Drabbles

Lovely Lisa

You know how sometimes, girls just bitch at people for a couple of days before going back to normal like nothing happened? How they sleep in or sluggishly do things because their bodies are sucked of energy from it coming out as red? How they'd eat and eat regardless of the time or day?

Well, I know every guy has experienced it a couple of times in their lives.

I've been living in a small apartment with my girlfriend whom I've been with for 8 years, since we were in high school. Our lovestory started quite weirdly compared to others. She was on her 'days' that particular Monday and since we had P.E on Mondays and Thursdays, she had no choice but participate or else she'd fail and had to take summer lessons. Right when it's her turn to run and jump over a poll, her anemia kicked in and she tripped on her feet as she ran off. No guy dared to carry her because, well, some blood leaked on her gym shorts. I was considerate enough to do it, so I carried her to the Nurse's Office where her friends called her mom to come pick her up with clothes. Us boys were done with our P.E, so I volunteered to watch over her till her mom comes. In the end, I became her sort of guardian, so much so that I pledged to everyone that I'll watch over her always. Then starts our relationship.

Her anemia never went away, so whenever she had her menstruation, I'd be the errand boy and her slave till it passes. I'd clean the house, buy the groceries, cook food, do the laundry, iron the clothes, and even buy her napkins when she runs out. It's hard work, I tell you. While she laid in bed or sluggishly went to work or school, I was frantically doing the chores for her.

The chores were a pain in the ass, but what beats them all are her constant mood swings and desperate needs for a body pillow. I was thrown each mood that comes my way, may it be unreasonable anger, childish stubbornness, or weird giddiness. Whatever the heck it is, I tried to be a rational man because I probably was the only guy she knows who'd go this far for her and her sometimes stupid whims.

Even if I had work or projects to do, I was told to do this, do that, go here, go there. Normally, that'd push any guy to madness. But looking at her pale, weak form on our bed, those glazed eyes dozing off because she felt so weak, I couldn't find it in me to go and say, "We're done!" to her.

It annoyed me, though, more times than I think. Before, I snapped at her and left the apartment for the whole day, coming home late at night to find her sprawled on the floor and unconscious. It scared me so much that I think if I found out she died or had to be hospitalized for a long time, I couldn't show myself to her or to anyone we know. I was crying then, too. My love for her that sprouted from worry for her and her anemic body had me completely devote myself to taking care of her and loving her, even if she becomes a little bitch when I don't buy her ice cream and sweets. From then on, I promised to myself again that I'd never leave her.

These things I do for her five days a month for 8 years were awarded with constant love and joyful smiles from my girlfriend. She'd cook whatever food I'd want to eat when she knows I'm bothered or tired or pissed. She'd do my part of the chores when I work extra hours or when college puts another load of projects and assignments for me to do. And she'll try cheering me up, make silly faces when I'm down and go out with me to the city for some fun.

And when I had enough bullshit and storm off for a whole day or two days without coming home, she'll welcome me with delicious food on the table and a warm smile on her face. Anemic still, Lisa would be waiting at home anytime until I come back, arms open wide when I go inside, miserable. But really, even if I was pissed and tried drowning myself with alcohol, Lisa would hug me to her, warm and relieved.

Her sobs would be near my ear as my body bent down to her height. It doesn't matter if I weighed ten kilos more than her, or if my clothes stank with alcohol or smoke or sweat, or if I was still angry, Lisa would accept me with the aura of a girl who no guy would be able to get unless they go through what I do.

"Welcome home, Gabe."

And that voice of hers, filled with love and care and relief for me, automatically has an answer; one that I'd be sure sounded like I was begging for forgiveness even if I'm innocent.

"I'm sorry, Lisa."