Who are you to talk?

April 21, 2013

7:15 am

Christine Romulo

It is time once more to go to church.

I have my sheet music sitting on my lap as Margaret and I are being driven to church by our chauffeur. In our car, I see Margaret reading more and more case studies about gynecology on her tablet. I see bags forming under her eyes with her eyes shining like glass. On her side is her phone. It suddenly rings like soft chimes again. Once more, there is that contact head in the name of Edward. And, there goes the same reaction. She simply rejects the call and continues her reading. Before continuing to read, I see her look at me sharply like a thousand knives.

"What?" she asks tartly.

"Nothing," I say as softly as I can. "It's just that why are you not answering his calls? He's been calling you for a lot of times since yesterday. Shouldn't you be, I don't know, answering his calls?"

She just shakes her head and turns her attention on her tablet again. "Christine, I won't have you meddling with my relationships for I do not meddle with yours. In any case, relationships can wait, but my last year in my gynecology residency can't."

"But did you even bother to tell Edward that you are busy? Can't you just tell him that you need a little break and time? I mean it would greatly help your relationship if you would."

She just laughs at me scornfully. "Who are you to talk about relationships, Christine? What are you? Some love guru? All your relationships are either for your personal gain, for the sake of taking them down, and pretenses. Unlike you, mine is a genuine one that, Lord willing, will end in marriage. Edward can and will understand."

She's being unreasonable. I feel like there is more to it than just simple busyness. In fact, I see slight tears forming in her eyes. She can pass it off as eye strain, but I think she is hiding something. "Life is not all about studying, Margaret," I say to her frankly. "Sometimes you have to give your time to those you love."

"And you give time to those you love?" she retorts back. "Stop talking as if you are righteous, Christine. You are one to talk but know not what you are talking about."

As I was about to answer back, she just raises a finger as if to stop me from talking. "And, no. I will not hear about it. This will be the last time that I shall hear you reprimanding me about my relationships and my choices."

And then, she just continues her reading. I see her shake her head as if she is trying to keep her focus. She has been reading the same page for several minutes, and yet it is still not going into her head. I want to tell her that she should take a break, but she will hear nothing of it. I could just sigh and look out my window. If only she would just rest and actually answer Edward's calls, maybe those pages would get into her head.

*

When we have finally arrived at the church, I take the moment to relish in the atmosphere of the church. Every time I come here, I keep noticing more and more intricate details in this church. As I look closely on the stained-glass windows, I see each panel depicting each station of the cross. There are twelve stations in total and each of them are beautifully made to complement the beauty of this church.

I head for the piano where I can relish in its sweet ivories and complementing ebonies. As I was about to play, I see Margaret on her knees by the prie-dieu. Right, I do know something is up. I open the covers of the piano, so I can get a glimpse of its beauty. When I accidentally pressed a key, I see an inscription written on the side of a key.

"quia non erit inpossibile apud Deum omne verbum"

When translated, it reads, "For with God nothing shall be impossible."

On the other side, there is another Latin phrase. As I continue pressing every key on the piano, I keep seeing various Latin phrases written on the wooden parts of the sides the keys of the piano. Then, I realized. These are verses from the bible. What can I say? I can simply commend the engraver for having the patience to engrave Latin phrases (mind you, it was extremely small and hard to read) on the wooden part of the side of the keys.

What an amusing piano this is indeed. Since Mister Silang is still not here, I guess I'll just play another piece on here. Let's try that La Campanella according to Liszt's arrangement.

As I play the piece, somehow, I feel a part of my wrist aching as I continue. I mind it not as I go on, but as I reach the trills I feel my wrist and a part of my hand aching that I had to stop all of a sudden. Dear god! This is embarrassing. As a church pianist-in-training, the congregation must see that their pianist is good and blessed with the talents of God. Any sign of mistake is a sign that the pianist is not blessed.

And, someone did see.

It's the same man with that smug look on his face every time I play. Of course, it figures. Morris. As Margaret would say, "who are you to talk?" I look back into where Margaret was praying, but then she's gone. Where on earth is she now again? But then, I see Morris approach the altar as if he would once more pay respect. However, I thought wrong. It turns out that he went for the altar to talk to me.

"May I have a word with you?"

What an odd man indeed. I am not playing the game right now, and yet, it is he that made the first move. I could not help but let out a smile for him.

"Sure, what is it?"

He looks around the church as if he is looking for someone. "How is Margaret doing right now?"

Of course, Margaret. I forgot. This man is Margaret's best friend. How could I forget? I just let out a laugh under my breath. "Busy, I guess. She's been reading a lot lately. After all, this is her last year in her residency. Better not fuck it up."

I expect him to reproach me for my language, but it seems that the words just go over his head. "Christine, could you at least be a little more specific?" – he stops short somehow as if he is choosing the right words to say – "Look, she's not answering my calls, and neither is she answering her boyfriend's calls. I'm just worried. Is she alright?"

I just shrug at his words. "Yeah, I think. It's just the usual Margaret at home. She's always reading, always preparing for her day at the hospital, always busy. About the calls, yeah. I did tell her to pick up the phone, but she keeps saying 'relationships can wait' and 'don't tell me what to do.' How about you talk to her? Maybe she'll listen to you."

