A Sunset Serenade

(A Short Story)

       

The war was over.  Sighs of relief swept the land as the weary-souled soldiers lifted silent prayers of thanks.  No more bloodshed, no more sorrows or cruelties - what could be sweeter and more refreshing than to think of home and of loved ones whom, in the terror of war, one thought lost forever, or would never live to see again.

        The air that had been saturated with dust and smoke and fire was now cleared.  The sun was beginning to set and a cool fragrant breeze took over and playfully drifted over the tired faces of the soldiers, sweeping away the tremblings of the recent nightmare.  They tiredly slid to the ground whenever they could find a rock or a tree on which to lean while feasting their eyes on the beauty of nature.  Some were having their wounds treated by nurses. The others tried to while the moments away in soothing quiet.

        Among the women patiently tending the wounds of the soldiers was one who wouldn't escape anyone's notice.  The others could almost drop dead tired from over-exerted effort the way they almost couldn't cut bandages and plasters steadily. Linda, however, went on moving spritely from soldier to solder.  It seemed as if her figure could never be worn out by war, hunger, or even by death itself.  That winning smile apparently wouldn't leave her lips.  Although her hair was slightly disarranged, she was clean.  She moved with so much care that even her uniform looked as if it were newly pressed.  The very way she would modestly wipe the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand simply set her different!   Very much different! Her eyes sparkling, her cheeks rosy, her lips full - she was the picture of a full-bloomed woman fresh with life.

        A soldier lying on his stomach caught her attention.  He was pitifully unconscious and alone that she was moved at the sight but at the same time, she wondered why a foolish gladness swept through her.   He didn't seem badly wounded but a streak of dry blood that stained his right cheek showed that he had a nasty cut on his forehead.  Gently, she rolled him over so that he would lie on his back then made him a pillow out of a folded tent.  Carefully, she wiped the blood and dirt off his face while slowly, she gave out a choked gasp as she recognized familiar features that began to show.  Her heart was already beating wildly but she managed to stay calm, bit her lips so hard that blood almost oozed out from them.  Somehow, she finished the work. 

        At the next moment, she knelt beside the soldier, watching him with much concern.  Not even for a moment now would she take away her gaze from him as she held her breath waiting for him to open his eyes....longing from him to speak.  Meanwhile, confused thoughts raced wildly in her mind.  The last time she heard about him, he was joining the Air Force.  He  had told her so about it himself.  But now, why -

        Eventually, his eyes opened.  At first, they narrowed in disbelief.  She thought this was so funny she almost wanted to laugh but later on, they brightened up. His eyes showed a glint of recognition as he managed to get himself upright - and gather her close to his weak but longing embrace.

        "But Fred,"  she stammered.  "I thought you - "

        "No, sweetheart," the soldier  laughed softly, "I enlisted with the Marines instead.  With my special one having joined the WACS, there'd be not much chance of meeting her up there!"

        The sun was already halfway below the horizon radiating its rays across the skies.  The breeze was now much cooler  - and another of those perfect days was ending.

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Have I just been dismissed?

(A Short Story)

 

        I walked into his clinic and he smiled,  warmly asked, "How're you doing Ma'am?",  so I answered, "I'm good, Doctor, and you?" His reply: " I'm good, how may I help you?"  Thus, the consultation began  with the normal pleasantries.  Next,  he beckons to me to sit right in front of him with this machine in between us and after adjusting his lenses to my eyes, a couple of clicks and switches at his machine,  he leans back and goes: -Yes, you do have cataracts, any questions you have for me?

         Earlier, I had gone to another doctor for inquiry.  He was a young Malaysian schooled in Singapore, very good-looking, very cordial,  volunteering the information I wanted and he came across as very caring for  my needs.  I liked him at first showdown. So there really wasn't much to ask this second, Chinese, European schooled one who was speaking with a British accent. The questions I asked, however, he answered but in a crisp, straightforward way - no more,no less. He was kinda coming in a bit snooty!

