Page 79 - The Flame

Butterflies By ZENDY VICTORIA SUE G. VALENCIA

er.
Remedios spent the day buried in the piles
of paperwork that had grown on her
desk after weeks of neglect. She rang in unison, that often times, Remedios’s
ticked each sheet almost secretary found her in a state of bewilderment,
mechanically, with the holding two telephones at a time to both her V.
flick of her wrist. One ears—shouting at both, in utter confusion, and It was only a matter of moving closer.
could hear its bones then, at her secretary, once she had noticed The new brick house was an attempt to
cracking with each him at her door. When asked what she wanted, forget. It stood three storeys high, slightly tilt-
movement, as a she would simply reply that there was some- ing to the left. The insides of the house looked
violent looking one on line two who wished to speak to her, a bare, the walls were made of concrete, painted
check mark sister who lived in the province, after which he a spotless white. The floor was covered tiles of
tore over walked away hurriedly as he felt his knees about brown marble that made the echo of footsteps
the pag- to crumble to the ground from fright. be heard every time someone walked down-
es. Her It was her sister, Nita, calling her to report stairs. The cabinets were made of wood, some
fingers the latest gossip heard in the barrio. Another el- empty and others filled with china pieces that
derly had died, were they going to give a hefty no one dared to touch.
donation? Would she answer for the rest of her Mariano and his two daughters, Lita and
eight siblings like she always did? Remedios re- Evelyn lived in it, with fake smiles plastered on
luctantly answered that she would, thinking at their faces each time they passed each other on
the back of her mind, when all this was going any floor or in the morning going off to work.
to stop—when will her siblings going to take The struggle was heard in each of their voices as
charge of their own lives? When will anybody they ate their words trying to make small talk as
going to take charge of their own lives? they took turns microwaving their own packets
Oh, and another thing, her sister inquired, a of instant pasta or leftovers.
worried tone in her voice, when was she send- Their existence were defined by these
ing money for her ailing brother Anton’s medi- spaces—the opening and closing of doors, the
cines? His condition was getting worse every whirring of the microwave, and footsteps on the
day. marble floor.
Defeated, Remedios answered that she Little did they know that it was only a mat-
would send the money that afternoon. ter of moving closer, of filling the gaps between
With a sigh, she thought, When? words and bodies. It was only a matter of keep-
ing their doors open, of shutting off the micro-
IV. wave, and painting the walls a different color.
Remedios was born from a rich family. Her But most of all, it was a matter of bringing
father had inherited the old wealth given to him Remedios home.
by his mother, Lola Apyang, who had forced
him to study engineering at Mapua, a fact that VI.
would later be the bane of Remedios’s life. Her Dusk came, and the butterflies still had not
father, convinced that it was the only way to come. The rain had started once more, pouring
ensure his daughter’s financial security and fu- over the village as though the clouds had turned
ture, forced her to marry a man who came from into bucket, the water settling into groups of pud-
the same university and practiced the same dles on the ground.
profession. Although throngs of men had come Inside, Remedios felt small. She pursed her
begging Carding for his daughter’s hand in mar- lips as she cried, her shoulders shaking with ev-
riage, he had only smiled upon Mariano, her ery outburst of sobs. She pressed Felia’s picture
now taciturn husband, who had a different way to her breast with the force of a mad woman, that
of feeling—non-feeling. the frame had made the impression of itself on
punched Growing up, Remedios was always expected her skin. Water had started to drip from an open-
in num- to take care of everyone while her father was ing on the roof, and she listened. Every moment
bers with away on business trips. Her mother Francia, seemed insignificant to her, mere water droplets
ANGELI B. VALENZUELA such pur- treated her as though she had grown apart from hitting the floor—a hole on the roof.
pose as she her eight other siblings. She used heavy hands She closed her eyes and imagined—a spec-
calculated the com- and words, her favorite disciplinary acts, which trum of colors created by fleeting butterflies as
pany’s expenses. The had left scars on Remedios’ very being, when she swayed back and forth, back and forth. Her
numbers grew larger each she had failed to clean a group of dust clouds cries swelled with sorrow, until she could do
passing year, but she did this in a corner of the house, or when the laundry nothing more but breathe. Breathing—the mem-
with an exactness, that often came out in all the colors of the rainbow. ory of her daughter’s voice becoming one with
times her accountant, a stubby, There were no hugs. There were no good the clouds. Slower, slower, slower, until Remedios
middle-aged lady, with short hair, just night kisses. No warmth in her mother’s eyes. lay still, breathless.
sat in one corner, nodding her head in scared And until today, Remedios carried the cold- The butterflies would come soon. F
affirmation, afraid to contradict a woman who ness within her as she wondered when she
seemingly possessed such a fierce passion for would be free.
money.
Each of the four phone lines in her office
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