CHAPTER 2: Dinner Time
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30 minutes in stuck traffic and mother’s incessant coughs does not stop her veiny fingers from tapping and switching the groaning radio. A static radio asking mother to stop, with unnatural whispers whistling in between channels. Bopil’s ears ring, his hand pats down the clingy fingers.
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“sorry” swerving the car and passing by a famed governor’s mansion. Protesters swatting their signs ‘stop rampant gun violence!’, ‘gun safety!’, at men in military uniform.
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“So how was school today?” Mother coughs, one hand on the scratched steering wheel while the other holds her walkie talkie. She is making a call with someone, talking about a new tenant and stuff that Bopil simply dazes out the window. “Hey, I asked” she nudges him a finger, startling the boy to sit up.
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“I’d love the chicken!” He whisper his shaky reply, eyes still flying outside
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Mother sighs, shaking her head “you weren’t listening.”
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“…” Streetlights pass by as Bopil sits in silence. Holding his breath hostage. Wishing for twenty minutes to quickly fizzle. There is no need to be statue tense but on his periphery, mother is applying her lipstick and makeup. No hands on the wheel. Cars screech by in a second blur, accelerating faster and faster before jumping on the slope down the bridge.
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She kisses him on the forehead, leaving a mark. “Don’t wipe it off.”
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Bopil nods as the car slowly deaccelerates.
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“Before I forget to tell you.” clearing her throat, “On the way to the parking lot back at school, I bumped something”
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“...bump into what?”
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An image of the mangled chicken–puff of feathers—a bloody trail. Images that pull Bopil’s face to his mother. Her pale face and dark circles around her happy eyes–a mix of wonder and thrill. Her hair tied to a bun and coat holding smears of brown pattern. It is a coat she always wears when going outside, and the smears were never there
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“I don’t know, but when I checked the tires, one of them is flat. Insert the next CD–Bach, Cello Suite No.5” Mother smiles, seeing her son dutifully follow everything she says, her gaze lay on the red bruises on his nape. “So, Bopile…tires cost a lot of mother’s money. I have to buy them in pairs instead of one. It’s such a pain in the neck to ask grandpa right? He’s on the otherside of the country, Moreso, lame and bedridden. With it as well, I can take you to Dellawale and buy you your favorite computer specs”
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A computer, Bopil did not take long to raise his head. Eyes full of greed with a smirk, “...Does mama promise?”
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“Haha, you know me Baby. Mother always keep to her promises”
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“Alright, deal. I can give you 100,000 when we get home.
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Mother pinches her eyes, her ears perk in interest, “100,000? And where did you get that?”
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“From my customer. But I cannot tell you who and what I do. I need that computer.”
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“I know, I know. You don’t have to keep pushing me. I’ll get that computer for you. At the same time, I can introduce you to someone who’d be willing to be your sponsor and possibly, your mate.”
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“Mate?...” the word reminds him of the pink haired girl at school, her soft features blinded by the darkness that covers her eyes.
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Mother nods, clarifying her point. “If you can satisfy them…you know what you’ll get.”
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What Bopil will get, a mixture of pride and worry knowing that his mother will finally get involved. He opens his phone, deleting every contact in his list and taking a factory reset.
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The car continues to run for 30 minutes before setting downtown. They drive towards the underground highway and once again gets stuck in traffic. A school bus drives, motorcycles following its belching black smoke. The resident fortune teller lady is walking around but somehow now has a blindfold on her. She did not have it yesterday. She hops from one car to another, pulling out clouds and making her eyes glow white. Literal glow like in movies. Some say she replaced her eyeballs with flashlights, or that she has glowing contact lenses. But most believe it to be real. She is a real fortune teller, knocking on their window
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“Hello, hello” waving her wrinkled hand with dangling heads of roaches grasshoppers humming birts, rodents, and kittens around her necklace.
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Mother, being a repeat customer, gladly rolls down her window and greets her back with the same teeth and smile, “Hi Mother Gacha, how are you today?”
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“Oho, judging by the lovely of this young woman in front of me. This car must be housing the wonderful, Mrs. Villamor!”
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“My, my, lower down your pleasantries Mrs. Gacha. If I may ask, What happened to your eyes?” yelling through loud honking
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“Pardon?”
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“Your eyes!” she coughs, clearing her throat abd gesturing, “what happened to your eyes?”
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“Oh! I had LASIK””
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“At your age?”
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“when I take these off I will be able to see better!”
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“Good for you!” opening her mouth wide–lying.
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“so, okay today. I have 10 cards with me. Okay, 10 cards.” Holding them in her fingers and forming a fan of cards. Nothing unusual, but, the tarot art faces Mother. “Please pick one each and eat them”
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Mother’s fingernail gliees over the cards, and happily picks the a tiki statue with sunrays out of its eyes. Bopil is about to pick one when he whispers to mother if they should tell her. But mother dismisses him with a shake of her head. The cards show of mythical creatures and religious artefacts. Some of which clearly represents evil which Bopil immediately looks away. His pick lands on two hands holding a sleeping snake. Both have chosen their cards and both stuff it in her mouth, “mmn, tastes like dragonseed” Mother comments,
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Mrs. Gacha’s eyes roll back, fingers shaking as she leans on the window. “You…” her voice lowers, “you have great fortune ahead of you, the heavens watches your family and…and, there is a familiar spirit protecting you.”
