Space For Breathing

by I. K. Velasco

  She chuckled and walked away, her laughter ringing behind her like tinkling bells.

  * * *

  I stood on the dewy grass, feeling the warm breeze on my hair. I watched Maeva struggle with a shovel that was almost as big as her, the muscles in her smooth arms taut with effort.

  She paused her movement, huffing and panting. She leaned on the shovel, regarding the little progress she had made. "Are you going to help? Or are you just going to stand there?" she said, indignantly.

  Barely looking at me, she handed me the heavy tool. At first, I held the shovel in one hand, unmoving. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the rivers of sweat, trickling down the sides of her slender neck, flowing into the collar of her sleeveless shirt.

  "You can break up the earth over there." She pointed to a patch of crusted soil to her left. Her voice drew me out of my reverie, and I finally moved to help. She blew a puff of breath, moving the stray bangs away from her forehead.

  I began to work the earth, tearing into the soil and turning it over. Breaking the tension under the shovel felt good. The warm smell of grass, roots and earthworms filled my nose, clearing my mind of anything but the task.

  As we worked, I felt the tension between us abating as well. Some unspoken understanding hovered over us—that the situation was settled, but not forgotten.

  My hands and arms burned with effort. Sweat was soaking my hair and shirt, but it felt exhilarating, like I was more alive now than before. I paused for a moment, catching my breath. I glanced over at Maeva. She was hunched over the seedlings, carefully arranging the soil around each one. She reached up to swipe at an errant strand of hair that had escaped the scarf around her head. She left a smudge of dirt against one smooth cheek.

  She met my stare, her head tilted. She always seemed to look at me like she wanted to get inside my head.

  "Um, I'm just going to get us some water," she said, taking off her gloves and tossing them on the ground. "I'll be right back."

  I watched her head back into the house, wondering what she wanted to know from me.

  Maeva

  I poured two glasses of cold water from the refrigerator. I took my time heading back outside, enjoying the way the heat on my skin cooled in the shade.

  Outside, I handed Jacob one of the glasses and watched him drink, droplets of water flowing down his chin. He looked up at me, smiling sheepishly as he swiped at his mouth with the back of one hand.

  I lifted my own glass to my mouth. I closed my eyes as the frigid liquid flowed down my parched throat.

  I looked over and caught him staring again. His turn to look.

  "Did you have a good time?" I asked. One of his eyebrows cocked upwards in a look of confusion. I didn't really know what I was asking. The words just tumbled out of my mouth. I hurried to clarify.

  "Um…yesterday, the village," I corrected.

  "Yes, thank you again for the tour." His words seemed veiled, as if he had meant to say something else, responding to the questions I had not asked.

  "I'm sorry that you didn't get to see everything. There was so much more that I wanted to show you. Maybe tomorrow we can go to Manila. I can get Tito to drive us into the city, and we can…" My words abruptly halted when I felt Jacob's callused fingers against my cheek. He gently rubbed my skin - so much tenderness in the deep brown pools of his eyes. I immediately cast my eyes downward. I couldn't allow myself to see whatever emotion was lingering in his expression. He leaned forward, and I could smell his clean sweat mingled with the fresh, damp earth.

  "You know you don't have anything to be sorry about," he whispered. His lips tickled the hairs on my neck as he pressed the softest of kisses there. I felt my knees go weak and my eyes flutter backwards. Before I could reply, Jacob released me, turned and walked away.

  * * *

  Pangasinan, Philippines—Owen Estate 3:00 am

  I studied the spidery shadows dancing on my bedroom ceiling, trying to make out distinguishable shapes. My mind would not let me rest. I couldn't still the running thoughts long enough to allow sleep to take me. Was this obsession? I couldn't explain the images of him flitting through my mind's eye, leaving me feeling warm yet strangely frightened of emotions I couldn't define. His vision lingered in my thoughts, as if he was a ghost rather than the flesh and blood man, sleeping down the hall. My skin still tingled with feeling, haunted by the touch of his soft lips against my neck.

  I kicked the covers off in frustration. My feet grew cold, padding across the hardwood and marble floors of the long hallways. My intention was to get a cup of tea, something to make me sleep, but as I approached the door of Jacob's bedroom, every innocent intention faded into the darkness.

  Jacob

  Through bleary eyes, I saw her silhouette at the foot of the bed. Amidst the darkened shadows, her body glowed luminescent. I had to rub my eyes to focus, not sure if I was still in the middle of a dream.

  "Maeva?" I asked, softly. Hearing my own voice saying her name made her vision clearer.

  I could see her piercing stare; her eyes alight with moonlight. She was quivering slightly, like the petals of a lotus flower in the wind. She looked surreal, beautiful.

  I had to touch her. I held out my hand. She looked at it for one lingering moment, and I thought I saw a flicker of doubt in her expression, but the hesitation flicked away when her hand made contact. Her fingertips grazed my palm, sending shivers through my wrist and arm. I almost let go. The tingles were replaced by warmth as I enclosed her small hand inside mine.

