The Parent Magnet *editing*

IT IS A VERY RAINY SATURDAY MORNING.

          “Blessed morning, Tita.”

          “Dianne! I’m so pleased to see you again! How are you? Why are you here? How did you get here? The rain’s pretty hard this morning. The weatherman said last night at the news that the storm is to landfall today. Imagine that! Rain’s been pouring hard since Thursday—but it’s just about to landfall!” Anne gushes, wringing her hands excitedly. One glimpse of the young lady has sent her in high spirits despite the trouble that the refrigerator is empty, and she would have to go to the grocery store to buy food despite the rain because all the sari-sari store at the corner of the street can offer are canned goods and noodle packs, and she hates serving her family preservatives, much less eat it with them.

          Dianne kisses Anne’s cheek.  “Mom dropped me off on her way to work.” She tosses back her head and laughs.

          Anne stops wringing her hands, which have now become red, and intently watches the young lady’s dark curls bounce back to frame her soft face. Then as if she and Dianne have been alone, she starts at the sight of the young man standing beside the young lady—Luke, her son.

She throws him a childish grin; he throws her a disturbed look. There is silence. As the Filipino saying goes, May dumaan na anghel—an angel passed by. Why angels bring silence, I do not know.

          Dianne shifts her eyes from the mother towards the son, then back again, and breaks the awkward silence by saying, “Tita, I need a turntable to play a few plakas for a project, and Luke says that you have one.”

          “Ah, yes… a turntable.” Anne nods her head, and faces Luke. “Do we have one?”

Luke answers, “Opo,”—yes.

          “Where is it?”

          “In the attic.”

          Anne beams at Dianne. “We do have one. It’s in the attic.”

          “Now, if you excuse me,” says Luke. A longer conversation with her mother is unnecessary. “I’ll just look for it, ‘cause I didn’t have time yesterday—”

          “Wait,” Dianne interrupts. “I want to come with you.”

          “Okay. You can take off your shoes over there,” Luke says, pointing at the final step of the staircase.

Dianne strides towards the staircase, crouches down and starts to untie her high top Converse shoes, fumbling with the laces, knowing she is being watched.

          Anne sneers at her son, who keeps on piercing her with the terrorized look as if saying, “Please don’t say anything stupid. Mom.” But Anne dismisses her son’s warning and sticks out her tongue.

Luke winces and scratches his forehead. He finds it hard to deal with his mother sometimes, when she acts more immaturely than a seven-year-old.

          Anne looks back at Dianne, still smiling. She can’t help it. “Look at her, son,” she says, not taking her eyes off the young woman even for a second. She then articulates the following:

          “Pretty. Smart. Sensible. Kind. Respectful. Simple. What else could a young man ask for?”

Luke cringes.

          Dianne flushes. She knows where the conversation is going. Without finishing unlacing her shoes, she forces them off her feet, but they get stuck halfway. Humiliating.

          “When will you start courting her, Luke?”

          All Luke does is cross his arms and mumble, “Mom,” through his gritted teeth. He is far beyond irritated. This, for him, is unacceptable behaviour for a woman in her fifties. It is true: People grow up to be childish once more.

          Dianne finally removes her shoes successfully. Fighting the blush by thinking of flowers and smiley stickers, she straightens her back, forces a smile, faces Luke, and chirps, “Let’s go!”; and turns to the rapt woman, “Tita, we’ll be leaving you for awhile now.” She climbs up the stairs, to the attic, as if she lives there and needs no directions. She does not wait for Anne’s reply. She can’t stand another tease like that. It’s not only to save herself the embarrassment; also Luke.

          Anne watches the two teenagers walk up the stairs. She smiles, then sighs. She has meant it, and would very much have appreciated a reaction. A clue. Something that would somehow assure her that they are a match—that her son should try, at the least, to win Dianne’s heart. She’s helping him already, right?

          She rests her fists at either side of her hips. “You may want to stay a bit after you’ve gotten the turntable, dear! Just till the rain stops,” she hollers, praying the rain won’t stop.

Dianne and Luke heard, but they let silence answer. Anne resigns back to the kitchen, totally delighted of the thought of giving the two some time alone together, too thrilled to even remember that she is on her way to the grocery store to buy food—healthy, natural food. She sits on a chair, mesmerized by the dream of having a daughter-in-law like Dianne.

*editing*