Nights in El Soleis

(A repost from Friendster Blogs, dedicated to Pau, who insisted that I write this :))

I have made a lot of mistakes in my nineteen years. The recent one involves my nephew who is now hell-
bent on sleeping on my bed until he’s old enough to move out of the house— which would take about ten
years. Asher just turned eight last October.

It started last week after I read him his bedtime story, a Harry Potter book. You see, these days I often
find myself reading to him until he sleeps. My brother Brent and his wife Antoinette— she doesn’t want
anyone calling her Toni—will be in some gala affair or charity ball or whatever most nights. They’re doing
it almost every night now.

Since the disastrous episode last month, Brent calls me up at our mother’s house in Peach Brook Lane to
look after Asher while they’re gone.

The episode involved the last baby-sitter. Brent and Antoinette came home with the house a total mess.
Apparently, the baby-sitter invited some friends over, who in turn invited other friends over, and so on and
so forth until it became a full-fledged party.

“A wild party at your house? Why wasn’t I invited?” I joked when I heard. It didn’t merit a smile.

The chaos must have been phenomenal because my brother blew his top off. But then again, any clutter,
tiny it may seem always blew his top off. They just bought the big seven-bedroom house at the elite Sta.
Maria district, where Tyra Banks just bought a summer home three doors away.

During the house-warming party, I happened to spill a couple of drops of good Merlot on the expensive
Persian rug. He saw and I swore his face went about as red as the rug, which is also the exact color of
the wine I had.

He almost berated me then, if not for the guests present. Not to mention Mr. Philip Pennyford, who owns
the large shipping company where he worked as the family lawyer.

Antoinette wasn’t thrilled with the wine drops either. But only because I spilled a few drops on her white
Vera Wang dress as well.

I’m sure if I wasn’t his sister, Brent would’ve thrown me out the house. He is some kind of a freak
sometimes. Okay, most of the time. He and Antoinette both. They seem to worry more about the house-
trashing that night than their own son who was handed his own glass of beer during the party. They found
him passed out in front of the TV in his room.

“Why is Brent that way, Mom?” I asked her once.

“It was your father’s fault,” was all she said. A divorcee for ten years now, my mother was still bitter about
my father leaving. Well, who wouldn’t be, if the perfect husband was caught playing “choo-choo train” with
the secretary at a Disneyland bathroom? A male secretary, no less. Last time dear old Dad called, he just
dumped the secretary and was shacking up in the Paris Ritz with a young Brazilian model.

“How are you, my dear?” he said on the phone.

“Oh. We’re okay, Dad,” I answered. I noticed that there was a female lilt to his voice. He probably
abandoned whatever’s left of his manhood after the divorce, I thought viciously. He’s gayer than a field of
tulips.

So Mom’s not the only bitter one here. I guess I am too.

“Paris is absolutely beautiful this season. Luis and I spent hours watching the French from this charming
little café off Champs-Elysees. It was delightful!”

I rolled my eyes and just listened. He described Luis the model’s face and his biceps and his abs (he
doesn’t at all think it’s awkward, talking about this with his only daughter) and was probably about to
describe Luis the model’s Mr. Happy when we were cut off. I stared at the dead receiver.

I found the phone wires torn off the wall in the next room. And Mom was innocently reading Nora Roberts
in a straight back chair. I could see the blade of a large metal pair of scissors peeking out from under a
Vogue magazine.

“Did you cut off Dad’s call?”

She looked up, bewildered. “What? No!”

“Okay. Then how did that happen?” I pointed to the frayed wires.

“I don’t know. How about that.” She nodded slowly and turned back to her book. I sighed and told her I’ll
call the repairman. It was just odd that the phone lines die mysteriously whenever Dad calls.

I didn’t press the issue. Mom is prone to moods now that she’s facing the Pause, a nightmare for all
women who lie about their age.

Anyway, after the baby-sitter thing, Brent asked me if I could look after Asher whenever they go out.
Sometimes, I think that they’re deliberately neglecting the kid. But Asher doesn’t seem to mind this; he
says having his gorgeous 19-year old aunt is a lot of fun.

And it’s okay to me; Asher is not a brat, though a trifle energetic. And he’s pretty cute; he’ll be beating the
girls off with a stick when he’s older. And I don’t have a life, really. Meaning, I don’t have a boyfriend.

Wednesday night, the previous week I bummed a ride from my best friend Luke to Brent’s house in Sta.
Maria.

Sta. Maria is El Solei’s equivalent of California’s Malibu. Located in the northeast part of the island, the
district is dotted by large modern houses nestled on hills near the beach.

The full moon gleamed like a god’s white eye in the warm February night. Palm fronds swayed in the
slight breeze as Luke parked his small Honda bike in Brent’s gravel driveway.

“I’ll be at Cassie’s,” Luke told me. His hair shone gold under the soft yellow lamps flanking the front door.
He is taller than me, slender in his black shirt and jeans. Warm brown eyes peered at me from under dark
brows.

“You guys catching a movie?” I asked, sliding off the seat.

