Rhythm (4 page)

Good. I can live with two rules. That’s easy.
“Sure. What’re those, boss?”

“First, we’ll have a no secret policy. That
means we should be honest at all times with each other. I want us
to have an open communication.”

“I definitely agree with that. I want an
honest relationship with you, babe—no secrets, all honesty.”

“Okay. Ready for the second one?”

I nod.

“Second, we should not engage in any, and I
mean
any,
public nor private display of physical affection.
No kissing, hugging, holding hands—no nothing, not until we’re
married. Agree?”

My mouth is hanging. Wide. What did she just
say? Is that even possible?

“Rhy, what do you mean?”

“You heard me, Grant. I mean exactly what I
said.”

Wow. Can I do that? I can. How? I don’t know.
Wow. Just. Wow.

What now? Do I say I agree or should I just
forget all about this? It’s not that I don’t have any plans on
marrying her someday because I plan on doing just that. I remember
telling myself that I won’t court a girl unless I know that she’s
the one I’ll marry. Yeah, you might think I’m too young for serious
stuff, but I’m not your usual type of guy who will court someone
and expect—even unconsciously—that we’ll break up eventually. I am
a firm believer that entering into a relationship means that you
are ready for the
whole
and not just a
part
of
it—from courtship to dating to marriage to family. I have that
thought in mind since day one of wooing Rhy, so I don’t understand
why I’m taking too long to answer. As I look at her, I catch a
glimpse of what I fear I might see. She’s fighting her tears.

What have I done?

“I agree. I totally agree.”

“No, you don’t. You didn’t see your face when
I said my second rule, but I did. And I tell you, it speaks the
exact opposite of yes.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I
mean, I was overthinking, but my answer is that I agree. That’s
final.”

“Are you sure? Because there’s no backing out
for me.”

“Ditto.”

“Okay. Okay.” She breathes deeply, tries to
compose herself, and says, “So, I guess that’s it. We’re
we
now.”

Did I just see a blushing Rhy? I’m sure she
blushed before, but she makes sure to turn away before I can
witness it. Today, I have the front row seat for the movie
The
Blushing Rhythm.

“Yes. We are
we
now. Officially.
Finally.” I jump and scream in my head. It’s somehow sinking in.
“So what would you call me? Baby? Honey?”

“Grant. I’ll call you Grant because that’s
your name and it is sweet to hear your name, isn’t it?”

“Sweet? Nothing about my name is sweet. It’s
great, not sweet, girlfie.”

She scrunches her nose hearing the nickname.
“Eeew, girlfie? Really?”

“Yes, like wifey, but you’re not my wife yet.
And hubby, but you’ll never be my husband. Yeah, you know what I
mean.”

She roars, laughing with all her might. I’m
glad I can do that to her. I want to always do that to her. I want
to be the reason she smiles and laughs.

“Oh, I almost forget. Well, I forgot then
just remember now. I really have to go.”

I am about to tell her that I’ll call her
when I recall that we don’t have a cell phone, but I want that
because I have more time to interact, speak, and hang out with
people that I care about without any technology bothering me.

“I’ll see you later?” That came out more of a
demand than a question.

“Yes, later. Bye, Grant.”

“Bye, Rip. For now.” I wave at her and
wink.

“For now,” she whispers.

Rhythm

Grant and I are together for almost a week
and so far, so good. I mean, great. Wow. I can’t believe that I
waited for a year before I said yes to him. I didn’t plan on making
our anniversary as a couple the same date as the first day he
courted me: November 25th. I gave him the ultimatum of one week to
prove to me that he’s worth it, and on the first day of the
ultimatum week, I already wanted to say yes, but how? He never
asked. I’m not familiar with this kind of relationship, so I just
wait for him to ask me if I can be his girlfriend, and happily, he
asked two days before the deadline. I know, I know. Giving your
suitor a deadline is not typical. I am anything but typical, what
with giving him rules right after I said yes? Typical, uncheck.