"She's not listening to me," he says. "I figured that, as her sister, she might listen to you."

"Look, I already tried. I tried giving her some relationship advice, but she ain't having it because of my" – I find myself stopping short as I find the right words to say – "past relationships." I cannot help but just shake it all off. Must he have me spell everything out for him? "Look, you know what I mean. She's not listening to me nor is she listening to anyone."

"Yeah, your track record of sex is really not that great," he says under his breath while looking away.

Well, blimey! I'm offended. I could slap him right now, but as a minister-in-training, I can't. I have to portray "virtue". If only we are outside the church right now, I would have slapped you head on. "Well, sir, who are you to talk? You are part of a congregation, and yet you judge those who engage in promiscuity. You might not engage in fornication, and yet, you will go to hell. Why? You think yourself as God for you already judge. Such 'righteousness' indeed."

I just seem him give an easy smile amidst all this. Why, this only offends me more. "Christine, I did not judge you. It was a stated fact. Rumors fly. That's how it is in your world. I said nothing that judges you. In fact, it is you that judged me. Don't you think that, by your words, puts your place in hell?"

He smirks like a man holding his laughter on the inside. Well, what can he say? Well played. "Alright, you win," I say as I acknowledge his words. "Touché. Well said argument indeed."

This man will always be a challenge more than I. He could continue smirking, but he knows his limits. "As I said, Christine. I can play your game as you do yours. Speaking of games, how is that boy you were with a few days ago? Weren't you two enjoying your night at The Walled Village."

And, this is exactly the talk I wanted to avoid. His smugness is one I truly want to chop off his face. "Why?" I ask sharply. "Is it your business to know who I date?"

"Not really," he says easily. "But you are just playing a game. Miss Romulo, though however you project yourself as that unpredictable fiery spirit that takes down corrupt minds, you are one easy lady to predict. Let me drop it here right now. Don't play the game on me. I am not someone that can be led easily into beds and into sex. I'm not that kind of person. If, however, you are going to use a person in your game, think twice. That person can be your biggest downfall."

My eyebrows meet amidst my confusion on what he just said. Look, I know he warned me against seducing me, but I cannot understand what he means. "What are you trying to say?" I say slowly.

He leans closer as if he someone might hear. "Don't choose Macedo," he whispers frankly. "There are some people that you should not play with and it is him and his family. He can take you down as easily as earthquakes take down the tallest of buildings."

With that, he walks away with a victorious smile on his face. Still, I cannot help but think. I already took down the Governor Macedo. Why should I worry about his son? I mean, it's not like we are going to meet again. That was my first and only date with Mateo and I shan't play any more games with that man due to his association with his father.

I could only shake the thought away. However, as I look up, I see a figure with jet-black hair and olive skin at the doors of the church. I cannot mistake who it is.

Mateo.

*

I thought we had seen the last of each other, but I thought wrong. He returns as if he is seeking me. As he enters the church, I see him dip his hand on some holy water and make a sign of the cross. With that, he just lets out a smile at what he did. I see him gaze at my direction with a laughing smile at his face. On his other hand, I see him hold a full bouquet of roses. He approaches me with much gladness as if we had not seen each other in years.

"Well, good morning, lady minister," he says teasingly.

In this, I cannot help but remember what Morris had said. Mateo is a completely different person than his father. Why would he take revenge against me? In any case, romance is not a revenge that would work against me. If he attempts revenge by breaking my heart, then he is clearly not good at the art of vengeance. Only I can do that.

Anyway, I just shake the thought away. I turn to face Mateo with a smile on my face. "A pleasant morning to you, Mister Macedo."

I can hardly keep myself from laughing at this nonsensical formality. Even he finds it amusing that I returned his greetings. "Right, I suppose we all change our personalities once we are inside the church like the old woman and the modern woman," he remarks. "I suppose I, too, would change for I had come to formally ask you out on a date."

He then hands me the flowers as if a gesture of courtship. I do not take it immediately. I simply laugh under my breath at this absurd cliché. "Flowers, how typical. So, are we now a pair in courtship like couples in cheap pocket books?"

"No, I was just handing you this so that you could point to me where to actually put this. I plan to offer it to the Virgin Mary."

I say nothing. I do not know if he actually means it. If he is, the statue of the Virgin Mary is beside the enormous crucifix. He can just put it there. In any case, he can just read the inscription that says, "the Blessed Virgin Mary." In my silence, he laughs. "Oh, come on, Christine! I was just trying to make you laugh. I guess that kind of joke doesn't humor you. Here, I hope it makes you happy that, even though I plan on offering this to Our Lady, I could give it to the lady in front of me."

He really has to play it with his cheesy pick-up lines. I just rolled my eyes at his own amusement and take the bouquet away from him. In front of me, I see the delicate petals of each rose. All twelve of them are as soft as a feather on a spring day. I smelled the gentle scent of the roses. It was as if I am in a garden filled with them. As I look up, I can see Morris in his seat. He shakes his face in the sight that he sees.

In our game, it is still he that refuses to be played.