Before the third episode of the Philippines Graphic Literary Workshop (PGLW) concluded on April 18, we knew that we had one more thing that we can offer our bright young fellows: a starting platform for their creative endeavors. Here, we present one of their final outputs from the workshop. We also asked them to provide an artwork that they think best represents their stories. Read on.
Esca, 40.
She rushes to the bathroom sink, scurrying past the long line of young women waiting for the cubicles to empty. “Gameplan— what’s my gameplan?” the woman in her clothes thrifted from Marikina, a fancier wear than her usual, mumbles to herself by the sink. While the woman scrunches her forehead, searching and forming answers from an argument at the dining table, Esca, for the longest time, had her hair fixed today. A dainty piece of jewelry drapes around her neck paired with pearl earrings she got from someone a few years back. The only combination her hidden drawer could offer.
But in contrast to the ironed emerald dress she luckily found among the hundreds of clothes in that Marikina store, if one would look closely at Esca’s face, it has become crumpled and swollen that lines do not simply line her face. It folds her skin. Patches of darker skin have latched to her once youthful face. A face her friends and family likened to a young Charo Santos.
Esca mumbles to herself a list of considerations to her reflection in the mirror. Why was she here while her child rests at their house with her mom?
And her date, a man of regular status – she left him by the dinner table to excuse herself and go straight to the bathroom. “I must be chickening out,” she thought to herself.
Her hands, frantic, reach for the faucet. The water was cold to the touch. As if time was an accomplice to her demise, Esca continues to whisper, mixed with silent curses.
She steadies her gaze, locking eyes with her dolled-up self. Hm. This face – the cost of giving birth to her sweet child. There was no pregnancy glow for her during those nine months. But then again, there was also no one to watch her beauty fade to this face that seems to be in endless recovery. No one to please, no one to worry, and no one to care for her but her mother.
Esca’s hands grip the crevices, the bumps and inconsistent surface of the sink digging quietly but hard enough to leave a mark on her skin. The guy at the table waiting for her was nice. At least with the way he treated her on the way to this restaurant. The subtle gestures of opening the door for her, constant check-ups and even the spontaneous activities he laid out on the spot for this date. He was nice. Even this restaurant was a good choice. Esca did not know any better how to eat a lobster until he taught her to. She didn’t even know of any anglerfish or its nature until today when they saw a peculiar painting of its face framed on the walls of the restaurant; she did find it rather interesting but hideous. “He’s patient for his age. Pretty charming too.”
But he too was the same. That same man who left her without a word when she was still pretty. There was weight, a tender tone in his words, like this same man. He was a bit older than the guy patiently sitting by the table outside. And she was prettier then– younger, even.
Esca tries to catch her breath. She picks up herself from the tiled sink and takes her purse, etched with loose and less precise stitchings of little stick figures and shapes. Breathe in, breathe out. She examines her lips, its tint wiped off by whatever it is they ate. She brings out her used-up lipstick – the color of a soft rose.
“How much will that cost me again? I can’t possibly have the young one bear the meal’s price alone.” Esca uses her fingers, which were dishpan to touch, gliding it across her lips and cheeks. The same hands that routinely wash soaked plates in Ermita, near the roads where sirens glare from a distance. “I possibly can’t.”
Esca presses the powder puff with retiring anxiety, patting it across the gaps on her forehead, crooked nose and chin. Although this was the first date, she is yet to fill the guy in the fact that she had a kid. A cheerful one that tends to cause a ruckus in their house with her whimsical tricks. Why not let him know, ‘no? “He’s young. There’s more for him to learn than this.” Her thoughts cancel out each one after another. A tranquilizing exchange.
Soon, the marks from the tiled sink eased from her hands. Esca picks herself up from the mirror, paying less attention to the reflection in the mirror and more to how her dress and jewelry placed themselves upon herself.
She tweaks up her dress, propping herself up once again. No more words come to mind. The gameplan-
Esca closed her bag shut. She exhales a last time and glances at the shorter line of girls by the mirror. The woman leaves her reflection in the bathroom behind, and without a word, she headed toward the cashier, carrying her Ermita earnings past the young man.
Esca meets her date by the table, asking if he’s ready to leave. Although stunned by his date’s sudden decision to finish their dinner 30 minutes in, the young man did not even utter any question. When he brought his wallet out from his pocket, Esca signaled and turned it down, telling she’d already paid for the sum he knew was meant to be shared if not carried by his savings.
By the doors of the restaurant, the female anglerfish painting bid the pair farewell. While the creature had reached the surface at the end of its days in the painting, Esca did not glance back at anything else. Just as she had always been and where she will remain. “There was no reason to be thrown off, was there?” Esca thought to herself. She did not have to make a gameplan if there were no chances given, if there was nothing to lure out toward where she is.
So, maybe in another ten years, or until once certainty relaxes to nothing but fulfilled promises absent of the weight the future carries. Maybe until then.
Veancy Palad
