1 Silent Stares

"Emilia Ross," I thought to myself.

It just sounds too good to be true. After a ten-year engagement, I am finally married to James, that snotty brat from our local church who got my attention with his quick and sneaky stares.

Yes, that's how we became friends, really… No, I guess I never really thought of him as a friend. I've always liked him more than that.

I met James in a youth gathering for our local church where I volunteered to host children's games for Christmas. We were playing "Bring Me," that notorious game where the host asks everyone to bring to the stage whatever it was she had in mind - cell phones, wallets, bags, ID's - these were popular choices. At that time, after asking for five or six "easy-to-find" objects, I came up with something more creative : "Bring me any object that starts with the letter u."

You know, I meant things like:

Umbrella.

Uniform.

Undergarment (ha!)

Unicorn (ok, even a stuffed toy should be fine!)

Catching me completely off guard, a dashing young man came in front with an irresistibly cute three-year old boy who handed me a "Yuan."

Yes, a Chinese Yuan.

I still remember very well how that conversation went:

"Whoa, wow, little fella, what's this?"

No answer.

The gentleman, who was a little less than six feet tall, was named James. Tall, slightly brown-skinned and with a perfectly shaped nose, he looked fastidious and at the same time, enchanting. He knelt behind the boy and whispered something to his ear.

"Yuuuuwaaaaan!!!" the little boy finally exclaimed.

I smiled and said whispered "wow" on the microphone, trying my best not to look distracted. "You're very smart," I said, and proceeded to hand over the prize to the boy. As I smiled my most cheerful smile towards the boy, my eyes met those of the painfully handsome young man, who looked away almost as soon as our eyes met.

Now back to the game and the yuan - of course, I knew that the submission was wrong! Yuan is clearly spelled with a "y" and not a "u." So when the other youth leaders asked me about my "lapse in judgment" (that was, to give out the prize despite the wrong answer), I simply said that the little boy was too cute and had to be rewarded for the effort. I mean, it was Christmas anyway. I tried to defend my decision, and as I did, I was very careful not to mention anything about that young man I met, whose name, I found, was James.

As the party continued, my eyes instinctively searched for him, and whenever I did find him, I would unexplainably feel giddy, secretly hoping that he'd look my way, too.

I couldn't tell anyone how I felt about James, not even to my best friend, Linda. For how could I? I couldn't bear having us teased. He would never talk to me then! And all that time I kept asking myself whether he truly looked at me, or that maybe there was just something or someone else that happened to be in my direction, which he was truly looking at. I kept thinking this way, trying not to keep my hopes up. But truly, secretly, I wish he had really been looking my way.

It's been ten years now, since James and I first met. And although we're now married, and more mature, there are some days when we'd end up in an argument – just like today.

It's 3 AM and I couldn't sleep. James promised he was coming home six hours ago, at about 10 p.m., from his reunion with friends at med school. I've called him at eleven – some of the guys just arrived, he said. He'll be a little late, he said. there was no need for me to wait. I called him at 12 midnight, at which point it took I had to call him three times before he picked up. He'll be late, he said. Again, there was no need for me to wait. At least that's what he said. He was in a game of billiards and had a couple of beers; their conversations were just getting fun.

It's a "guys' thing," I know. I get that. But how could I not wait for him? Doesn't he get it? I was getting more and more frustrated on the phone, wondering why it all seemed that these friends of his were so much more important than me, that he could risk my losing sleep over them.

Try as I might, still, I couldn't sleep, I twisted and turned in bed, still half thankful that tomorrow's going to be a Saturday and I won't have to be in the office. Still, I am left, with an unpleasant and uneasy feeling about all this.

After what seemed to be an eternity, I finally heard the door. Then, some footsteps. I heard Jim enter our room, and so I sat up. No, I couldn't pretend to sleep and just let this go. He had to know I was up waiting for him.

"So, this is what 10 pm looks like, huh?" I said mockingly.

James looked at me, surprised. "I told you not to wait," he said, picking out some clothes from the cabinet.

"You know I couldn't sleep," I said back.

"Well, that's not my fault," he said.

He sighed, took a good look at me. I knew he could see how disappointed and angry I was. But he was not going to say sorry over it and instead said something so dismissive: "You know what, I'm going to go sleep downstairs."

"Suit yourself and sleep there forever!" I said, my voice cracking.

"Don't start with me, Emily. It's late. Let's talk tomorrow." James said sternly, looking impatient. He shut the door, quite a bit hard, and went downstairs.

Yeah, yeah, so he probably just wanted to rest now, huh? "I hate you, and I am not talking to you tomorrow," I told myself, as I hugged my pillow and pulled up the sheets.

In spite of my anger and my seeming hatred for James that day, I managed to sleep soundly and very well, refusing to admit to myself that despite how bad James made me feel – just the fact that he's home - that was enough to cradle me to sleep.

