My Kind of Perfect

by Lockheart, Freesia

  John turned to me and said, “I felt like I already found her. There's no reason to push aside the wedding when I know that she's the one.”

  I heard squeals coming from the back row from some of the hotel staff who was watching. I anxiously gulped. I must have looked so stupid right now. Having those words said right straight to you, no girl could just set it aside and say that it wasn't a big deal. For in reality, it was. And for crying out loud, I was troubled that I was feeling that it was.

  The rest of the interview went on but I forgot all about it. I carelessly answered yes and no to the question that were being thrown at me. All that while and for the rest of that day, those particular words of John lingered in my mind like some song in my head playing over and over again.

  I felt like I already found her... I know that she's the one.

  After dinner, I excused myself and headed off to some kind of solitude. Opening the only bag that I had been able to bring along from the day of the wedding, I found my old high school journal. Clutching it in my hand, I zipped back the bag and headed outside the veranda.

  The cold wind of the evening seeped softly on my skin, making me shiver for a while. But it was bearable enough and I thought I could last for several hours or so. I saw a recliner on the side and sat down on it. I opened the next pages of my diary after that fateful confession of John in the cafeteria where he said those words ‘I still like you, Kayla’.

  I read some more about my every day encounter with him and how I always regarded him as insignificant. But somehow despite my attempts to consider him irrelevant, he managed to get into my journal. Did I really think about him during those times?

  In high school, I was made to believe that he was disgusting. I was one of the most popular girls in school and my friends were always picking on him so I did the same. But what my friends hadn't known was that I knew John even before I met them and belonged to their group. It was the summer when I was nine, one day that somehow, I never failed to remember, especially right now.

  Reading the rest of the entries, I felt exhaustion taking over. The skies turned darker and I forgot all about the time. Folding to my side, I rested my head for a while. I forced myself to stay awake. But to my dismay, my eyes started to close on its own. Yawning once more, everything started to become blurred.

  “Kaye, you can't sleep here,” I heard a voice whispered from afar.

  Hmm?

  I knew I must be dreaming when I heard that voice. Then I felt some strong arms picked me up. I curled to my right as I held on to someone. And lost in my head was the light scent of pines that I inhaled as I tucked even closer to the one who was carrying me. For several brief moments, the dream had been so concrete and vivid that even I didn't want to force my eyes to open to confirm if this was real or just a dream. And just like that, I went along and started to dream again.

  “What's your name?” I asked the boy who passing by the street. He looked up to me, nervously playing with his hands. I asked him again, “Don't you have a name?”

  “I'm...” he said, shyly looking away. “...John.”

  “I’m Kayla. How old are you?”

  “Ten.”

  “I’m nine. So John, where do you live? My grandmother is out and I'm hungry,” I told him, feeling another gnarl in my stomach.

  “Just... there,” he pointed to the house next door.

  “Oh great! Do you have any food in your house?” I happily asked.

  “Not much... I only eat biscuits,” he replied.

  “Really? That's a shame. We have some bread in my grandma's house but I don't want to eat it. I want to have some pizza,” I told him, shaking my head. He hadn't answered so I added, “You should tell your mother to cook you some food. Maybe that's why you are so thin.”

  It took him a moment to answer, “She's gone... with a friend.”

  “Really? When will she come back?” I curiously asked.

  “I don't know. She don’t come home for about a year,” he answered me.

  There was sadness in his voice so I had decided to cheer him up. “Oh come on, it can't be that bad. I'm sure she just uhmm... forget the directions. My mom is also forgetful. Maybe you can ask your dad instead.”

  I saw his lips started to shake, as if he was about to cry. Then in a broken voice, he answered, “He also... left our... home.”

  “Really?” I asked. “Then who's staying with you?”

  “My grandma and grandpa,” he replied.

  “Then ask your grandma or grandpa. There, you don't have to be sad,” I said, feeling relieved that at least he had someone to cook for him. I mean, it was bad if there was no adult who could cook for you. No one could live with just eating biscuits.