         Ma'am, he said, but with that hint of a smile at the left corner of his mouth, complemented with that curious but brilliant sparkle in his eyes - You can do anything you want after the operation.  Just no swimming, no water in your eyes for three weeks.  You can go dancing, go to the gym, read, write, go back to your computer.. just no swimming. How did he know I did all that? Then he repeated, Just no swimming! And did he know I didn't do that anyway?
   
        Then when the question came to costs, he stood up and said, This way please,  and led me to his secretary who. I supposed, was going to do this part of the job for him.  He now faced the long queue of seated patients that I am told he had daily - and he started calling for the next:  Chow Eng Lai!,Chow Eng Lai!  What? So was I just dismissed? Just like that? What the h-!!!

         As a university professor, my life  had always been at the middle of communicative interaction.  I had always felt I'd die without this communicative energy that sustained me and what did this guy just do? Did he just try to snuff this life out of me? I quelched the urge to go straight at him right in front of his adoring patients -  to strangle him to death before he did me but hey.. strangely now, I was surprised at the calm amusement that now, instead, slowly consumed me. I was actually smiling in disbelief. I was shaking my head, but with tolerance at his apparent lack of tact as a doctor.  I had always enjoyed the personal touch the other doctors in my life had accorded me.  But this one just denied me it and I was more  surprised that I looked at his demeanor as a wall that needed to be broken down.  On top of it, I was just as surprised that I kind of began to feel a sliver of liking for him as I continued to be most surprised at myself as I opted, notwithstanding, to have him do my eye surgery,  So my operation was scheduled the next Sunday afternoon at 2.

        Sunday, then, came and this doctor of mine did me one more check up before the operation,  - after which he stood up from this machine between us and said to me, Let's go, as he  nudged me on the arm with the back of his hand as he made his way out of the clinic.  So, okay...where was that 'Ma'am' thing now?  After all, I could see that he was certainly younger than me.  He led me to his operating room where his two nurses were waiting to prep me up. He left me with them and went back to call on his next patient who was waiting to consult with him.

        As expected in an operating room, all appeared immaculately antiseptic and blue: the nurses were in blue, I was put in blue, myself - gown, head gear, etc. the doctor would be in blue, as well, I imagined.   And as I was now being anesthetized, background music was switched on... that was Andrea Bocelli's rich voice gently permeating the air with his Besame Mucho!  I had always loved Bocelli, and I was now loving all these other songs that followed, Amapola, Cuando Me Enamoro, Quizas, and more.  All kinds of gadgets, - sorry for the term, - all kinds of gadgets were being turned on now - one of which was this computer voice that told the doctor how his patient was responding... and then stillness... except that Bocelli continued to  control  the air.  

        Shortly after that, he came in - my doctor! What was his name again? Lim Chee Wah? Or was that Tham Hui Shan? Hello, Linda, he said, you okay?  Okay, so now, we're on first name basis? He sat down to my right, gently fixed my face to an angle till it was  probably good for him,  switched on lights that made me close my eyes and then he went on with his procedures.  With a plaster-like contraption he carefully put on the right side of  my face, he made an opening on it just enough for my right eye and that was all I felt. From there, he gently coached me, from time to time, with - Look at the light, please, Linda, look at the light, thank you! Aside from this, all that was there now for me was the voice of Andrea Bocelli. And then, it was over. He switched off the light, There you go, Linda, he said, You're done!. He got up from his seat, switched off Bocelli next, and the following moment,  he was out of the room!  Have I now been dismissed?

          He was smiling  the next day at my post op visit.  Could it have been that email  I sent him the night before? I had told him in so many words, that because I couldn't talk to him more than I would have wanted to each time I visited at his clinic, I had to tell him on email this - that even if he was such a snob, I wondered why I appreciated his well-known expertise, but that, anyway, I was thanking him for making half of my world look fascinatingly much brighter and clearer now like never before. He didn't say anything about the email, though.  He was just smiling. And he went on with the procedural check up of my operated eye. Then as he said, You're healing well, good job! - he stood up and playfully brushed my upper arm with the papers he had in his hands. Really!  Then he walked passed me. By his clinic door, once more, he was calling for his next patient. Dismissed again!  And I was still putting up with my monster of a doctor?

