on the floor, frozen.

I knew that there were secrets about the lockets—secrets I would have to figure out on my own, I had guessed. But I never thought of the secrets as being numinous. And now, I had thrown away all my suspicions that I was indeed insane. I believed what I was seeing—that amidst the shadows, a delightful but menacing event was taking place. There, right there on my chest, fairly above my breasts, glowing like the moonlight still and attached like an apple’s seed was the pendant’s sapphire stone.