The Ark

Author's note: These chapters are NOT stand-alones...The story starts here.

What was and what will be...1

The party is another massive affair. More food than could possibly be consumed.

The attendees are, as usual now, all the neighbors but we have the (unwanted by me and Cincer) addition of Reyna’s teacher, Debbie, and a few of Reyna’s friends. All told there are at least forty folks here.

As I’m the reason for the party, I can’t just disappear as I’ve done midway through the previous ones. Most of the guests have little English. My gals have more English skills than any of the others, with the exception of Debbie.

I’m not really wanting to engage with Debbie and have been successful at avoiding her so far. She has been spending time with Cincer, with Nelia, and with Lorie.

I’m sure I’ll get an earful later from each of those gals about what transpired, provided we can find the time before I leave.

Only a few minutes after that thought crosses my mind does Cincer join me, handing me another beer and sharing exactly that.

She ask, how it is you have so many loves.

What did you tell her?

The truth! Why not?

And what, CiCi, is the truth?

You make a big mistake and agree to meet many. Each is good and what you do?

OK, so in the short form, that works, but I can’t help but chuckle at it. Did that satisfy her?

Not sure. But it not matter what she thinks. She wanted to know why you not help the girl she ask Reyna to talk to you about. I ask her, what she expect you to do? I think she expect you that you take her as yours. I tell her you say absolutely no more. So there nothing you can do. She say why that? She say you take others so why not the one she ask about? I say, the others you contact first. So it your problem. Even then you not take all those you contact. This one not the same.

Was she angry?

No, she just not understand, I think. … Ira, it OK if I with you tonight?

I’d like that a lot.

That gets me a kiss on the cheek and neck, as my arm finds its way around Cincer’s back.

We are just talking about my plans for when I get back to the States as Nelia joins us. She is patient as that conversation comes to a stopping point before she feels she can break in and share her Debbie moments.

Ira, CiCi tell her you say ‘no more’ but not why, at least she say you don’t, CiCi. So I ask her, You know about Noah? She say she do, so I ask her how many of each Noah allow on? She say, I am foolish! All know it two of each. So I explain. Two Tagalog, two Ilonggo, two Cebuano speakers. That what there is here. This like Noah and the Ark. Reyna and Ann make two. There no room for three!

I know I shouldn’t laugh… I know it. So tell me, could you have maintained a straight face? I can’t. But as I laugh, I give Nelia a hug, and continue to hold her tight as I ask, How did she respond to that?

She understand. We talk about the girl she want you to help. That all.

The rest of the night is simply nice: good food, joyous singing, sweet companionship, and good neighbors who all are wishing me a safe trip and a quick return.

For a guy who only moved in thirty-one days ago, this stands in stark contrast to what my life was like in Kennewick, Washington. While I’m not the most social of creatures, I’m not a hermit either. This feels nice.

I find Cincer and quietly mention that tomorrow will be a busy day and I need to get to the airport early. She gets my point and, with all the decorum needed, she lets all know we need to wrap this up early.

All are gone by eleven, and I head off to bed with Cincer. The other gals will do the cleanup.

Being with her is not hard duty, but it’s qualitatively different. She really is a no-nonsense female. She isn’t the one to flirt, or dress provocatively. That’s not to say she doesn’t dress well and look great, but she doesn’t ‘sell’ it, if you catch my meaning.

She wasn’t the day I met her and that hasn’t changed one iota since then. When I say she is smarter than I am, I’m not sure you believe me, but she is.

The difference between us, other than she is a damn sight better looking than I am and thirty-eight years younger, is that my access to a good and stable income has been far better than has hers. Put her in the USA as a kid growing up and me here, and well, shit, I would be a pitiful thing and the good lord only knows what she would be capable of. If I was to guess, she’d probably still be at some university working toward a doctorate or, maybe, already having earned a degree, off doing something incredible.

Her being naked with me in this bed, as she is right now, would never have happened if things were different in the Philippines. But that is where she is, naked and under me. Her legs are spread wide, her hands are on my hips, as I push into her repeatedly.

It may be late, but I’m in no hurry, and Cincer isn’t either. In the middle of all this she asks, You have a girlfriend there?

That’s a damned weird thing to ask. I don’t, but why do you ask?

Then this is the last you get until you come back, silly. I want you to remember this, every day you are gone. I give you a reason to come back soon. And that is followed but a self-satisfied giggle.

Well then, maybe I ought to give you something you will think about when I’m gone!