I wasn’t sure how he would handle my rules,
but so far, he’s doing his best to comply. I am not in any way
religious, but I have a relationship with God that I don’t want to
be stained. I’m nowhere near perfect, I know, but that doesn’t mean
I cannot try, right? I always dream that my first boyfriend will be
my last, that he will be my husband, and I want to save my purity
for marriage. I believe that’s the best gift I can give to my
husband. I know that holding hands seems to be harmless; however, I
just want to make sure that we will not cross any line, so better
be safe. I thought that Grant would back out the moment I laid my
rules, especially about the physical thing, but once again, he
surprised me. Although he didn’t outright agree, which I
understood, I appreciate his effort and the respect he has for me.
If anything, I love him more for it.

We will celebrate our 1st
weeksary
—as
per Grant—and he told me to dress casual. I don’t know why he even
told me that because my entire wardrobes are all casual, and I mean
all.

I wear a pinstriped loose blouse, black
leggings, and a nude ballet flats. I put on a light pink lipstick
for a natural look and curl my lashes because that is all the
makeup I own. I pinch my cheeks to give myself a natural blush, and
there you have it—my casual look that is, by the way, my everyday
look. The only difference is that I opt out my eyeglasses in
exchange for a clear contact lens.

Just as I am finishing up, I hear the secret
knock on our door—three knocks, pause, one knock, pause, two
knocks, and silence. He’s here.

Since we don’t have cell phones, we kind of
make codes or cryptic messages that only we can understand, and
secret messages so that we can communicate our plans. Like for this
date, he left a note on my locker saying:

Continents. Casual.
Concede.

Which translates to: He’ll pick me up at 7 pm
(7 continents), I should wear casual clothes, and the note is from
Grant (synonym of grant - concede).

I don’t know how or when this kind of
communication started, but I kind of like it. No one who sees the
note will understand it but me. Although when we are together, we
communicate openly, not using codes, not cryptically, nor
secretly.

I open the door with a smile and there he is,
my love, wearing a navy blue V-neck shirt, faded jeans, and a black
sneakers.

“Why, hello there, my lady,” he greets me
with a bow reserved for a queen.

“Hi, Grant.” I beam at him showing my newly
brushed and flossed teeth.

“Someone’s in a good mood today it seems.
How’s your day?”

He catches my extraordinary mood. I rarely
beam. Frankly speaking, this is my first time. I smile but not
beam, especially not at him.

I try to shift my mood a little bit but fail.
“My day’s just keeps getting better, thank you. How about you?”

“Excited much to see me, aren’t you?” He
laughs. “My day’s always at its best when I’m with you,
sunshine.”

I think of the reason why I am exceptionally
excited today. Oh, yes. It’s our 1st weeksary, which Lola found
dumb. Did I mention that Grant also initiated the celebration of
our
daysary
? Sweet, isn’t he?

“Happy 1st week, baby,” he greets me and
hands me daisies.

“Wow, thank you, Grant. They’re lovely.”

“Not as lovely as you, my daisy.” His
compliments didn’t change. In fact, it becomes more abundant each
day. “Ready?”

“I am. Let’s go.” I put the lovely daisies on
a vase, then close and lock the door.

“Where are we headed?”

Leading me to his pick-up truck, he says,
“Surprise,” then winks at me.

My only clue for this particular surprise of
Grant is the food he asked me to prepare. I guess we’re having a
picnic or something.

“Will you ever have enough of them?
Surprises, I mean. You surprise me almost every day.”

“Nope, I won’t. I will do everything to
surprise you.”

And I’m surprised that his response doesn’t
surprise me. He’s always like that—attentive, caring, loving . . .
Is he even a man? I think of all the men I know of, and none of
them can be compared to him. I don’t mean to generalize men—no, not
at all. It’s just that all male species I know always make sure to
destroy—relationship, trust, and heart. I hope and pray that Grant
will be different than them all the way, which so far, he is.

“Well, thank you again, Grant—for
everything.”

“Will you ever have enough of them?
Thank
you
, I mean. You thank me almost every day,” he teases me.