“No,” he said, grinning. “We’re gonna—“

“Oh-kaay. Say no more,” I laughed. He was still grinning when he navigated the bike down the driveway
and out the gate. I stared after him, a bit wistful. A strange warm feeling suddenly fluttered in my chest.
Weird.

I shook it off.

Brent and Antoinette left for an art show a few minutes later. I did my homework while Asher watched
Spongebob with Rover, a black Labrador.

When he was six, Asher got the dog from the pound. He took the pup home and the two were best friends
since. The dog sits with his large head on Asher’s lap as they watched the square sponge infuriate the
dour squid.

A few minutes later, Asher begged me to watch a monster movie with him.

“You’re too young for this,” I told him, holding the DVD aloft. He was jumping up and down, reaching for it.
Because he was tall for his age, he did and he sat on the floor, pouting and trying to charm me with his
large green eyes. Rover took this as a cue and lay down on his back, exposing his belly.

The two made such a picture of absolute cuteness that with a sigh I told them okay, we can watch the
movie.

The film was so bloody and gory that I switched it off halfway. Asher protested but I could see that the
movie already scared him.

That was the first mistake, letting him watch the monster movie.

By eight o’clock, I helped him to bed after his bath and started reading him Harry Potter. The dog sat on a
thick blue cushion beside me, also listening.

Two chapters later, with his eyes looking heavy, Asher asked me if monsters were real. I made up a story
about a werewolf scratching at my bedroom door every night when I was his age.

That was the second mistake, my telling him that fake story.

He promptly asked me to check under the bed for any scary creature. I decided to play a joke then. That
was the third mistake. As he watched, I went down on my knees and peered under the bed. Then I
screamed.

“Ahhh! It’s got me! Monster!” I tugged at my arms as if something was pulling me from under the bed.
Rover began howling and Asher went pale.

He was so scared he didn’t believe I was just kidding. He didn’t want to sleep alone now and he vowed to
sleep in my bedroom with me in the house at Peach Brook until he’s not scared anymore. I don’t know
what to do about that.

He’s smart for his age, but he’s still a kid.

Of course, Mom and Brent blamed me for my predicament. And that was how, for the next five nights,
Asher shared a bed with me, in my room, with the dog lying and snoring softly near the window.

On the sixth night, Asher disappeared.

***

Lan was pissed.

He pushed through the building’s large glass doors, almost knocking off the McDonald’s delivery boy
coming in from Scala Avenue.

He mumbled a ‘sorry’ as the guy glared at him. He took a few steps and then turned back to the 20-storey
old redbrick that housed Channel 8 Network. It was hot and sunny; few clouds traveled the endless span
of blue. Eucalyptus trees lined this avenue of business buildings.

The network’s logo, a large blue 8 with its red lightning bolt caught his eye. He sniffed and walked through
Scala again, hands deep inside his jeans, head down. The breeze blowing through the beach ruffled his
thick brown hair. Rock music blasted from his earphones, fueling his anger.

He briefly raised his head and let the meager wind, freshened by the eucalyptus cool his face. A group of
Korean tourists, wielding digital cameras started to ask him to take their photo. They noted his glaring
eyes and stepped back.

It was a beautiful day. Locals and tourists ambled up and down the clean busy streets. Colorful stands
offered a variety of cold fruity drinks and ice cream. Kids took advantage of their parents’ good mood and
pointed at everything.

He didn’t notice the girls showing off their golden tan under short summer dresses. A blond girl in white
said hi, and then frowned when he didn’t even give a glance. People smiled at him, it was a beautiful day,
but he just stared ahead.

Lan’s boss in Channel 8 just demoted him to paparazzi duty. It was like a personal insult to him and his
journalistic potential.

“It was only for a few weeks,” Mr. Perez, the boss told him, smiling affably. “We already know you’re
good, but it doesn’t hurt to learn a few other things.”

That might have been okay. Later, he learned that the boss’s son took his position as junior reporter. The
boss’s jackass son who can’t even do a line unless it was white and powdery and he can snort it up his
nose.

Lan cursed under his breath. He kept walking, head down.

And collided with a girl walking her dog.

Even as the black Labrador in a yellow leash barked a warning, the gasping girl was knocked off her feet,
landing hard on her butt.

She touched her face where she smacked it on his chest during the impact. And looked up to pin him with
a violet stare. She didn’t notice the dog, which, as if asking if she’s okay, began sniffing her hair.

The girl sat on the pavement for a heartbeat, as if expecting him to help her get up. When he didn’t offer a
hand, or an apology, she glared at him and pushed herself off the street. He stepped back, bewitched by
the angry violet eyes.

“Come on, Rover,” the girl said to the Lab, picking up his leash. She gave him another glare and walked
off, her head high.

He watched her glide on the pavement as if it was a runway, silky hair dancing on the breeze. Rover, the
black Lab turned to look at him for a few moments.

Something silver glistened on the sun-drenched sidewalk. He picked up the chain bracelet, where a small
purple stone dangled brightly in the sun.
He started to call for her but she already disappeared in the crowd. He placed the girl’s bracelet in his
jeans pocket and walked home. For a while, he forgot he was pissed and thought about the violet-eyed
girl.

