Our Brazilian nanny's voice. I figure she's in real trouble again because she roars like a dragon.
"Romeo! You're drinking again, aren't you?" she says. " How many times do I have tell you?"
Her question hangs only in the air. I'm not in the mood to lambast her with all the words every priest/minister/pastor will never divinely like or might convince each one of them that I am one on their hit chart as candidate to be thrown in the eternal damnation of a thousand lakes of fire and brimstones.
"Drinking isn't the solution, face your problem," she shouts.
I only say, "Hmm."
And she says from down there, "Hmm."
She's unpredictable but I have been giving her the benefit of the doubt since the last time I told her that I had a problem with her face of which she cried with a cry so loud you wanted to bang her with the largest baseball bat on earth.
But she's pretty cool. She cooks breakfast, the best on the planet. She does laundry like lightning, and gives me presents accompanied with the word: unexpected. In the sense that she does give me gifts whenever she likes to. One of the gifts I have from her is this Stephen Curry 30 sweatshirt on my side and I wore few moments ago. And I received it not on Christmas, not on birthday but on Halloween.
When I blink, I find her right in front of me, holding something.
I have cross-eyed around while she's intensely scrutinizing all of my face. Not in a while, she's handing me that something. It occurs to be another bottle of Tanduay.
"Okay, that's the last one," she says with a voice like Oprah when calm.
I grip the neck and roll the gold-like head thing to open. And I say, "I need some ice." And she says unpredictably(as I said), "Get it yourself!"
I have decided to draw Tanduay without it.
It is quite sometimes a liberating experience that someone understands you while you're deliberating on how to die with a mere Tanduay.
There's a long moment of silence.
I blink and it appears to be unpleasantly tragic. It's exactly thirty minutes later when I only find myself on a not-so-deadly situation.
Everything is done fast.
People are roaring, some second-rate trying hard copycats, some modestly pathetic.
"Don't do that!" a blonde in ponytail has been shouting before I see her. She looks like a girl I'm used to hangout with but I can't find her in my dizzy brain, let alone her name.
And she waves as though she's my best friend or lover. One thing I'm sure of, I don't have female so close to me except the missing Julia, let alone a lover.
"Don't!" she says it again emphatically.
"Don't do that!" they almost sing in deadly chorus.
YOU ARE READING
Kissing Julia Goodbye
Novela JuvenilMeo's life is flat with a heavy mass of eternal paper works, but a twist named Julia strikes in on a dull February, it seems he finds his forever. And the moment he's hundred percent sure to tell her he can't live without her, Julia's gone, a bubble...