“That’s because you always do or say
something with and for me that I do appreciate. I want to always
let you know how grateful I am for your surprises. Besides, I want
to keep ‘em coming.” I wink.
I wink? For real?
I attempt to
compose myself, but hearing him chuckle with what I did, I let
loose. I chuckle with him.

“We’re here.” He turns off the ignition, gets
down, crosses the truck, opens my door, and assists me in getting
out of his truck.

“Seriously, Grant. I can do it on my
own.”

“I know, but let me serve you even with
simple gestures such as this.” His smile never wavers while saying
those sweet words. Can it get better than this? I don’t know if I
can take his sweetness. You know, I might die of diabetes.

“Okay, thank you.” I smile at him.

“You are most welcome, my thank you
girl.”

It took me a moment to realize where we are.
“Grant?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Where are we? Yes, I know where we are, but
. . . why did you bring me here? I thought . . .”

“You thought what?” There is concern in his
voice, which I don’t intend to put there.
Nice, Rhythm. What
happened to his thank you girl?

“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it here. In
fact, I love it!” I take a moment to let this surprise sink in.
“The view took my breath away, and I’m having a hard time to grasp
everything that I see. It’s just our first week, but it seems it’s
our tenth year. You never fail to amaze me, Grant.” The tears are
threatening to fall, but I manage to convince them to behave
themselves.

“You have me worried there for a bit, Rip.”
His smile is back. “I didn’t know you have a thing for cliffs.”

“For one, I have a thing for simple things
like nature. I appreciate man-made awesome things like Eiffel
Tower, but nature . . . it’s . . . breath-taking.” I am in a
dreamlike state as I indulge myself with this 1st weeksary surprise
Grant prepared for me.

A cliff is a surefire in bringing out the
exuberance in me. I have an obsession with it for as long as I can
remember. Ironically, it makes me feel safe. Instead of feeling
afraid that I might fall, I feel euphoric about the possibility of
falling, but that’s not to say I am suicidal. I just like the
sensation of what
falling
gives me. You know, the feeling
that your heart is like being ripped out and you can’t think about
anything but to scream at the top of your lungs just to remind
yourself that you’re still breathing, that you’re still alive. What
I like best is the part where I can’t think of anything
else—problems, past, pain—but falling
.
Cliffs remind me to
be carefree but not to the point of being careless.

“What’s for two?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said, “For one.” Now, what’s the second
thing you have in mind?”

“Oh. I have a thing for dates that aren’t
pretentious, like eat in a fancy restaurant where you won’t be able
to
really
eat. So, this is the best place for our first
week. Thank you, Grant.”

“I’ve been counting, you know.”

“Counting what?” I ask, intrigued.

“The times you say your two favorite
words—thank and you.”

“Well, how many of them have I said?”

“Mmm . . . honestly?”

“Yes, honestly.”

He sniggers. “I lost count. You say them too
much.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Good. Of course, it’s good,” he says while
lost in his thought.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“When did you start becoming so
thankful?”

“I honestly do not know I am that thankful
until you told me. Maybe I wasn’t that thankful, until you.”

“Really? What made you say that?”

“Because, Lola never mentioned it to me. And
if you haven’t noticed it yet, if I’m not with you, I’m with her
and vice versa. Get the picture? You’re the only two people I spend
my time with.”

“Yeah, about that . . .” he stalls. “Where’s
your family?”

We’ve known each other for a year, but the
getting-to-know-you
part is just beginning. Sure, I know
some things about him and vice versa, but we haven’t crossed the
line talking about family stuff. I don’t want him to ask me so I
never initiate.

“Gone.” Four letters. One word. I hope that’s
enough for him. I silently pray that he will stop asking any
questions about my past. Yeah,
family
is past.

“Gone like dead?”

“I’m not really comfortable talking about
them, you know.” I instantly regret what I said when I notice his
furrowed brows. “Look, I don’t mean to keep things from you, but I
am not ready to share that part of my life. Not yet.”

“I’m sorry. I understand,” he simply says.
You will think that he really understands, but not after you see
the faraway look in his eyes, the stiffness in his posture, and the
words that you know are smothered in his throat.