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“Is it…”
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“Yes, it’s your husband. He is always there for you. I can see, that you will have a successful year ahead. Amazing, amazing fortune. And you seem to be worried about your child’s health now adays.”
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“yes, he is a bit rebellious now…” Mother gives a suspicious glance at her son, “It’s getting harder for me to ‘parent’ him.”
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“Well that’s all normal for his age. Now, as for the little boy.”
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Mother gestures with rolling out her tongue that reaches beyond her chin. She points it out, eyes glazed rotten.
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“Grapes” Bopil gulps down his comment, “tastes sweet but also making me feel a bit dizzy., W-What’s wrong with her?”
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Mother turns to Mrs. Gacha who seems pale and unmoving. Her eyes locked onto Bopil
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“She’s creepy” Bopil tries to sit back, tense on the corner of his seat.
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“What do you see *cough*, Mrs. Gacha, sorry”
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“I—I see a black fog around him. Clouding and masking his appearance almost as if, he has a secret that even fate is blinded of. Interesting, very interesting.”
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“A black cloud?” Mother asks
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“Yes, yes, Oh! It's Changing now. I can see it. See it clearly. It’s a chicken on a plate with dinner candles. He is…expecting much for today’s dinner. And there’s more.” Mrs. Gacha smiles, “awee, how sweet! He feels guilty of something and wants to fix relationships. And he is really excited for the coming graduation ceremony.”
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Graduation ceremony–After a brief second of disbelief, mother exclaims, “Wow! You never fail to surprise me. This friday is Bopil’s graduation day. And I’m sure he will have to say his goodbyes to everyone at school.”
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“He’s such a sweet child” Mrs. Gacha says,, “and you’re such a fortunate mother. I really cannot see any misfortune ahead for you both this year.”
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“Alright. You too Mrs. Gacha. Take care of yourself!” Mother honks at her.
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The fortune teller tumble her heavy knees, waving at the dissolving car. “Take care as well, and make sure to always feed yourselves!”
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“Haha, we will!” The car drives by the highway. Bopil looks back, seeing Mrs. Gacha wave as a truck behind her honks. The driver comes out, gun in his hand and shoots her in the head. Bopil looks back at the front, eyes wide and terrified.
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“What’s wrong?” Mother observes,
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“Nothing” he says, and tries to forget what he saw by looking at the blurry moving lights outside. “You better buy me that computer.”
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The car continues speeding down the underground roads for the last hour. Around a forest of buildings growing with stalactites, they turn for a structure that grows wider at the top and thinner on the surface. The cold wet air greets them back home. Their unit is 600 levels above the surface. A sanctuary laced with golden luxury and a view of the city. Bopil unbuttons his mother’s clothes–his clothes follow and both bare naked in front of each other.
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“Can you take my shoes upstairs with you, and when you are done, can you come back down and bring me a towel”
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Tick and tock, time runs fast as Bopil does as he is told, Mother turns off the lights. The son wildly pours out the content of his bag–screaming and playing devil’s rock. His wallet follows his dance, gouging out a 100,000 dollar paper. The scratch on it almost made Bopil’s intestines wring.
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Mother coughs again while taking out the chicken. Plates, and utensils are ready. Bopil look at her worriedly and she notices it.
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“I’m fine” laughing out while coughing. “Let me reheat the chicken first. In the meantime, you go sweep up and mop first”
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“I’ll do it later.” placing his notebook and pen on the dining table. The plates and glasses prepared at set aside. “I still have to study.”
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“don’t stress me out child, do it now.”
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Once again, Bopil does as he is told, reluctantly. He sweeps and mops the floor. His mother is taking a bath, still coughing. She walks out, taking a roll off tissue to spit something out. She throws it at the garbage before ordering the now studying Bopil to, “baby, throw out the garbage for me please.”
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It is annoying. Bopil’s brows curl. Thrashing his hand at the handle causing the bin to fall and spill its contents. At the right timing as when Mother comes down in her laundry dress,
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“BOPIL!” she calls, “DO IT RIGHT! CLEAN THAT UP NOW AND WASH THE LAUNDRY!”
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“...!” Bobil does not make any remarks, simply groaning and doing as he is told.
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The ticking clock and radio announces the 9th hour since the school dismissal. Mangled chicken in broth slurps and mawed in hungry mouths. As always, it is a fairly quit family dinner. Nobody wants to talk except for mother who is busy in his call about the new tenant. She finishes first in a fit of rage.
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“WASH THE DISHES AND SLEEP EARLY” the mother yells at her walkie talkie. One eye glaring at her son who is watching at his phone. “Follow what I say, I am the head of the house now and older than you so do what I say.” do what she says, a voice and smile sweetened with threat. But Bopil acts as if he did not hear her. He takes a glance at Mother but sees a stranger woman. Their glowing eyes hidden behind Mother’s. She leaves Bopil.
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Thud!, something crashes against their large glass window. Bopil can see it from the dining table. A black goopy mess against the moonlight. The clouds shaping the moon into an inverted cross in a split moment. Bopil realized it and pays no mind, his eyes glued on his phone screen.
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Then, the boy finishes his meal. He gathers the dishes and start washing them. Bones are thrown to the garbage bin. Yes, bones are thrown. But on his plate, an inverted cross forms an arrow–pointing at the unit door. A cold blanket seemingly sinks his chest. His eyes come alive at the coincidence. Almost as if, someone is watching him.
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