Morning came after a while. I felt the sun's rays through the little spaces in my window not covered by the stylish blinds that James got for me before we moved into our new home. Sleep was good, thank God. It must be a bit late, but hey it's good, it was the weekend, after all.

"So maybe I'm making up with James today," I thought. Knowing him, he must have already prepared breakfast and must have certainly realized that he was wrong for breaking his promise and he'd say sorry. I thought I had to to get ready for all that, so I got out of bed, washed my face, fixed up my hair, and did my best to present the best "I woke up like this" version of myself.

I got down the stairs, ready to meet James in a better mood. I thought he made a great decision to postpone talking until today. I mean, if we continued our conversation any further at that time, we might have ended up in a worse fight. This is nothing, though. We've been through much, much worse arguments in the past and normally , we didn't fight for very long.

I took my time in getting down the stairs, but soon noticed that the couch was empty. There was no sign of James - not in the bath, not in the kitchen, not even in the living room.

"Goodness, is this one of his pranks?" I thought. If it is, he should be coming out to surprise me like he always does. He gets a crack at seeing me scared silly or surprised – he's a bully, like that and he won't pass up on this chance, especially after the fight we had yesterday.

But, there was no sign of James. There was not even a note from him beside my bed or on any of the tables in the house. Note on the bedside table, the bar or the dining table. Nothing under my pillow, too. There was no sign of him. Nothing.

Thankfully, the phone rang to calm my anxious heart. I picked it up as fast as I could.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Emilia," There was a slow, stern voice from the other line. I'd recognize that voice anywhere. It belonged to my boss, Ellen Cruz, the tigress of CenturyMedia.

"Uh, yes. Ellen?"

"Ok. So you weren't picking up your cellphone and this is the first time you've been this late for work. Are you on your way?"

"On my way?" I knew I was repeating whatever Ellen said, but my mind was slow to process what the call was about. I wanted to answer, "What are you talking about?" But Ellen seemed more certain of what was happening than myself, so I decided to let her do the talking.

" We have a meeting at 1PM with the chief. Come and be on your way." Click

.

"The Chief?" But Ellen is already the editor in chief since Dave Mendez transferred to another news agency last year… "Okay, so things are weird," I thought, "but more importantly, where's James in all of this?"

The doorbell rings and I get to the door, expecting James to be there.

As I open the door, a familiar face comes into view: Nana, my aunt who lives a couple of blocks away from our house. She has taken good care of me since my parents moved to the country side right after I graduated from college.

"Nana! It's so good to see you!"

I said with a smile, relieved that I was at least not alone.

"Emilia, Emilia. Hello, my dear... " Nana said, looking at me from head to toe. "Oh, you look terrible," she finally said. "Look in the mirror. There are big bags under your eyes. You're thirty and already looking like thirty-four. You'll do something about that, won't you?" She sighed deeply. "Here, you left your cellphone in my house yesterday night when you had dinner. Some lady was calling just a while ago. She said you still haven't arrived in the office, so I went ahead and came to see you today." Nana said without pausing, looking at me straight in the eyes. She took off her hat and umbrella as I let her into the living room. She looked so classy majestic. I always thought she was like Nanny McPhee.

"Oh, Nana, you should have just called my house instead of coming here," I said, coming to my sense. "I mean, it's already hot outside."

"Oh, Sushhhh! How do you expect me to do that when you haven't changed a bit? Still leaving your stuff all over the place. Be careful you may lose that thing between your legs, if it were ever detachable - know what I mean?" Her words seemed unforgiving, but she smiled a little and continued, "Now be a dear and let this old woman pamper you once in a while. Go and get ready for work. I'll make us some food."

I looked at Nana, amazed as always. She's always been taking care of me. Always. "Ok Nana, I'm not so sure what's in the fridge, though. Anyway, I was told my meeting won't be until after lunch and it's a Saturday so I don't really get why they need me at work. But more importantly," I said as I paused and looked at her closely, "Won't you ask me about James and where he is?"

Then it was Nana's turn to look at me closely. "Have you been drinking?"

"Uh, no."

She touched my head with her palms and tried to feel for a fever. And as if she caught a passing thought, she sighed and said. "Emilia. You've done it again! You've been dreaming a dream that feels so real you think you haven't woken up. What novels have you been reading again, hmm?" Nana laughed. "Let me get this to your head: You're still single. And although your pretty close to the weekend – I'm sorry, dear, you're not close enough. You still have to get through today, and today's Friday.... Now hurry along. Here's your towel, go and shower. It'll make you feel better."

Nana almost pushed me into the bathroom. While I was still processing everything she said, I saw the calendar pinned at the back of the bathroom door. I stared at it, hard. The month and year stated on that calendar was simply unbelievable – for it said that the date was March 2010.