        But that night, there was something at my email which read - Dear Linda, - !  Hey, now - pleasant surprise?  It was from my inconceivable doctor! The mail continued -  I admit I might have actually become the snob that you have called me, and I truly appreciate your calling my attention to this.  Strange how I never really realized that, but believe me, I  had always thought I was being efficient in going about my task as a doctor!  And now, you're just about succeeding to change that and, incredibly, I'm liking it, thank you!. May I ask that you don't call me Doctor Lee, please?  I just use that name to make it easier for the locals.  My name is actually Fred, please call me Fred? Won't you please hate me less and we be friends, instead?  Please! May I hope you come again to me for your left eye? Won't you please -

        He's not stopping, he's not stopping!  Now what are all these mixed thoughts and feelings that's starting to pile up for me to entertain? Actually just embers now being fanned into a blaze?  Dear God, now I am being swept away by this maelstrom  of emotions! Do I get back to my computer to answer the mail and go Dear Fred,?  But I am so tempted to  take my turn to leave all these as - okay, as ... Dismissed!  But then again, I - but then again he - ..........

                                               ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Disclosure

(A Short Story)

         Dear Fred,  The weather is uncooperative with the kids today.  Notwithstanding my deep love for rain, I could empathize with their discomfort as they sit in my class with eyes through the window, longing for the sunshine,  feeling what a waste of an outside recess time it is.  Well, while they are doing some writing , I am actually preparing for some after class exercises for Albert.  Remember Albert?  I once mentioned to you this kid with some speech problems. Now, last night, his mom called to tell me the earlier sessions I had with him seemed to be doing good,  and she has asked me for  more! 

        Dear Linda,  I think that should call for some celebration! How about a glass of wine shared  me through the mailbox?  Kidding, of course!  But count that as one more feather to your cap. Am so proud of you, believe me.  Right now,  I am at this family business of ours run by my brother, Robert. It's a diner smack right in the middle of town but as I also sit here beside one of the windows, I am overlooking some mountains yonder and it's a beautiful sight I am enjoying.  You should really see this! A majestic row of tree-topped mountains against a vast blue sky with occasional drifting clouds! Counter-pointing this picture, however,  is a touch of a regular busy town sounds: cars passing by, kids shouting out to one another, a mom reprimanding her little one,  not to mention the clutter of silverware right behind me.  It's simply poetry, don't you think?

     Dear Fred,  I totally agree with you. I didn't know you had a little of the literary blood in your veins! You had always talked about aspects of running a business and about your take on the advances of modern technology, it made me think you were a downright pragmatic bent on nothing but efficiency. But it sure is an eye opener for me to know about this side of you. So have you ever tried to write poetry?

     Dear Linda,  Guess what, but I did once! The result?  You wouldn't want to know! It was such a failure I never tried it again. I suppose I am only good at enjoying the poetry of others, - not to create any of it. But you know, I was invited by the Curator of our local museum to its Opening Night last week and he tasked me to give a talk, would you believe that?  Apparently, I can talk but not write because the townspeople told me they were inspired!  Directed to me, I thought that was quite a compliment, which to my mind, is not really often. Can't one be good in both the written and spoken medium?  You tell me.  You're the language teacher!

     Dear Fred,  Don't be silly.  When it comes to judging your language skills, you know I will always be biased in your favor, so don't ask.  There was this new teacher who just joined us, by the way. He is quite young, comes from Indonesia, and you would be surprised how proficient I think he is with the English language considering it is a second language to him. He doesn't even have an accent!  I wouldn't be surprised if he grew up here in the US but he didn't.  From what I hear, he spent his college education in Belgium when his family had to migrate and yet, contrary to my expectation that he would speak  Flemish or French better than English, it is quite the other way round. I understand he is being trained to later take my position as my retirement isn't far off. He's quite a likeable colleague, if I may say.  And I don't usually have praise for anyone so easily as I do for him so there you go! Exceptional might be the term I have for him, you think? Well then now, how about you!  How have you been lately?

