Nina’s eyes peered above the cover of a nameless book. She wasn’t reading, no. Her eyes were fixed on the distant figure of her mother sifting through a pile of old chattels left behind.
“Another river pebble. Your Lola really liked collecting the most useless things.”
Nina bore into the pages again, staring at browned pages as she spoke. Indeed, Lola loved collecting junk. She would see the beauty in the unnoticed, preaching about the esoteric virtue stowed in the unremarkable. Nina was fond of her collection, of the obscure trinkets ranging from misshapen clay beads to brightly colored sea glass that bore stories beyond convention. She remembered Lola showing them to her when she was young, each one of her strange, abstract pieces, and she would sit huddled at the pool of her saya as she bared their unfound beauty to her juvenile mind. Lola would always end her tales by touching the tip of her nose, a playful gesture she now found to be fading beyond recall.
“Hmph. Says the one who can’t stop adopting every stray mutt she sees. You are just like your mother, you know.”
“Hey. That’s not even remotely the same thing. Plus, you love them! Especially Pacquito.”
Nina responded with a sigh, rolling her eyes as she returned the book on top of the table. “He stinks. No matter how much he bathes, he stinks,” she said, nestling her chin on her palm. Her eyes stretched to the distant scene, taking in the billowing hills clad in wildflowers and hues of green. It was almost like a painting. The reds and oranges of the fleeting skies were never this vivid in the city. Perhaps they get washed out by the blinding lights and the noxious smoke. Or maybe she just never cared to look.
“Oh, I remember this,” her mother said, breathing air to the suffocating silence. “At least, if this is what I think it is.”
“What is it?” Nina asked, trying to make something out of the shadowed silhouette nestled in her mother’s hands.
“This was your Lola’s favorite thing. She used to tell me it’s magical. But you know how she was…Perhaps she just means it’s really unique.” Nina stood up from her chair in a swift, fluid motion. “Let me see.”
“Careful. It’s old.”
“Everything here is old,” Nina said, holding the hefty piece of metal between her fingers. “The stairs creak, the hinges grate…really, I do not understand why you insist on staying here.”
With an exasperated huff, Nina inspected the metal wedge, feeling its cold weight against the palm of her hand. It’s a pocket watch. It had pretty markings, hues of silver and beaded gems enclosed in a golden dance. She understood how her Lola would call it magical. It had a certain whimsical air to it, the carvings of foreign symbols birthed by practiced skill. However, the longer she stared, the more ordinary it got.
Her mother shrugged, the corners of her lips tugged in a subtle smile. “Keep it. You might like it.”
“Hmph. I doubt it.”
II
Nina held onto the pocket watch just like her mother suggested. For two days and two nights, she studied every crack and every crevice of the golden clock until she got bored of it. “Tch. It is just an old pocket watch,” Nina said. “Even the time is not right.”
She let herself fall against the mattress, the linen sheets crunching against the weight of her back. This is the last set of beddings Lola laundered. She always rinsed everything with almirol, always asserting the value of preserving the textile’s time and beauty. Nina used to hate it, she thought she still did, but she found herself dreading the feel of soft sheets again.
She put her hands on her face, pulling the skin downwards in sheer frustration. She couldn’t believe she fell for it. Deep within her, she knew Lola’s stories weren’t true. The playful spirits in the brook and the little fairies that sang to the trees for fruit, of course, weren’t true. How could they be? She was not a child anymore. She knew better than to believe in the macabre. This watch was just like those stories. Exaggerated and embellished; a product of Lola’s whimsical yet fickle mind.
“I better sleep,” she said, switching the nightlight off. “Even that for sure is more interesting.”
III
Nina woke up to the feeling of gentle warmth across her cheeks. The sun was up, but the clouds that pooled in the skies reduced its glare into a subtle haze. The dust danced in the golden spotlight, seemingly without hurry. A familiar birdsong was playing, but she was sure some parts were of foreign sync. The mornings here in Antique were admittedly pretty, but the days were slow and the afternoons were uninteresting. Surely today would be no different.
“Mom,” Nina called out, rubbing the sleep off her eyes. No response. “Did she sleep?” She frowned at the thought. “Mom!” With a frustrated sigh, Nina got up from her bed. Sliding herself off of the layered mattress, she made her way into the winding halls, letting her tired feet drag her body across its untamed puzzle. Nina never liked this house. It felt foreign, no matter how much she tried to get to know it. The more certain she felt where she was, the more lost she usually got.