  “My grandpa is at the other town and he's busy with his job. My grandma said that she’s also busy taking care of the house so she can't cook,” he told me.

  “She can't be busy! She's only in the house,” I angrily said.

  “But she said that she is. I guess she doesn't want me, too,” he replied and saw that he was in the verge of tears.

  This couldn't be! Even if she was busy, she shouldn't just give him cookies to eat. She should cook for him. Then I asked him, “Is she at your house now?”

  “Yes,” he answered, meeting my eyes.

  I grabbed his hands and dragged him to his house. I said to him, “Don't worry, I'll talk to her.”

  He was hesitant and tried to pull me but I was stronger than him because I eat decent meals. He stuttered, “She's scary... you can't...”

  “She has to know that you're thin because of the biscuits. You need to eat properly or you'll get sick,” I said, tugging him along.

  Then I opened the screen door of their house and immediately saw an old lady sitting on the sofa and reading a book. As soon as we were inside, she instantly placed her book down and with a cold stare, eyed us both intently. She was really scary.

  But I shouldn't be scared of that or else John would not be able to properly eat his meals. I placed my hands on my hips and told her, “Grandma, John is starving. He said you only feed him biscuits. That's not right. My mother always tells me that I should eat the right food so that I can grow up strong. You're not feeding him right. Look at him, he's not growing strong.”

  “John, who is this little lady?” the old woman asked John.

  “Grandma... she's—”

  “His mother leave him to be with a friend and his father also leave him. There's no one who can cook for him and he's sad cause he's only eat biscuits,” I continued. “You're his grandma. You should cook for him.”

  “Kayla...”

  She didn't answer so I finished, “That's all I want to say.”

  And with that, I left the two of them. There, I felt proud of myself. From now on, John would be eating well and he would grow up strong. I happily skipped along back to my grandmother's house. And from afar, I saw my grandmother walking down the road, carrying my box of pizza in hand.

  It was then, in my dream, that I realized I already knew Dorothy from before.

  Chapter 16

  “We’re home!” announced Dorothy.

  “I feel exhausted. I’ll just go up and take some rest,” said John, sliding the backpack he was carrying off his shoulders and letting it slid to the floor.

  “Can I die now?” I muttered to myself.

  “Not yet, dear. We still have loads of work to do. Go put your things down and change your clothes. We’ll start your other lectures today.” Dorothy, despite her given age, still had sharp ears.

  “Can’t we have a day-off today? We just got home!” I protested.

  John, on the other hand, only yawned, stretched his shoulders and headed upstairs—leaving me behind to the care of his ‘deadly’ grandmother. How heartless could one person become? It was as if he had already attained the last step towards the highest degree of being indifferent.

  “What about him?” I asked, pointing to John and feeling a sense of injustice rumbling inside my hea
d. If I had to do this, so did he.

  “It’s not stated in the contract that he has to learn household chores, too,” answered Dorothy. “He’s the husband in the story.”

  “Our world now practices equality for men and women.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And why do I even have to learn all this? It’s not like I’ll be staying here or anything after the contract. This will all end up in vain, I tell you.”

  “We’re doing this to let time pass by wisely,” answered Dorothy. Then turning to Janette, she uttered, “Get the kitchen ready. I’m going to teach Kayla how to prepare meals.”

  “Let’s just have some take-out.” I was certain that they could afford it. And they had a freaking hotel whose food was not below the exquisite standard. They could have one of their men-in-black deliver it here. Or we could all eat at the hotel. They got a car. And really, the only meal I knew how to prepare was sandwich, with all the ingredients bought from the supermarket.

  “That is very unhealthy,” she said back.

  ‘The hotel,’ I wanted to say. Aside from ordering take-outs, there was still the hotel. Surely, they must be maintaining the quality of food being served there.