     Dear Linda,  So sorry for the late reply but I just got out of confinement from the hospital.  Yes, scold me for not letting you know, but I only wanted to save you from needless concern.  It was just a mild dose of a high blood pressure reading! Call it crazy but that's what I call it. Not really bad. It's just that family insisted I listen to the doctor instead of to myself and  be confined to give me a much needed rest.  That's according to them, okay?  But  I'm okay now, thank heaven.  I have gotten back enough energy to go back to my own teaching.  And I should thank Amber-sweet for all the care she shared during all that time in the hospital.  Ah yes, Amber-sweet! That's what Robert calls his lovely wife... that's what all of us in the family call her too!

     Dear Fred,  You certainly deserve a scolding.  For being 65, you should even have a double scolding for not taking care of yourself.  But I will spare you that as I am so glad you are now well and good anyway.  You are so like our school director... our parish priest, in fact.... such a stubborn man.  He is rightly called Father Johnson but he likes to be called Randy  You see,  St Gerard Academy is actually a parochial school so he gets to be my boss as well. He gets to have so many ideas regarding cutting down on aspects about the school that I can't help standing up against him at times.  Does that make me as hard-headed as he is ? Well, he claims  his moves will ultimately benefit the whole parish, and he might be right.  Still, I have my own misgivings.

     Dear Linda.,  I am looking at the photo you sent me a couple of years back and I feel like I am looking at a school girl I have fallen in love with through time That's clear exaggeration, I know, but strange how letters cut down the distance between us. And unbelievable how it is to know one so well without having met her personally. That is exactly the reason why I am so excited that finally, I'm going to meet up with you.  I share your joy over the retirement gift the school has given you - a round trip business ticket to Istanbul, imagine that! With a three-day all-expenses-paid-for-stay at the Cascade Premium Hotel! Okay, let me come and pick you up for breakfast Saturday morning and then I'll give you a tour around the place. Not to worry about a thing... I'll see you at the lobby at 8 o'clock.

     Dear Linda,   By this time, I am sure you are back home and understandably wishing you hadn't known me at all. I was there at  the hotel lobby, alright - earlier than 8, actually.  I watched you from a vantage point as the receptionist handed you my note at the desk. And I reiterate telling you how sorry I am for compounding things by not coming forward to meet you at least.  So as it was, you couldn't believe what you read in my note. "Better for us not to meet now or ever at all."  I was so distressed having to do this to you, please believe me. My heart went out for you and with you as you went back to your room perplexed and frustrated but I vowed to explain to you later. The thing was when you went to hear mass the next morning, it was to my parish you came and incredulously found out that it was I who said mass.... and you left the church right then and there. You found out before I could tell you.  I know we told each other everything about us but why, you ask,  did I keep from you the fact that I was a priest?  Well, because if I did, I'd have lost you, you who gave me as a man fulfillment in life simply by sharing it with me even if only through your letters. To my parishioners, I am just an icon, an ideal, but with you, I am me...and strange as it may, it even gives essence to my priesthood.  Linda,  I'd so much pray you would understand and forgive me and still have me remain to you as  "Dear Fred"?

     Dear Linda,   I know you how angry you must be until now but I beg you to find in your heart some forgiveness for a wretched soul like me. I certainly don't deserve it but I am willing to wait till kingdom come for absolution.  Meantime, let me tell you we're trying to raise funds to expand the eastern wing of the church. The parish council is planning to put up either a play or a concert, perhaps tapping the kids from our Sunday School down here to do it. Over all these, Linda, I go on praying  you would understand and forgive me and still have me remain to you as "Dear Fred"?

     Dear Fred,   I had to let some time go before replying while I tried to let go my hurt and disappointment.  It's true, I wished to heaven I'd never known you. I didn't want to have anything to do with you anymore.  But well,  I guess I do understand after all.  I had always taught my kids in class that God was all forgiving so why couldn't I be? And yes, why couldn't we just continue to be friends? Some of my old friends visited,  by the way, and were surprised to see me back in school.  They knew I had retired but it was welcome news for them to find I had accepted Father Randy's offer to be the new Principal. You know, we still argue about a number of things on the policies of the school but we do get along  pretty well.  And too, Albert has improved a lot more already.  A few more weeks of practice and his speech problems will totally and hopefully be overcome. Write me back and tell me more news from your end, too?