Nina soon found herself in the sala. The house seemed the same, still in its unspoken frisk, perhaps just a little cleaner. “Hah. Maybe that’s why she’s so tired,” she mumbled to herself. She traced her fingers across the oaken console, rubbing the tips of her fingers at the end of it. Not a speck of dust. Her lips curled into a downward smile, nodding as she affirmed what she already knew. Her mother did a great job, she give her that. Even the worn-out book she was reading yesterday seemed particularly…readable. Anna Karenina. If there was truly something magical here, it was the remarkable cleaning and dusting her mother had just done.
Soon enough, Nina’s admiration for her mother’s housework got replaced with irritation. Why is she not answering? Did she go out without her daughter? She did invite her to the town proper last night, of which she wholeheartedly declined. “Mom! MOM!”
“Shh!” a voice said, shattering her illusion of solitude. It was coming from behind.
“I’ve been calling you for fore-” Nina paused, eyes wide open at the sight before her. This wasn’t her Mom. It was a kid! She was about her age, a girl adorned with long, wavy locks pulled back into gentle braids. Her eyes were roguishly golden, her hair laced with what seemed to be wildflowers and stray blades of grass. She was wearing a white dress and a golden necklace, its pendant tucked away from sight.
“Hi,” the girl said, a soft, almost puckish smile stretched across her face. “Don’t shout, please. Yaya doesn’t know I let you in.”
“What do you mean? This is our house–” Nina said, certain in her confusion.
“Mhm, this is my house,” the kid said as she shook her head softly. “Well, my Papa owns the house. But he is rarely here, so I just call it mine.”
Nina’s expression twisted into an exasperated look. The things this girl was saying did sound improbable, but she decided to not question any further. She figured that this was probably just a dream, anyway, and that she’d wake up in any second. That was why the house was so clean. Her mother was a terrible housekeeper.
“My name is Anna,” the girl said as she began to walk. Her dress flowed and ebbed with the wind, creating an illusion of wave-like billows crashing against the ocean’s feet. Her smile felt familiar, but she figured that was probably how all dreams are supposed to feel. Naked. The girl turned her head to the side, gesturing to Nina to follow. “What’s yours?”
“Nina,” she replied as she looked back at her with cautious eyes.
“You wanna hear a story?”
IV
Nina woke up with a gasp. That dream was something else, she thought. It was vivid. Too vivid. Where did she even get all the imagination to make up something that felt so…real? She was pulled out of her thoughts by a series of hurried footsteps against the wooden floor. It creaked and cracked against the weight, followed by her bedroom lock turning on itself. Her mother was here.
“Nina, I have been calling you for ages!” she said, a little frustrated and in an obvious rush. “Today is Aling Maria’s despedida, remember? Before her moving to the United States!”
“I know…sorry.” Nina responded, her mind seemingly out of place.
Her mother paused, her frustrated expression unraveling into a look of concern. It wasn’t not like her to say sorry.
“Are you okay?” her mother asked, her hand finding its way onto Nina’s shoulder. The mattress dipped with her weight, making the surface uneven to the left. She gave Nina a light squeeze, choosing to convey her concern in the manner Nina preferred. Silent.
“Yes, just tired. Do you remember where I put that book? You know, the one with no name?”
“It’s on top of the table, I believe.”
“Okay, thanks.” Nina said as she shot up, eager to quell the curiosity in her mind. Did she really manage to read that book cover in her dream? Did it really say Anna Karenina? Was her dream imagined, or did it bear a semblance of real life? Nina rushed down the stairs, the pads of her feet carrying her with ease down the sinuous stairs. Pausing before the table, she hurriedly picked up the book, her fingers wiping off the thin layer of dust that gathered on its surface. She squinted until the writing became very, very clear.
“Ha! It is Anna Karenina! It’s Anna Karenina!”
V
Nina met with the strange girl many times. They talked about a lot of things, like how Anna’s Papa was a businessman, and how her Mama died when she was born. They played in her favorite spots, like the brook down the rolling hills and the pockets of grass that cushioned the villa’s grounds. She liked collecting stones, Nina noted, and she liked making up stories about all things magical. Nina thought she was rather strange in this regard, eccentric from the way that she spoke to how she perceived the ordinary. Oh, and she really, really liked Anna Karenina because she was named after he character Anna Karenina. She hadn’t read the book yet. Over the course of many encounters, however, Nina grew fond of following her around, lending an open eye to her cherished spaces and a listening ear to her affinity to the mystique.