  I tugged her onto the bed and reluctantly, almost awkwardly, she laid on the pillow beside me. I couldn't read the expression in her eyes—mirth? Fear? Desire?

  I touched her face, exploring the delicate features—over her thin eyelids, the smooth skin on her cheek, the soft flesh of her lips. She parted her lips and kissed my hovering fingertip.

  I stared at her, the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions muddling my brain.

  Suddenly her hand was at the back of my neck, her fingers entangling in the curls there. She tugged me closer. Our lips touched, softly, quietly at first, but soon I was melting into her, into the caress of her hand at the back of my neck, into the feel of her full lips against mine. Her tongue slipped into my mouth, sweet, wet, sensuous.

  My hands wandered over her breasts, her taut belly. I had to see her, feel her skin without the hindrance of clothing. I was almost desperate to remove her nightgown and panties. I stilled myself, afraid I would scare her away. I was surprised when she helped, tossing the garments onto the floor.

  When my hands met the supple flesh of her breasts, I felt her breath hitch in her chest, a small whimper escaping her lips. I stopped thinking. Nothing else played into this except for the silk of her skin against my mouth, my fingertips. I moved lower, circling my tongue around her navel, caressing her smooth, white thighs. My fingers tangled on the triangle of hair between her legs. She moaned, almost inaudibly. I opened her swollen lips and dipped inside for a taste. She tasted sweet, salty, bitter—ripe, bursting fruit. I licked her sensitive folds, feeling the tight little quivers against my tongue. She squirmed.

  "Too much, Jacob. Please. Please stop." It was the first time she had spoken. Her words only encouraged me. She was there, coming, writhing, melting, tugging on my shoulders, shaking uncontrollably. I waited until she calmed, moving up to hold her.

  It wasn't long before Maeva wiggled out of grasp. Before I could protest, she has poised herself on her elbows and knees, straddling my waist.

  Her hair was a feathering veil of black raven's wings, encircling us. Her soft lips descended on mine, kissing me with the same urgency as before. I held her slender waist, too completely aware of the glossy, wet hairs of her sex tickling my belly. She reached down and tugged, releasing me from the confines of my boxers.

  “Wait,” I said, closing my eyes. “Condom. I’ll get it.” I found one in the pocket of my toiletry bag and came back to the bed quickly rolling it on.

  I laid down on my ba
ck, and Maeva straddled me once more. She immediately guided my cock to her sweet opening, sinking down slowly. Sheathed inside her wetness, the soft walls stroking the tortured organ, I felt paralyzed; unable to move under the spell she had cast on my body.

  She arched her back, stretching and pulling on my cock as she circled her hips. She hovered over me, her warmth above and all around. I couldn't breathe. Too soon, blooming roses of color exploded into my vision, matching the expanding pleasure that rippled from my sex to my fingers and toes.

  She collapsed beside me, my softening cock slipping from her pussy. I closed my eyes, listening to our panting, filling the quiet.

  I sensed her moving, sitting up and leaving the bed.

  "Are you leaving?" I asked, quietly. I felt like the desperation in my voice was screaming.

  "Yes," she replied. I watched her move around the room, gathering her clothes and dressing.

  "Please don't." I cringed when I realized the desperation sounded even louder.

  She paused, looked at me from the foot of the bed. "I have to."

  As swiftly as she had come, she left, the door clicking softly behind her.

  Six

  Pangasinan, Philippines—Owen Estate 11:00 am

  Jacob

  The house was silent that morning. I had woken up late. The whole thing felt like a dream—a lingering memory not quite lucid enough to be part of reality.

  I wandered outside to the side of the house, to the concrete patio, where I found Rosalita doing the wash. She was squatting in front of a large metal washbasin set underneath a faucet. There were assorted laundry soaps and detergents in an organized mess around her feet.

  "Good morning, Mr. Jacob. How are you this morning?" She smiled widely.

  "Fine, thank you. And yourself?" My response felt rather forced, more out of politeness than honesty.

  "I can't complain," she replied, with a wink. She continued to dip her hands into the basin, lifting the garment and rubbing it against the solid washboard.

  "Can I help you with that?" I asked.

  She regarded me for a moment, her head tilting to the side. Then, she laughed. "You're the only man I know to actually volunteer to do laundry."

  I smiled. "Well, I actually do my own laundry back home."

  Rosa looked at me incredulously, her eyes like wide black saucers. "You do? I thought that you're a successful musician? Surely you can afford to have someone do your washing!"

  I thought about my mother hiring someone to clean our house. Not in this lifetime. I chuckled.

  "Of course, doing laundry back home means stuffing my clothes into a machine and pushing the start button."

  Rosa wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Those washing machines never do a thorough enough job. Hands are much better." She held up her hands, skin slightly scaly from numerous soaking in hard water and detergent, but they seemed strong and resilient for it.

  I knelt beside her, grabbed a pair of pants from her pile of clothes and dipped it into the soapy basin. "You're absolutely right," I agreed, rubbing the garment against the washboard.