                             ---------------------------------------------------------

Denouement

(A Short Story)

        Linda critically surveyed herself in the mirror.  Hair  swept back from her face.  Eyes in black circles.  Lips firm, vanishing any trace of a smile.  And she was in a light gray pencil outfit.  This she once did some five years ago.  Same dresser.  Same room.  Same apartment.  Only she was younger.  Her hair was slightly shorter then, and she used to let it fall. She wore pink like almost always she did and yes, she was happy- unexplainable it was, but happy!

         Today, however, she wasn't sure about her feelings.  Wasn't she supposed to be happy? In the news was word that Fred's company had returned to camp;  her heart cried out that it should be reason enough for some joy but her mind dryly countered it with, "What for?" And yet deep inside her, the truth was that she was actually excited.  Only, she wonderfully succeeded in covering it up with indifference.  She curtly reminded herself that she was meeting up with Jeffrey at her down town favorite coffee shop in an hour so she must start getting ready.

        A gentle rap at the door made her walk towards it with uncertain steps.  She was aware that she was tracing the very steps her mother made to go open that door to Fred almost at that same hour of the evening - five years ago.  She caught her breath as she gave out under a whisper, "Fred!"   The next moments held her standing there, taking back the same sort of unbelieving look from the eyes of the Army uniformed man who blocked the doorway tall, dark and handsome.

        One of them had to break the spell and so Linda forced herself to the obligation.  "Please come in, Fred."

        Slowly,  the words came forth. "I really don't know if it makes sense for me to say you haven't changed, Linda, but somehow, you do look different from the last time I saw you." It was Fred who kind of started the conversation.

        She folded her arms as she leaned back in her chair and answered, "Perhaps, Fred! I've heard that from so many people already that I would not be surprised if you said it too.  The only difference now is that I hear it from someone I thought I'd never see again."  And she was taken in by recall.

        The 'last time' was the night he had taken her to a school dance.  She had entertained a partner alone no other than he.  And after the affair, she remembered how childish she thought of the gang's usual call for a coffee shop escapade and how she refused - she had asked Fred to bring her straight home.  She realized she was then saying goodby to childish ways but that was also the very night he was called back to camp as they were to be shipped out the next morning.

        Now she asked him, "How's the army these days, Fred? And about having been so far and so long away from home?"  She didn't wait for an answer, though.  As if to give him time to make up the answers, she excused herself to fix him a cup of coffee.

        Meanwhile, he made himself comfortable.  Everything in the living room still stood as it used to be.  The sala set, the bookshelf by the eastern window, they were still there.  Only the curtains seem to be new.  But he also noticed an unfamiliar object - a picture frame on the piano.  He moved closer to it -  to see for himself a scene reenacted a distance in front of the church altar.... two coffins over a black mantle covered-table set with big candles and a lot of flowers.  And there was Linda kneeling on the nearest pew, face buried in her palms. He felt a sting of pain as he empathized with her aloneness at that moment. He censured himself for having not been there for her notwithstanding the fact that he really could not have been there.

        At least he was thankful that he didn't have to ask her about her parents anymore. No need really to open up doors to painful memories.  They had been so caring as far as their daughter was concerned and he decided that that was perfect - just perfect while he was going to be gone for some time.  Was it selfish for him  even to consider they'd treasure her for him meanwhile? This wisp of a girl who stole his heart just like that?   He remembered the mental discomfiture they were in that last night they had allowed Linda to go out with him.  They had only shortly known him!  And  she was so young then.

     "But when could this have happened?" he wondered... and his eyes found the answer at the lower right hand corner of the framed picture:  September 24, 2008! He let out a very softly whispered, "Wow! ... the very next day after that night?"  And in his mind, he went on:  So they never lived to see her graduate from college? Never lived to glory in her successes, one of which was moving on to  being appointed Principal of their local High School?  He had somehow known about these but only these about her... strangely not about her parents' passing away... nor of  Jeffrey's coming into her life.  Jeff had been a close family friend, a neighbor, in fact, who tried to stand in as big brother to Linda, so much so for the whole town to conjecture that she would eventually marry him.

