04. The Meadow

WE LIVE IN an island called the Free Isles.

This island is owned by the richest man in town, Don Felipe Quizon. Our parents are mostly fisherfolks but fortunately, the island is also surrounded with meadows. Coconut trees grow in this part. These meadows are being graced with cows and horses as well. The meadows are our most favorite place. Even if we do not own it, Sophia and I imagine that someday, this place will be ours.

We spend the whole afternoon chasing the dragonflies. Sophia has even forgotten about the pain in her cheek. Her braids have become slightly ruffled because of the running and the gush of the wind. But it’s okay. She’s still pretty.

“Do you ever ask yourself why you were born, James?”

We are lying on the grass, gazing at the clear blue sky above us. I look at her, sideways. She doesn’t look back. So I lift my gaze again to the sky.

“Sometimes. But mostly, I don’t.”

“Why?”

Because I already know the answer, I say on my mind. She pokes my ribs when I don’t answer.

“Hey, I said why,” she whines.

With hesitation, I reply, “I just get this feeling that I was born to be a good friend to you. To protect you…and to take care of you. I don’t see any reason yet, other than that.”

I hear her giggling.

“You sound so mature. And yet, you’re on the body of a kid. It sounded funny,” she says. This time, she is already laughing.

“I am mature!” I whine, “Papa says I’m the man in the house whenever he’s not around.”

She giggles and laughs again. Geez.

“You’re just seven!”

“I don’t think that.”

“Fine,” she says, still laughing like silly.

Silence.

Lying here on the meadow with my seven-year-old pretty girl feels wonderful. It’s like all the worries of life vanish whenever we are close to each other. I feel at ease, knowing that Sophia is not confined on the hands of her abusive father and in the bosom of her weak mother. I often worry for her, especially if we are back to our separate houses.

Everything I said is true. I want to protect her and to care for her. I really think that this is my mission in life.

I turn to my side to say something to her but when I do, I see her eyes closed. She’s already sleeping. Maybe the cold afternoon breeze has lulled her to sleep.

I smile. I look at the top of her head and trace her braids using my fingers. Her shiny braids are like whirlpool in my eyes. Then suddenly, the face of Sophia’s mother registers on my head. I hope she’ll be okay. I hope they’ll finally be okay. Just then, I hear Sophia’s breathing hitches, then she starts sobbing in her sleep.

“Stop hurting, momma!” she moans, “Just stop.”

I ought to wake her up but then she stops moving. She stops sobbing, too. I lightly hug my best friend.

I promise you, when I grow up, I’ll take my revenge on your father.