LACKING FRAGMENTS: A Novel (Completed)

Chapter 5: A Figurine, a Restaurant, a Scene

V. A Figurine, a Restaurant, a Scene

My wife, my daughter, and I went to the supermall next morning. It was a typical sunny day of December first; one of those perfect Saturdays, when almost all members of any family have time mainly to take a break off every day mundane. I, for one, had been waiting patiently for this day to happen. In consideration of how I spend my morning time during weekdays, my time when I'm mostly alone (and as if feeling like I have all the time in the world), without hesitation I'd enter a raffle consisting a holiday ticket to somewhere beautiful as its prize— hoping I would win it; with luck involving law of attraction, charming the universe to make me the winner for vacation.

     But here in the province, if you're eager to get somewhere you'd been planning to go, first of all you have to have any transportation vehicle. Be it bike, motorcycle, tricycle or car— a person has to acquire either one if he wants to take a breather. For the roads; for the paths on the way to destination; mostly the constructions were started pretty neat, but then for the finished products, they turned out to be steep. At least, most roads here in the province where we had settled, they remained filled with holes even after operations. Why, not enough cement.

     And the bottom line of why I say such things is for one reason. Our family owned neither one of mentioned means, no transportation vehicle.

     Well, however, we used to have a car before. A few years before Kiki's birth, Annalise and I got a car deal back in the mainland. Back when we were still living there. And well, now I remember us as a couple—when she was only my girlfriend—having so many plans for us and our promised future. She wanted an elegant house, of which we both had built and acquired later on. Then she wanted a little girl, and so we made love and took our chance to make a baby; as for plan, we named her Kiki. For the third 'necessity' in her own wording, my wife wanted a travel car, to roam the faraway lands in this province we chose. All of those things, and many more.

     Speaking of the car deal we used to undergo, through a continuous pay for the contract every month—for almost like a year—we then suddenly got short in cash and had debts. As a couple we first dealt with our health insurances; also sacrificed things. Without a choice we surrendered important things; of course, among those involved our car deal necessity. Too bad, but it happened.

     As the most painful let-go for her, the dream house she planned ever since high school, had been put into delay, unfortunately. It was a tough scene and decision; so tough I recall the times she didn't talk to me for a week straight. Not a single word, and no exchange of phrases. "I'm supposed to have it by thirty! Why, of course you know that, I told you that," it was that time when Annalise argued with me; mixed of conviction and dashing hopes. "I'm thirty-five now, and this is insane— the more I think of it. I guess I gotta plan things all over again. Revamp my dreams. Gotta think it over. We can't just settle for what we have now. Don't you ever think of the future of our child? I want to give her a wealthy life." When we talked it down and compromised then, as boyfriend and girlfriend we let go of it—the car deal—and focused more on provincial lot.

     "It's tough to let go of the car deal, but perhaps we rushed things," was what I said that time. "We accepted the contract without sleeping on it first. Like in a warfare game, Annalise, instead of ourselves taking one step at a time, you and I went offense real-quick without thinking it over. We lacked planning."

     Annalise was in her mid-thirties; I was already in my forties then. I was old enough, obviously, and most of my peers might already be settled down somewhere. The idea of them, though, doesn't stay in mind for a long time. As soon as I found myself thinking about my old friends, my elementary teachers, my high school teachers, my college professors, my old acquaintances, soon I redirected my thoughts to accessible things. Like, to the things I perceive when I'm on the balcony.