     Fred stopped short at the realization that the unfamiliar features he noticed in Linda's face were the offshoot of having had to face life on her own.....at such an early age!  "And to think I came home to marry a child!"

     Linda stirred sugar into the cup of boiling hot coffee.  Within the tiny whirlpool she created, she pictured herself:  the girl, then the woman.  It strengthened  her sense of acquired independence.  It hardened her heart that overflowed with life's trials.   "If I had managed all  by myself, I still could," she was trying to assure herself.

     Footsteps slowly but steadily came until they stopped a near distance from her back.  Only then did she realize she had stirred the coffee almost cold.  She turned.  Their eyes met.  All too suddenly the moment could no longer deny that the magic of last time was still there.  In that level gaze, Fred once again noticed those hard lines on her face - an addition to the very same Linda he once knew - because the sparkle in her eyes still gleamed for him.  And he loved her more.

     For Linda, the same instant opened her eyes to a truth - the coffee without sugar was her without him no matter how she tried to cover it up with pride and bitterness.  She could only put blame on circumstances of which he had no part.  And in some part of her mind now came the thought of Jeff... but he will understand, she resolved.

     Now, for reasons only her heart could understand, she wanted a question answered.  "So why has the Lieutenant come back home?"

                       ______________________________

    

    

     

    

    

       

       

Going over the Threshold

(A Short Story)

        "Will I do, Father?" Linda asked as she entered the living room with a half smile on her lips, her fingers lightly touching her formal suit.

        Mr. Benson looked up from his newspaper and let out a long, slow, whistle. "Somebody!" he called, "introduce me, please. Surely, this angel can't be my daughter?"

        Linda laughed, "Oh, Father, you're being corny again!"

        The mother also gazed at her daughter.  It really seemed unbelievable for them to behold her, already a perfect young lady - the same baby they had laid in the hospital bed seventeen years ago; the same little girl they fitted with a First Holy Communion veil.  And it wasn't so long ago that they were privileged to pin a medal for academic honors on her at high school graduation time.  Those events seemed to have happened only yesterday.

        "Linda, sit down a minute, honey." Mrs. Benson ventured to say,   "there are some points I'd  want you to know."

        "Now, Mom, I can't or I'll wrinkle my dress.  I know you don't like Fred, but I really am not a baby anymore as you think."

        "Linda, I never said I don't like Fred.  It's just that you don't know him enough.  You're only seventeen.  A boy... a man of twenty-four who's been in the army has met all kinds of people and..."

        "Mother, just don't waste your breath until you have met him.  I know you'll like him."  She leaned over her mother, gently planted a kiss on her cheek and went back into her room."

        The man standing at the door with a lovely orchid in his hands seemed very young.  He blushed as Mrs. Benson led him inside to meet her husband.

        "Glad to know you, Fred.  How's life in the army these days?"  Mr. Benson smiled at him curiously.

        "Not bad at all, Sir.  But we expect to be shipped out any day now."  He rubbed his fingers on the lapel of his shirt.  After an uncomfortable silence, he swallowed hard and expostulated, "I appreciate very much your allowing me to take Linda out despite the fact that we have only shortly met each other."

        A fresh wave of misgivings and mistrust swept through Mrs. Benson although she couldn't deny that she, herself, was impressed by his gentlemanly manners, - even at first sight of him.  How she longed to lead her daughter back into the blessed years of peaceful childhood!  Resolutely, she hardened her heart. "Linda was brought up strictly.  Naturally, we wouldn't want her to stay out too late."

        "Of course," he said, "I'll bring her home early."

        The young pair had gone and Mr Benson led his wife back into the living room.  As he was aware of the mental discomfiture that stunned her, he tried to comfort her, "Honey, dear, listen to me.  For seventeen years we have guarded Linda, body, heart, and soul in tact. Now, it is high time for us to stand back and let the training take over.  I know we won't be disappointed. Just keep calm."  And he went to bed.