“Anna?” Nina said, her feet soaked beneath the brook. They formed a habit of resting here after a long afternoon of play, seeking solace in the cool waters and away from the scorching sun. Anna was collecting pebbles as usual, but she was within earshot.
“Hm?” Anna responded. She dropped another amber stone in her linen clutch.
“Your mother…she passed away, right?”
“Mhm…she died when I was born.”
Nina looked at the pebble Anna handed to her a few minutes ago. It was smooth, round, and had a unique color. It was a special pebble, Anna said. Nina could somehow understand why, but she never quite shared the same sentiment. It’s just a rock, after all. “And…how do you feel…about that?”
“My mother’s death?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I suppose sometimes it makes me sad. But I never knew her, so I guess what I am sad about is that I haven’t known her enough to feel sad when I think of her.”
“But what if you knew her enough? How do you stop being sad then?”
“Hm…” Anna hummed to herself as she stood straight, another pebble clutched in her hand. The edges of her skirt were wet from the water, leaving a darkened pattern along the hem. “I suppose you don’t stop being sad.”
“That’s stupid…and unfair-”
“Hey…no it’s not.” Anna replied as she made her way to Nina. The waters swooshed around her frame, her hurried strides parting the brook temporarily. Anna’s eyes scanned Nina’s face, trying to discern the complicated entanglement of the girl’s emotions she knew she would never admit.
“It is! It’s bad. I hate it. It’s stupid.” Nina said, wiping her face in harsh frustration, chasing off the salty beads of tears that began to well in her eyes.
“It’s not,” Anna said. She was silent for a moment, rubbing her hand across Nina’s back. She herself seemed to be at a loss for words, but she braved through the situation and began speaking again. “Close your eyes for a second.”
“Tch, no. You’re gonna pull something on me again–”
“Just do it!”
“Okay!” Nina said. She closed her eyes and focused on the sound of Anna’s voice.
“Imagine…that you are this brook,” Anna began. “And in this brook, are lots of different kinds of pebbles.”
“I don’t want to hear more about your silly little pebbles-”
“Shush…just listen to me, okay?”
Nina sighed and closed her eyes again. She said no more, for she knew Anna could be very persistent.
“Good. These pebbles are your feelings, all in the brook together. There’s a happy pebble, a sad pebble, an angry pebble, and a whole lot of other pebbles. All in different shapes and sizes.”
Nina’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, for Anna’s words left her feeling more confused than enlightened. Nonetheless, she let Anna continue. “Every pebble is okay. Every pebble is a welcome addition. Every pebble makes the brook just a little bit more interesting and beautiful. Doesn’t it make you excited knowing there are so many pebbles in there to see?”
Nina scoffed, but she stayed silent. Anna chuckled at her expression. “Our job here…is to just be the brook. You be the brook, and let the pebbles be pebbles.”
Nina did not quite understand what Anna was saying. But Anna spoke again, eager to grant solace to Nina’s heart. “No need to do anything about these feelings except let them be. The pebbles can just be pebbles, and you can just be the brook. You get it?” she said, smiling tenderly as she lightly touched Nina’s nose in a familiar gesture. At that moment, Nina felt a heavy tug on her chest, feeling as if time had stopped as the realization dawned on her. But the moment she opened her eyes to speak and hold her arms out to the girl at long last, her eyes were met the ceiling. The sun was harsh again and the nightstand was dusty. But this time, instead of holding back, Nina let herself become the brook.
VI
Nina’s days in Antique were soon over. Contrary to her mother’s assumption, she seemed to look back at them as a fond memory. She even talked about the things she liked about the house, like the trees that surrounded it or the nameless book that she left exactly where she found it.
“Anna Karenina? That’s Lola’s favorite, too. She was named after it.” her mother replied, one hand at the wheel and the other wrapped around a piece of kalamay-hati she was eating.
“I know.”
“She must have told you, huh? Lola tells you everything. You two were inseparable.”
“Inseparable?” Nina mumbled. A ghost of a faint smile contoured the edges of her lips. “I guess so.”
Her mother smiled, eyeing her through the rearview mirror. Nina was staring out the window, watching the trees on the road fade into a distant blur. The drive was silent, just like the one they had before, but this one felt easy and restful. After a while, Nina spoke. “Mom…do you want to hear a story?”