  She chuckled and continued with her work, shaking her head in disbelief.

  We washed the pile of clothes, wrung out the excess water with our hands and hung them on the lines running across the yard. Rosa was grateful for my presence. Since I am almost a foot taller than her, I didn't need to use the stool to reach the clotheslines. I eagerly took the job, happy that I was getting to repay her in some way for waiting on me the past few days.

  I untwisted a bed sheet and draped it over the line. Rosa wasn't quiet about her warnings to keep the freshly washed blankets off the grass. As I fastened the sheet, I inhaled the smell of wet linen, infused with detergent. The sun was at its peak, and I could already sense the moisture evaporating from the cloth. I looked up and turned my face to the warming sun, enjoying the heat on my face.

  I heard footsteps on the gravel path behind me. Maeva was there, walking towards the house. She looked completely content, a small mirthful smile gracing her full lips as she swung her arms at her sides. In one hand, she held a bundle of wildflowers. The thin material of her long, printed dress billowed in the breeze around her legs. She turned and nodded at me, then disappeared down the path and into the house.

  "Your desire is to know her." Rosa's voice pierced through my musings.

  I couldn't answer. I studied Rosa's face and wondered how my thoughts were so easily expressed by someone I barely knew.

  She handed me another sheet to hang on the line. She held it in place, while I grabbed another clothespin.

  "Her family had to give her up when she was seven," she began, her voice turning pensive. "They were too poor to raise all their children. I wouldn't be surprised if her brothers and sister ended up that way too. But Maeva is a lucky one. Thank you, Jesus, for Mr. Owen." She said that last sentence with her face turned up to the heavens in benediction. "He's a kind man, you know?"

  I nodded in response.

  "She knows how lucky she is. And I think that's why she can't let herself go. She can't let herself feel betrayed that her parents gave her up. She can't let herself think about that because her circumstances are so much better now."

  Rosa's expression turned inward, daunting since she had been nothing but completely overt until that moment. It unnerved me a little. "But sometimes, ignoring the past means that it has more opportunity to sneak up on you when you're not looking."

  I suddenly realized that she was describing more than just Maeva.

  * * *

  Pangasinan, Philippines—Owen Estate 7:00 pm

  Jacob

  "Good evening, Jacob."

  I was surprised to see Owen sitting at his usual spot at the head of the table. It seemed like years had passed since I last saw him. "Hello, Mr. Owen. How are you?"

  "Please, call me Robert, Jacob. Everyone here refuses to call me by my first name. It would be nice to hear."

  "Of course, um. Robert," I replied.

  "I apologize for being away the past couple of days. Even when I'm thousands of miles away in another continent, the office seems to track me down."

  "It's quite alright."

  Maeva entered the dining room, halting our conversation. She sat at her place at the table, and Rosa appeared to serve dinner.

  I examined the dishes that were placed on the table, intrigued that I didn't recognize anything. Maeva noticed my surprise. "I asked Rosa to prepare some traditional Filipino dishes for us tonight."

  I nodded, eager to try something new.

  "This dish is called kare-kare," she said, pointing to a plate of meat and vegetables. "It's a stew made with lean beef and fresh vegetables in a peanut sauce." Rosa dished some of the stew onto a plate of steamed rice and placed it in front of me. The peanut aroma filled my nose and caused my mouth to water.

  Maeva pushed a dish of pinkish-red paste near my plate. "This condiment is called baguong. It's made of ground and fried shrimp, cured in salt. Just take a little here." As she spooned some onto my plate, her arm brushed my hand. Our eyes met, and the intensity of her eyes and the touch of her skin brought memories of the previous night to the forefront of my mind. I pulled my eyes away from her to catch the wry smile on Owen's lips.

  Maeva explained how to eat the stew, and I tentatively took the first bite. The salty shrimp paste cut through the sweet peanut sauce. The combination was unusual but very good.

  We continued our meal, and like before, Owen relayed some stories about work. Occasionally, I would interrupt to ask a question about something I was eating. Owen or Maeva would oblige, happily explaining the ingredients or how to eat something.

  For dessert, Rosalita served a custard dish doused in a light caramel. Maeva called it leche flan. I enjoyed it very much, although watching Maeva's eyes close as the dessert touched her tongue gave me more pleasure than the taste of the sweet confection.

  "I think I'm going to turn in early tonight," Maeva announced, after dessert, standing from
the table.

  She went over to Owen and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight."

  "Goodnight, little Orchid," he said.

  My ears perked at the nickname, but I didn't comment. Maeva turned to me. Her eyes flickered with mirth, but she didn't smile. "I thought we should go to Manila tomorrow for more sightseeing. Are you up for it?"

  "Sounds like a plan," I replied.

  The corners of her mouth turned up slightly when she nodded, then turned on her heel and left.

  I stared at her back, the way the curve of her hip swayed to the side when she walked away. I remembered the jutting bone there and the silk of her skin under the palm of my hand.