And with that, I grab a tit while I’m fucking her, mauling a nipple good and hard, as I ramp up the power and speed of my fucking.

We are doing the best we can do to break the bed. The giggles are gone. Groans and gasps have replaced them. I’m not being careful or considerate.

My sweat covers her as I press on. Cincer has had at least a couple of orgasms, maybe more. She starts talking again, but this time it isn’t conversation. It’s pleading. Cum, Ira. Cum na. Cum na, cum na, cum na.

Finally I can oblige her. … She’s right, though. This is probably the last time I’ll bed a woman until I return to the Philippines.

It’s Sunday morning and I’m travelling light. I’ve a very small bag. Just enough clothing to get me back to the States. Everything else stays here. I’ve two days and nights in Manila before flying back. I left from Portland but will return via Seattle-Tacoma. The road time from Sea-Tac to home is about the same as it is from PDX, so it’s not a big deal. The hotels are more expensive around Sea-Tac and so that’s not great, but it’s what it is. I’ll get home on Wednesday, forty-six days from when I left. It’s been only a month and a half, but I’ll return a very different man.

As I return to Manila on my trip back to the States, there’s not a gal meeting me at a hotel. There’s no one I’m adding to my group. I arrive alone and will leave the same way.

I’ve nothing to do here for two days and that’s a pain. I decide to hang out at the Mall of Asia. There are movie theaters at the mall with English language first-run films, good restaurants, and places to sit and read.

It’s not perfect, and I do that for the balance of Sunday, but I just don’t see it working for Monday.

Instead, I just hang out in the hotel room today and watch US and British news channels. And in that totally boring way the only interruptions, and there are many, are from the text messages I’m getting from my gals. Every one of them seems to have the need to make sure I still exist.

They didn’t text yesterday, but they had seen me that morning. When they awoke this morning, I gather it was a different vibe and so the result has been a volley of texts.

I don’t find the texts a problem. No, it actually feels good. My last text is a sweet goodnight message from Bim. It’s perfect. She is my bookend.

Wednesday is hardly worth mentioning. Between the time spent at the airport, the plane’s delayed departure and the flight, it’s a day consumed by the process of travel and ending in another hotel room, another Comfort Inn. I get a good night’s sleep before the next morning, as I return to the airport to secure a car rental and make the trip back to Kennewick.

I left here in September. I’ve returned in November. The house has been fixed. There is new carpet throughout the house and some new woodwork is in place downstairs. Do I like the carpet? No. But I just don’t care. I want the house sold.

The place is pretty dusty. It needs an airing out but it’s in the thirties outside (that’s Fahrenheit not Celsius) and so, while I open a window for a little bit, it’s too cold to really get much fresh air in here. And then…

And then my head snaps into the realization that the air in the house was never aired out from pretty much October through March or April. I lived this way my entire life. It seems wrong because I’ve been essentially living outside for a month and a half. Yes, sure at night we would close windows, and turn on an air conditioner in the bedroom, but when in Santa Rita I was not in a home that stayed closed up most of the year, every year.

The carpet seems wrong. It hits me that here I didn’t take off my shoes when I walked in and this damned carpet is just hiding the dirt in the process. For about a month and a half I lived in places without carpets. There were tile floors. Those floors were swept repeatedly during each day. The gals would sometimes be barefooted inside the house. Those floors were clean. This feels far from that.

There’s an answering machine on my phone and the message waiting light is blinking. The message counter indicates that it’s full and can’t accept any new messages. With a pad and a pen in hand, I work through all fifteen messages. I’ll follow up on a couple tomorrow. Most don’t require anything on my part any more, or ever in a few cases as they were unwanted sales calls.

There’s no food in the house. I’ll go out for dinner tonight and maybe breakfast tomorrow before shopping. Right now I need to lie down for a nap. I didn’t sleep all that well last night. Back in the Philippines, right now, it’s 4AM and I would be sleeping. My body thinks that sounds like a good idea.

Well, it was and it wasn’t. I got maybe four hours’ rest before I awaken, feeling groggy and grungy. A shower resolves both things and I decide I’m hungry. It’s like my body is trying to sort shit out and is having a rough time doing it.

On top of that, I feel guilty. I haven’t texted the gals in two days. I start freaking out, worrying that they are freaking out too. I have my Verizon phone, but the service is still suspended. Using my landline, I call Verizon and ask that they turn the service to my phone back on. It’s a hassle but doesn’t take long once the request is made.