  But the sharp look in Dorothy’s eyes told me that our discussion was over. Walking to the kitchen’s direction, giving her bag to Nate, and talking some more to Janette, it all had been said and implied clearly. And so, having no other choice, I followed her to the kitchen. There was no given hint that I was going to be let off for the day. And it was such a beautiful day outside to make use of my life productively.

  Clearly, it wouldn’t happen here.

  “Wash your hands first,” Dorothy said as soon as I entered her comfy kitchen. First thing I noticed was that it was spacious—big enough to handle a party inside. I did see her kitchen before. I just never noticed anything back then.

  I spotted the sink at my right and went to it. I did what was told, still couldn’t believe that I was even doing this. My mom, for the last twenty-eight years, hadn’t succeeded in making me her apprentice. And here was Dorothy, with just a single her out of her mouth, making me do as told.

  “Here,” said Janette, handing me a red apron.

  “Oh, okay. An apron,” I muttered.

  Dorothy, I noticed when I looked at her direction, already got one wrapped around her. She was preparing something on the smaller island with gray granite countertop. Janette then went back to where and helped her with what she was doing. In another minute, they transferred everything to where I was.

  “Well, what are you standing there for? Go and get some plate,” Dorothy said as soon as she saw me.

  “Plate? Where exactly?” I looked around.

  “Janette, do something else for now. We can take it from here,” said Dorothy. If she’d like to have a decent helping hand, I’d suggest that Janette should stay.

  And speaking of Janette, she noticed that I was having some trouble locating the plates. She didn’t speak that much but I kind of got what she was thinking. I followed her movements with my eyes and saw her opened the kitchen cabinet near Dorothy. That explained a lot why I wasn’t able to notice it. I was kind of looking at the side where Dorothy’s presence wasn’t shown.

  “Oh, look, there are the plates,” I said as Janette got two out.

  “Where do you think are the plate? In the cabinet of course. Why are you looking at the stove?” Dorothy said in her all-knowing voice.

  Doing what Janette was doing, I grabbed a pile, tiptoeing along. The prettiest ones were up in the uppermost deck. This was the first time that I’d be learning how to cook so I might as well have the best the situation could offer. But when I lifted the pile in mid-air, I never thought it would be heavy.

  Very heavy.

  It was so heavy that I lost balance—lost it so bad that I ended up gradually falling backwards. In slow motion with the whole world stopping with me, I was falling. And I was still in the process of fighting the fall, doing what I could. But a millisecond too late, I knew that any form of struggle was pointless. And so I did something I knew Dorothy would never like. Not to her pretty plates that surely did look quite expensive. Without further warning, the plates literally flew up in the air.

  So high that salvation was lost completely.

  As I gained back balance, I hurriedly covered my ears with my hands. The inevitable was soon to come. And like expected, the plates shattered on the floor, banging around that piercing, breaking, and wrenching sound.

  “Those are from my great great grandmama!” exclaimed Dorothy, her voice filled with shock, despair, and infuriation.

  “Sorry! I didn’t mean to do that, really,” I said. And then looking at the shredded pieces and seeing a still whole one, I bent down and picked it up. One kind act of nature saved a piece from being broken. The last memoirs of Dorothy’s great great grandmama. It was saved. “Look. This one is still okay. Still not shattered.”

  But as I stood up and was about to hand it over to her, I noticed that all the only place where her eyes were fixated was on the pieces of broken plates scattered all over the floor. Her two eyebrows twitched, meeting together and creating lines in between. I mean, more lines in between. With the sight, I suddenly thought about purposely ruining her whole kitchen to get back at her. However, for the sake of great great grandmama’s plates, I succumbed to be remorseful instead.

  Janette came back to the kitchen with a broom and a dustpan in hand this time. She started picking up the pieces, still not uttering a word like always. It was Dorothy who finally spoke after a minute, “Put the pieces in I will treat this as an accident. Let’s go back to what we were doing.”