        Mrs. Benson tried to stay up a little longer and do a little more of her crocheting.  She didn't even notice the hours pass by as she kept pondering on the dangers and the pitfalls that inevitably confront a young lady like Linda.  She recollected headlines that emphasized the aggressiveness of modern teenagers and how they dared go to extremes.

        Then suddenly, she held her breath as she heard the door quietly open.  A swift glance at the wall clock told her it was only 11:45. Could something have happened?

        "Hi!" nervously, she called to them.  "I didn't expect you home so early."

        "Oh, I'm glad you're still up, Mrs. Benson," Fred returned.  "I really wanted to say goodbye to you and Mr. Benson.   You see, I just received an emergency communication from my superiors to be back in camp..... we're leaving tomorrow.  You have been so nice to me and I will never forget it!"

        He shook hands with the mother.  Then to the girl, with a steady gaze into her eyes, he drew her hands to his lips and said, "Thanks for your wonderful company, Linda.  I hope we'll meet again someday." And he walked over the threshold.

        Mrs Benson felt uncomfortable, this time, due to the rash judgment she had made on Fred.  He measured up to her expectations after all.

        "You can go to bed now, dear,"  she said as she stroked the strand of hair that fell on Linda's forehead into place.  "Tell me all about it in the morning!"
. 
        In her room now, Linda was still in her suit.  She switched off the lamp and moved slowly to the open window.  Down the street, just a block away, she could hear the music and the laughter at the gang's favorite coffee shop.
                                                                                                                                                                   
        Throughout the ball, she had entertained no other partner but Fred.  Maybe it was because he was different from the others being in uniform. Or maybe because he acted so reserved? So unlike the boys she knew? She couldn't put a finger to it.

        After the event, the gang had invited her to the coffee shop as they were wont to do but this time, she had refused. She felt as if it would be childish and she asked Fred to take her straight home.  Maybe when they meet again, they will be like strangers.  Maybe the magic will have worn off.  Maybe.  But she will never forget this night -  the night she grew up and said goodbye to childish ways.  It might have well counted for a fairy tale night but for Linda, that night had been a beautiful reality as she had walked over the threshold and turned woman!

                                    ____________________________

       

      

Crafted Among the Clouds

(A Short Story)

          This total whiteness that you are seeing through this wisp of a window is not what you are used to seeing whenever you feel like writing - writing while looking out through another kind - that of a Starbucks Coffee Shop window. And what total whiteness?  Why, cloud whiteness, of course! You are seated beside the window in this one Air Asia flight bound for Malaysia, which is why you find yourself face to face with this phenomenal cloud world that will stay with you for the next three hours and a half.  Your flight just took off from your favorite Philippines destination - Baguio City.   Oops! That should be Clark International Airport (or Diosdado Macapagal Airport)!

         So you take the situation in with some tolerance.  Ideas always seem to come floating to your mind through windows and this gives you that lovely feeling of conveniently catching them graphically.  Now you chide yourself a little for wanting to complain that you are not in a Starbucks Cafe instead, so you tell yourself: "Come on, let it be that this window isn’t that of your favorite one! Just for the meantime, at least!" So you settle down in search for some comfort and you look straight out into the clouds. As you do, shapes slowly, slowly, come to soak your mind out.

          You were seated right beside a window, too, that flight you had before this. Contrariwise, though, that was a flight from Malaysia to the Philippines and you found yourself beside a young man some years older than you were as you deduced. For the first few minutes, he had engaged the much older man on his other side in conversation during which, all through it, you looked out of the window, forcing yourself not to hear what they were talking about.... wanting, in effect, to listen to what thoughts your mind was whispering to you.

