19 The Portrai

April 28, 2013

6:39 am

Christine Romulo

"Margaret, are you in there? Will you let me in?"

It has been two days since that happening. Yes, I know it pains me. Yes, my conscience is still not clear of what had happened, but I have to be strong. It is Margaret that dealt with the heavier blow, but in part, I feel the pain.

Still, she does not say anything. For two days, I knock on her door and ask if she wants to talk to me. There was no response each time. Every meal time, I leave out some food by her door. She eats it and leaves the plates outside. Sometimes, when I pass by her room, I could hear her silent cries. Sometimes, I see some light from the foot of her door. Maybe, she just needs some space and handle it all to herself.

"Will you go to church with me?" I ask again.

No response. She is probably asleep at this time, but I know she could hear me. I just feel it.

"Margaret?"

It pains me to see her like this. She, the woman that I look up to, is now broken down inside. I can do what she did before – unlock her room from the outside. But, no. I can't do that. First, she thought that time that I have injured myself, but this, I know that she wants to be alone.

Yes, she wants to be alone, but I need her too. I need to talk to her. I need my sister. I try to knock again, but still, she answers me not. In this silence, I could hear my heart's slowing beat. My knees fall to the ground like tumbling objects. I sit to the floor as if I feel her right behind me from her door. As I sit, I could my vision turning into a haze like a morning fog.

It's no use holding everything back. I let out a single tear for the pains that I feel. If only she would come out and see me. That's all I truly need. I just need to know that I am not alone.

Alas, I cannot go on and stay like this. I get up on my feet and wash my tears away. I put some food at the foot of her door. I have to go to church, at least. This is what she would have asked me to do.

*

As the chauffeur drives me to church, I turn my attention towards the sheets Carlos had given me. The pieces he has been giving me turns harder and harder each week with all of these thrills, grace notes, and even thirty-second notes. I can do this. I'll just have to believe in myself.

It turns out that at this time that I always come, it is always I who arrives first. If it's not me, it would have to be Margaret's stoic friend. As I set the piano up, I find a piece of paper falling out of the covers. That's odd. Did Carlos leave a sheet here?

With much curiosity, I pick the paper up.

"Your sweet melodies bring light into my heart. Each key you press makes my heart beat a little bit faster, for you are like an angel descended from the heavens."

This was the note written at the bottom of the sheet. The paper, however, is a beautiful creation. It is a portrait of a woman playing the piano of this church. The details are so intricate that the drawing captured the stained-glass windows. It captured the statue of Mary near the piano and the choir's seats behind the pianist.

Is this drawing me?

I mean, if there are other pianists for the church, it might be them. However, the details are too accurate. The drawing captured my flowing black hair. It even captured the smallest of details like my jewels and the shoes that I usually wear.

I have to admit. This drawing makes me smile. I tuck the portrait in one of the sheet music books.

"Someone is actually happy today."

I look up, and of course. The bane of my Sunday mornings – Morris with his annoying smug of a face.

"Shut up, Morris," I say to him as I take my seat on the piano bench again. "I'm just glad that someone drew a portrait for me – an act that not even you can fathom. Maybe it's because you do not know what genuine smiles look like."

He just laughs under his breath. "Of course, that's what you think of me. It figures. Did you even know who drew it? It's quite odd being happy about having a portrait of yourself when you do not even know who to thank."

Actually, he's right about that. Who exactly drew this? "Of course, I know who drew it," I say out of defense. "It's Mateo Macedo. Who else? He is the only one actively courting me."

"Quite the romantic then," he says sarcastically. Out of nowhere, he draws closer towards my ear as if he would whisper something. "He sure knows ways of wooing you."

Honestly, I can feel myself being uncomfortable with this. I feel my breath drawing short as I feel him speak softly. I cannot help but move away from my seat. "Yes, he is better than myself, I must say. Anyway, what do you want? Or do you simply want to ruin my Sunday mornings as a highlight of your week?"

With a seductive smile, he takes a seat beside me on the piano bench. "I want not to ruin your mornings, Christine. I am merely levelling the playing field. I want nothing from you."

He looks at my eyes as if he would take my soul from the inside. As I was being drawn in, he just breaks away and rises from his seat. "I have already gotten what I need," he says clearly. "Something tells me you will tell me nothing useful anyway."

He left without another word and went outside of the church. He always has that habit after talking with me. Is it because he does not want to share the same air with me? Morris… Morris… If only I could read through you and actually create a true friendship with you.

Sigh, I may never understand that man. Sometimes, he's a friend. Sometimes, he's… different.

Anyway, as I think things through, he is right. I have no proof that Mateo drew that portrait. Then again, only Mateo could have drawn that portrait. Who else would it be? Certainly not him. Besides, he is clearly not interested me. In any case, he already has a girlfriend. There is no reason for him to draw me. The question is, does he even know how to draw?

I just shake the thought away. As I turn my back, I see the smiling face of my dear suitor. In his hand, he holds a box with a bow on top.

"Hey, good morning," he says with a smile on his face. "I suppose I'd have to give this to you. I don't think the Virgin Mary accepts jewels as an offering."

I just take away the box from him. I want to ask him if he drew it, but I do not want to ruin his feeling by implying I do not believe he drew it. I just want some assurance. Sigh, if there is someone to blame for my feeling, it would have to be that damned Morris for bringing some doubt into myself.

"Thanks," I say to him. "Your previous gift touches me though. I cannot believe that you would give such a thing to me. Such a gift filled with effort."

He just smiles at what I said. "Of course," he says easily. "I'd do anything to make you laugh or smile the least even by my little gestures. All I want is your reaction to everything that I do. Alright?"

"Yeah, of course. It is always the thought that counts. Are you going to stay for the mass?"

"Why not? I would always love to see you play. You play like an angel. After all, you are a church musician. You do want me around, do you? After all, I am still seeking for that hand of yours at the end of the day."

Angel. Playing the piano. At least that eases my burden a little bit. He did draw it. There is no reason for me to doubt anymore. As I realize this, I just let out a sigh of relief. This suitor of mine is one I can truly appreciate for his works. But there is still a part of me that worries due to his heritage.

"Of course, I want you around," I say to him as I hold his hands as affirmation. "I'd love to see Mateo Macedo deal with church hypocrites."

At this, he just throws an easy laugh. "Yes, but I want to see more of you than them, which is why I have also come to ask you formally. Would you like to go out on another date with me? No more debts attached. We're just two young people courting each other. Is that alright with you?"

I told myself that night was the last time that I would see him. My ties with his father put our relationship in danger. I would say no, but…

"Yes, of course."

I cannot deny him. I genuinely want him around and want to see more of him every day. Still, out there by the double doors of the church, I see that man standing again with a disapproving shake of a head. No, I do not need to explain myself to him. He does not even need to have an explanation for he is merely an acquaintance. Before he leaves, he simply adjusts his glasses and walks away.