  She always had something to say in every situation.

  “Okay,” I replied. In a low voice, I added a mouthful of, “Sorry.”

  “Prep the things,” she uttered, forcing her eyes to stop twitching.

  “You mean...” Prep? What did that mean again?

  “Wash the vegetables and cut them,” she finished.

  Okay. Whatever that meant. I did, like a good old apprentice and for the sake of great great grandmama, what I was told. Setting the things on the countertop beside her as she was doing something with the chicken and the spices, I recalled the cooking shows I’d watched before and formulized the best way to cut the unfortunate vegetables before me. And moments later, as I looked at what was now currently on the cutting board, it wasn’t as I assumed it would turn out like.

  Was it the knife? Or the cutting board?

  “What is that?” Dorothy sputtered as she looked at what I had ‘prepped’ for her. She almost dropped the pepper shaker, only to steady her grip before it slipped off her hand.

  “The vegetables,” I answered plainly. Despite how it looked like, they were still the vegetables. And with a cheerful resonance in my voice, I added, “So should I get on with the meat?”

  “Janette!” That was her answer. “When you’re finished with the plates, please do the vegetables again.”

  “It’s that bad?” I asked.

  “I think you know the answer for that. You stand there and watch Janette show you how it’s done.” She went back to what she was doing after saying that.

  I shrugged, making way for Janette as she put on some new set of vegetables on the countertop. And when she was finished, not to mention that she made it look so easy, she set the knife aside and looked at me as if asking if I had any question. What was I supposed to ask now aside from everything? And we used the same knife. It must be the vegetables that were the ones to blame. They didn’t give me a chance to show off my slumbering knife skills.

  “It’s done,” said Janette to Dorothy in her timid voice.

  “Boil half a pot of water, Kayla,” said Dorothy. “Come help me mix this, Janette.”

  Aside from being a former actress, a mafia boss, and TV personnel, perhaps Dorothy was also a chef before. She was all over the place.

  “I thought I would only be watching,” I muttered un
der my breath.

  “Are you complaining?” she questioned me.

  “No,” I said. “Of course not. Why should I?”

  Without saying a word or two again, I went to the other side, where the stove was, bringing the large pot I managed to unhook from the rack after I put in the water. When I placed it on the stove, I noticed the newspaper at the counter next to where I was. A little horoscope prediction might do me good during these trying times.

  “Is the water ready, yet?” Dorothy asked.

  “I’m on it.” I switched the stove to high and grabbed the newspaper.

  Look up at the bright skies outside and say that you are going to have a great day. One way you can motivate yourself despite all the trials you are going through is to believe that you can, you will, and you’ll get out of the mess soon.

  Hot. I felt something getting hot. Looking to my left where it was coming from, I saw the other end of the newspaper getting burned. It was really catching fire. My eyes widened in disbelief and utmost denial at what was going on. And the sink was steps away from me!

  “Dorothy...” I stuttered, looking here and there, not knowing what to do. “There’s... a... fire...”

  “A what?” Dorothy snapped at my direction.

  “Fire?” I suggested, eyeing the yellow flame near me.

  “Why are you burning down the house?” she answered in a high-pitched, panicked-filled, exasperated tone. Then the sprinkler trickled down the whole kitchen.

  And a fire alarm went on.

  Chapter 17

  What I want is someone who'll love me for who I am, who I was, and who I will become. I only need that one person who will accept me even if I will act weird, turns to a chatterbox, or have gray hairs someday. What I long-for is someone who will see the real me and love it. One who will never point fingers to my mistakes but accept me and help me become a better person if necessary. If I ever get to see him, I will hold on to him and will never let him go.

  There was something else written at the end of the paper. Beneath that overly romantic paragraph were some words that I couldn't believe I’d written when I was younger. It must be some kind of forging—one that had been thoroughly done that it looked a lot like my own writing. But it couldn't be. There was no way that piece of idiocy was of my own.