The Rise in Falling

It’s difficult to calculate her age, Vic decided as the van that carried them hurtled carefully—if there was such a thing as careful hurtling—through paved roads that snaked through a mostly rural community. Her hair was cut in a style that was in league with that of three giggling college girls huddled in the back seat, gaily discussing misadventures in the plane among themselves. Vic thought of Jennifer Aniston and Courteney Cox. The bridge of her nose rose from her almost-delicate face like the sharp tip of an iceberg. Her lips seemed to be made of gossamer, pink and tinged with red in places. But her eyes, Vic continued observing, especially when she stole glances at the people around her—Vic included—exuded a knowledge that was clearly beyond the image that the white sleeveless cotton blouse, short denim skirt, leather thong sandals and the strings of colored glass beads she wore around her neck and wrists projected.

Vic ended up sitting with her at the conference because the participants were seated alphabetically. “How juvenile,” he heard her mutter softly. When she saw him looking at her, mildly astonished, she threw him a smile that seemed a little cruel. At lunch Vic sat with a willowy girl who spoke, in a chirpy voice, of her joy for making it to the conference and a short, silent young man who sported a child’s buzz cut and smile. Vic fervently hoped that Grace wouldn’t sit with them as he looked at the fourth empty chair by their table. So when a deep, Cebuano-accented voice asked no one of them in particular if that seat was taken, Vic replied with relief that it wasn’t.

Manila and everyone in it were the last things on Vic’s mind as the conference proceeded. He had never been this far from his mother, who would surely have complained had she learned of the hours that he kept in this place. Three hours of sleep each day at the most; the nights distilled with hours of talking, discussing, arguing with his new-found friends who shared a passion he had denied himself for so long—writing. His mother would surely have been perplexed to know that her only son drank Red Horse straight from the bottle like the neighborhood thugs who patronized her store for the last ten years or so. She would have staunchly objected to the views on religion expressed by her Catholic school-educated boy. But Vic knew that more than these, the one thing that would surely drive his mother crazy was the fact that these views were accepted and validated and even encouraged. Mother had always been choosy, especially with her son’s friends. Vic realized this, and was swiftly thankful he was in the conference, if only to show the slightest hint of rebellion.

Still, Vic thought, it’s not as if I haven’t done my share of rebelling in the past. Much of it was, of course, unknown to her, but still they were things that clearly defied what his mother had set down as the right things to do.

Grace never joined these nocturnal brain-picking sessions. She slept, or at least went to her room between nine-thirty and ten and by the time Vic would wake up and go out of his room to stretch on the resort grounds, Grace would be already dressed, sipping coffee by the porch. Vic felt somewhat unnerved knowing Grace could see him doing his morning exercises. When he tried to see if she was looking at him, he almost fell over that he was sure anybody would have laughed had they seen it. But she didn’t laugh at all.

Near the end of the first week of the conference, Vic noted with mild surprise Grace’s presence around the group of eight gathered around the dining table, a pitcher of San Miguel beer sweating itself unto the vinyl placemat Amy had strategically placed underneath it. The solitary glass they shared sat half-empty in front of Arturo. Next it would be Chris’ turn. Grace wore a red flannel robe that hugged her body tightly, her hair falling languidly on her shoulders. Upon seeing her, Gail moved a little, pointed to a space in the chair where she eventually sat. All of the six chairs were taken; Tanya, Arnie and Len even shared one seat. Vic thought of offering his chair to Grace but when she sat with Gail he maintained his silence. Mark had just finished his tirade about his college by saying that the dean he detested offered him a job at the college right after he graduated the next summer.