For the first time this morning, he smiled.

The apartment in Greenview, where Lan lived with a roommate lay between a popular Italian restaurant
and a bakeshop. It was an old brownstone that used to be a school for the arts, and a stone’s throw away
from El Soleis’ business district.

They have a two-bedroom flat on the top floor, and the view from the row of glass windows in the living
room was spectacular. They could see the rounded green hills of Medoni all the way to Mt. Lukian in the
north. To the east was a glowing panorama of the Pacific Ocean.

He and Mike, the roommate and best friend lucked out with their digs. The rent was surprisingly
affordable. The real estate agent failed to tell them any reason; cheap rent is unheard of in this part of the
city, and they didn’t ask. The place was perfect. They painted the walls a deep midnight blue, polished the
pine floors and bought comfortable furniture from a nearby thrift shop.

On her first and hopefully last visit, Lan’s mother took one look at the place and said, “It looks a bit like
Chi-Chi’s doghouse.”

That was last year.

Lan nodded to the doorman, took the elevator to the 10th floor. It was almost lunchtime and he was
thinking of ordering some lasagna and biscotti from the Italian joint next door.

He fished the house keys from his pocket and briefly touched the amethyst bracelet the girl with the dog
left earlier. It seemed a bit warm to the touch. He shrugged and unlocked the door.

Regina Sander sat on the overstuffed sofa among a cloud of cigarette smoke. She smiled when he
entered, then blew another smoke ring into the air. Chi-Chi the Chihuahua stopped gnawing on a pillow
under a side table.

“Hello, Mother,” he said, yanking off the earphones. “This is a surprise.” He placed the iPod on the table
and leaned in to kiss her cheek.

Regina is forty-seven, but looks a well-preserved thirty-eight. She was still a striking woman; dark curling
hair to her shoulders, large brown eyes and a slim figure from doing Pilates two days a week.

“Lan, honey,” she smiled, surveying the room. She brushed ashes off her Dior suit. “I’d have thought you’ll
get tired of this charade.”

“Huh?” He sunk into an armchair across from her.

“This!” She pointed at the room with her cigarette. Ashes fell from it like snowflakes. “I know you’re having
this rebellious streak, honey. But it’s been a year now, you’ve got to stop.”

Chi-Chi was trying to jump into her lap. She ignored the dog.

“I already told you on the phone, Mother,” he sighed. “I’m not going back home. I like it here.”

An awesome view, lots of space, privacy when he and Mike invite girls over.

And no domineering mothers ruling them under iron thumbs, he thought.

“Well, then. If you’re not going to move out of this… this dump, I booked you the penthouse suite at the
Cordina. You can stay there until we find you a more suitable flat.”

Nice try, he thought, smiling a little. The Cordina Hotel in Peach Brook was just two blocks from one of
their families’ home in the city. He’d be plagued by one of Regina’s surprise visits. And she’d be pushing
one of her socialite friends’ daughters to him. He would not have any peace.

“No, Mother. I’m not leaving.”

Half an hour later, Lan was offered a Jaguar, a new iPhone, and a date with Kristin Stewart. All just to
tempt him to move out. He almost gave in.

Finally, she scooped the dog. “Plans tomorrow night?”

Before he could make up an excuse, she said, “Great. The Adares are celebrating their eighth
anniversary tomorrow night. Since your father can’t make it, you’ll be my escort.”

“But-“

“Don’t wear jeans. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” She kissed his cheek and left, trailing smoke
behind her.

He sighed.

Then he remembered the amethyst bracelet. He flipped open his phone and dialed.

***

I was still seething when I got home from walking Rover. Not because of the rude guy, no. But also
because I lost the bracelet Dad got me from his last trip to Milan.

“He probably stole it!” I told Rover as I poured a pile of dog biscuits into his bowl. “He knew it’s mine and
didn’t even tell me I dropped it. I won’t be surprised actually; he looks like the thieving type.”

I dropped the bowl to the floor. Rover dug in, stopped and looked at me. It was like he’s waiting for me to
say more. Sometimes, I swore like he’s actually listening to me like a real person.

“Next thing I know, I’ll see it in some pawn shop window.” I sat down on the kitchen stool and propped my
arms on the counter. For a while, I complained and mumbled as I watched the dog eat. When I heard the
car pull up in the drive and the succeeding blare of the horn, I knew that Asher has returned from school.

Rover followed me to the front door. A flurry of activity and chatter that were characteristics of Asher’s
return charmed a smile to my face.

He and the dog wrestled on the floor for a while and then he gave me a fierce hug.

“We went to the museum today,” he said excitedly.l He reached into his backpack and pulled out a cap
shaped like a growling T-Rex.

We spent the next few minutes talking about the exciting things they've done at the museum. Then he ran
up the stairs to change. I went back to the kitchen to prepare his favorite chocolate chip cookies and glass
of cold milk. Am I a good aunt or what?

And I waited for him to come rushing down the stairs again. But of course, he didn't. He was gone.
And I was too late.

By This Ghost

To be continued...