The gals have never gotten a text from this number, but I gave them the number I use here. The text app on my phone allows me to send the same message to a number of phones at the same time. First things first. I create contacts for each of them in my phone before sending. It’s 5PM here and that means it’s now 8AM there. Knowing they will all be awake …

Hi! I made it. I am back in my house now. All is OK. Missing you already. Missing Santa Rita too.

I put the phone back in its holster and decide to go out to the café. But before I can get out of the door my phone goes nuts. Each of my six is sending not just one text but two or three each.

They range from…

Thank God you safe!

Now you back there, you really coming back to us? Maybe you like that better?

And so to each I need to answer at least one of their texts, which gives rise to yet another volley. I give up trying to get out the door for now and just sit at the supper table and engage with their texts for the better part of an hour.

I’m finally able to let them know that I’m going out to eat and will text them when I get back in under two hours. That seems to satisfy them; I’m finally able to get going.

It’s another night where the special is all-you-can-eat BBQ ribs. That works for me, and I tie into a plateful of them and some mashed potatoes.

They have what they call BBQ in the Philippines, but it isn’t like this. Theirs is good, but this is better. It’s also the first time I’ve had mashed potatoes since I left. They do rice. Rice is OK, but I’ve missed my potatoes.

The glass of coke on the table looks improbably large. The chair seats me higher than I’ve become accustomed to. But I doubt the café has increased the size of the cups or raised the seats in my absence. It’s just that in the Philippines the chairs are lower to the ground and the drink cups are smaller.

I like the height of the chairs here but the size of the cups seem too large. And yet, both here and there, there are things that will be unlimited portions. It’s just that in the Philippines the unlimited thing is always the rice, not the meat or the drink.

I’m experiencing culture shock in reverse as I see my native culture through fresh eyes.

While I’m eating, I see faces I haven’t seen in a while. Some nod or wave, but none look surprised. My absence wasn’t noticed and my return seems to simply be a ‘nice to see you, it’s been a while’ type of thing.

They have been trundling through their days here. Day in and day out going through the paces with little changing. And little has in that way changed for them. That it has for me, they have no way of knowing.

As I leave the café, I pass the movie theater. They are playing one of the same films I saw at the Mall of Asia in Manila. In its own way that is a culture shock as well.

I never texted much before I left for the Philippines. I guess the kids do it a lot, but those of my generation don’t. The kids often don’t even have a landline. All they have is a cellphone. It’s a generational thing here. Over there, I’m not sure I saw any landlines outside of businesses and the hotels. It is cellphones only for most folks, and because the quality of voice calls is generally poor while at the same time the cost of calls is high, texts, at a peso each, are preferred.

None of my girls expect a call from me. They just want to be able to text.

I arrive back home and enter my house quite alone… and yet I’m not alone. My six are a few key clicks away. I don’t feel alone. I feel apart. I don’t like it.

Before I sit down to start texting again, I see that there’s a new message on my landline phone’s answering machine. I tap the play button.

Ira! Tom here. Word has it that you are back. Elena and I would love to get together with you and talk about your trip! Give me a call.

Tom is the guy with the Filipina wife. I’m not sure I’m up to this as I suspect I’ll have to do a lot of lying. I just can’t tell the truth. Not here, anyway. It would not play well. On the other hand, I don’t think I can blow the guy off.

I call Tom and make plans to join them on Friday night. I gather we will eat some Filipino food. I’m not sure why that is needed, as I’ve been eating nothing but that for a while, but I don’t have a problem with it.

I have ice cubes in a rocks glass and a bottle of bourbon. I pour some in the glass. It’s 7:30PM here which makes it 10:30AM in Santa Rita. I can’t text Cincer, who will be working or Reyna, who will be in class. Ann may or may not be somewhere she has any signal. I send a text message to Bim, Lorie and Nelia.

OK, back from supper. How are things there?

[Bim] OK my love. Miss you.

Miss you too. Truly.

[Nelia] OK here. No problem. When you come back?

I don’t know when I’ll return.

[Lorie] What you eat?

I had BBQ. It was good.

The texting continues for another half an hour before we wrap it up.

I look around the house and immediately feel an emptiness. There’s nothing for me here. I need to get back to my girls. Exactly how long that will take is the unanswered question. Yes, I’ve moved before, but that only entailed renting a U-Haul, canceling utilities and informing the landlord. Granted, that was years ago, and I own this house. Leaving the States entirely is a far more complicated thing.

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What was and what will be...2