         But then he turned to you with a casual “Hi”! As you tried to acknowledge his reaching out to you, your eyes had to meet his, which you noticed were fascinatingly greenish blue. You also noticed that that pair of eyes danced! Or was that a twinkle that simply arrested your interest in him? He continued, “You seem to be in another dimension just now, hope you don’t mind my asking where that is?” And he laughed a soft but low melodic one. The pleasantness of his demeanor kind of set you to pick up from where he started: - smilingly....warmly.... fun! So you answered, “Sorry, but you’ll have to bribe me to have yourself brought to that place!” This time he laughed a totally hearty one with “Hey, now, but did I find myself a partner in crime!”

         The less than a four-hour flight turned into a non-stop give-and-take of information, affirmations and negations, coupled with some strands of emotional uptakes on personal as well as on environmental issues. From out of the conversation, you culled items that told you he was from Frankfurt, in Germany; that he was a structural  engineer who had been in a number of places you had been to yourself; that he was stationed in Kuala Lumpur by the Swiss-based company he works for; that he was going to the Philippines to visit a girl friend he hasn’t seen in a long, long time.........- and more!

         “Oh, so you’ve been to Cologne?” he had said in between! ‘My mom lives there at the moment. She’s an architect, you know, and with my construction know-how, she often asks me to go over so she could consult with me regarding stuff and I like it! See, she takes care of my fare and my lunch and my dinner...” and there he breaks once more into that characteristic deep laughter of his!

         At another point, he had ventured  to tell you, “That’s a beautiful name you have, Linda!  I’m Fred, by the way,” extending his hand for a shake.   But “Oh my god!”, you could only say under your breath because you were hearing that laughter again which was starting to sound sensual now and strangely, which you were starting to like even as you forced yourself to be indifferent to it.  And still going on: “Imagine being introduced to each other only after hours of conversation!”  He had turned half serious as those blue-green eyes of his tried to get hold of yours, - seemingly wanting to extract out of them secrets he seemed to suspect they held tight.

         All throughout the flight, he had been in a most jovial mood, cracking a joke here and there as he recalled with you the fun aspects of places and events you both once found yourselves in: over in Europe... down in America....and even right where you were bound for... the Philippines!  It was a bit embarrassing for you that he’d been in places in your own country that you, yourself, haven’t been to considering the fact that you were the Filipino!

          But gratefully, you had noticed that he had a way of leading the conversation always to a safe and pleasant mode whenever it put either of you into a corner of discomfort. For instance, when you started to talk about that part of his life where his Thai wife and he had to break up in a divorce suit..... or when it was about an advertizing job you had so wanted but was given to another for reasons of race... or when in about half a dozen instances you or he recalled something that just wasn’t a happy thought, he’d reroute it in such a way that it simply transformed into a humorous news bit or a fun story. You thought he was that good and you admired him for it. In fact, things you were starting to like in him were starting to pile up. 

          And then that flight ended - putting each of you into his own way.

         The reminiscing brought a smile on your face. That flight was just a couple of weeks back, you recall, but funny how those weeks had shelved that memory. You had gone home for an invitational academic talk you had to give at your home university and in between the preparations for the task, there had been the activities you couldn’t forgo with colleagues, close friends and family. Your schedule of events had been heavy, time simply flew past. And now, you have to fly back to Malaysia. In fact, the announcement that seat belts may now be disengaged is being flashed.  So you continue to make figures out of the clouds gently breezing past your window.

         Your peace and quiet is suddenly invaded by a presence. One of the flight attendants is standing in front of the passenger at your left, and she’s asking him if he would like to swap seats with another passenger from Business Class.  As ordinarily expected, your seat mate readily consents.   And in your mind, you wonder who the foolish person is who would want to do this.   In a matter of seconds, you get your answer. Your heart skips a bit as a tall German guy strides down the aisle towards you beaming with that characteristic smile you very well know.

         Strange how you were just remembering him and the moments with him from just one flight ago.   Now a thousand and one questions flood your mind. “How is it that this is happening?” you ask yourself as you fight to control that surge of emotion.  “But a lot of time later for the answers,”  you seem able to calm yourself down after all.  Now he is seated once again beside you.  He turns to you, extending his hand for a shake as he says warmly,  “Hi! I believe your name is Linda?  Glad to meet you, Ms.  My name is Fred, by the way!”  And he breaks into that low, melodic, laughter of his!

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