Lacking Fragments: A Novel (Completed)

Maya's Favor for Secrecy IV

I led my daughter all the way up to the balcony. Behind me, Kiki made sure I was leading all the way up. At night she always fears she might see a ghost, aswang, kapre, or manananggal. My daughter wanted me to fight for her safety; I don't forget. If we encounter one of those, she said, please protect me. All as we were stepping upstairs, along with her frightened expression, Kiki had her hand tightly grasped on my gray shirt. She was clutching at the lower part of my back, tight-grasped. All while her other hand was holding onto a small jug of mineral water, of which she proffered to take from refrigerator up there to the balcony.

     Midway to our destination, still she wouldn't let go clutching at my shirt. This continued until we finally reached the upstairs. I switched the Christmas lights, as promised; lights started blinking in no time, giving liveliness to the darkest place of the house, during night, midnight. These lights offered different colors of illumination, that is, aside from the pale white moon superior to our heads. And now, with these lights on, Kiki went from being a scared cat to a girl looking complacent— as if no ghost, monsters, nor mythical creatures would make their entrance towards our fields of vision. None.

     Kiki and I then sat on the purple carpet. I placed down the two plates I was holding. On each of my hand there lay two types of cooked eggs: one with scrambled; other, sunny side up. Both had gold fried rice in the middle of each plate, and steam was still smoking up to the air. And when all seemed to be settled, me and Kiki and plates full of dishes, I lent her the plate with the sunny side up eggs— in which she thanked me with a smile as she received. I kept the other one, the scrambled eggs.

     In my peripheral vision, on some nearby houses were Christmas lights more numerous; brighter, and even way grander than ours. Don't get me wrong. Our house might be the most elegant-looking house around, in this subdivision, however, our Christmas lights were looking inexpensive than others. Ours were less ten meters—perhaps only seven meters at most as its exact measure—that it made Kiki to comment. "Father," she said, "why do our lights look shorter than others?"

     I didn't answer her. It wasn't me who brought them in the first place, it was her mother.

     "Look at that house," Kiki demanded, in tone of her envy. So I looked. First, she stopped saying a word and took a spoonful of her sunny side up. Then she continued, "That's it, that one over there."

     "And so? What about it?"

     "Compared to our lights, they own more than thrice of what we have here."

     "You sure?"

     She nodded.

     "Alright," I told her, "it's still on anyway."

     "Yes, I heard earlier," she replied. "At last!"

     "Tomorrow, you can count on that," I reminded. I emphasized the implication of a new videogame, on its way towards the palms of her hands. Meanwhile, she was busy munching the sunny side up eggs I made, savoring its average taste. "You excited?"

     "Obviously," she admitted, after a spoonful of simple homemade dinner. "Don't get me wrong, too. It's not just about the new videogame I'm after— it is way more than that."

     "Including Christmas lights?" I asked, pointing at what she previously pointed. "Longer ones like that, I assure you. I'll get that. We'll buy prettier ones— more than that house, or that house. If your mother resists, well, I'll tell her I'm using my own pension savings. No exemptions."