I knew there were nights when she wouldn’t sleep. I’d be up at 4:00am and she’d still be in front of that goddamn computer. Her music was always loud, day or night. It only gets quiet when she’s reading or finally tired from all the nonsense she engaged in. Sometimes, she’d be up just reading until sunrise. On rare nights, I recall watching her stealthily from outside her green room, plucking the guitar to sing a song by the Beatles. I don’t have a clue what other songs she was playing, but I looked forward to hearing her voice even in the late hours. Especially at late hours-- there’s a calm tenderness to her voice when she tries to sing herself to sleep.
When she was a lot younger, I’d find her sleeping soundly with the guitar right beside her. She used to sing all day on weekends. Her friends came over a lot to make loud music. It was bad music, but who cares? Those kids had fun then.
That summer, I barged into her room a couple of times. During those nights, I would catch her speakers on full blast. The neighbor’s dog was always whimpering. I never had enough sleep. I would tell her to keep it down. She would drive me out and shut the door on my face. She has always been inconsiderate. This was the usual scenario, until we both just lost it.
Anlakas-lakas! Matulo—
Huwag ka ngang pakialamera!
Punyeta! Bat ba ayaw mo sumunod?
Tang ina! Pabayaan mo nga ako!
She slammed the door. I hated her. I hate that she hates me.
That summer was different. Most nights, she didn't come home. There's this dead air in the house.
who is she?
ReplyDeleteIt's her sister. By the way, this is fiction. I just wrote an excerpt.
ReplyDelete