I wake up to an empty
bed and the room’s already lit up and warm. Today’s my off day from work; no
gigs, no song-writing, no recording or anything that has to do with my job.
I’ve decided that I need a break for a day or two to reenergize myself.
Too bad though, my fiancée isn’t the
first thing I wake up to. The first thing I wake up to is a snoring Bernese
Mountain Dog, slobbering on the hardwood floor with its tail thumping onto it.
I sit up on the bed and spend a few
minutes watching the humungous dog sleep and slobber more. I’m going to have to
mop that up later. Its fur shines in the sunlight; a big section of the coat is
ebony and some sections are white, like its belly and light brown. My eyes trail to its snout. A long pink
tongue sticks out onto the floor.
I get out of bed and crouch next to
it.
“Good morning, Kearney,” I scratch
its head, waking it up.
Kearney squirms and wakes at the
touch. He looks at me with big hazelnut-coloured eyes and nudges my hand with
his wet nose.
“It’s just you and me. I know we’re
not really good friends but I think today’s the day to—”
He stands on his four legs and
starts heading out the doggy door. I sigh.
It’s probably the whole
‘like-owner-like-dog’ thing.
***
For lunch, I decide to pay her a visit
at her work place. No, it’s not because I have nothing do to. I just want to
see her for lunch and I don’t know maybe take her out while she’s on her lunch
hour. That’s a very fiancé thing to do, right?
I’ve never been to her workplace or
met any of her colleagues (other than the group I met during the Iceland
incident) anyway so it’s going to be like hitting two birds with one stone.
After stopping by at her favourite
joint to pick up lunch, I don’t text her that I’m on the way. I want it to be a
surprise. What? I just like surprising her!
Sure if I don’t know where the
palaeontology department is, that’s what the receptionist is for—to ask for
directions. I hope no one notices me as ‘David Archuleta the singer’. I wonder
if she has ever talked about me to her colleagues. I know she does that often
to her friends.
I turn right to the entrance of the
research facility that’s blocked by a barrier and a guy sitting inside a room.
I say I’m a visitor and he lets me in, I thank him and he gives me a toothy
smile.
The research facility stands tall
and proud in the midday sunlight in its grey and white together with the silver
linings of the huge windows.
The main entrance of the building
sticks out with two columns and a ceiling that juts out to reach the two
pillars, making a shelter for rainy days. Around the columns are cute, teeny
tiny shrubs planted into carpet grass. On the top of the columns are uppercased
letters in chrome:
USGS
EARTH SCIENCE AND PALEONTOLOGY FACILITY (UTAH)
I take the paper bag out together
with me to walk into the building. As I enter, the cool air hurls itself
against my figure. I let the cool air engulf me, feeling less sticky and
sweaty.
I walk pass the crowd heading out
the entrance for lunch hour. The lady behind the counter smiles at me and I
approach her.
“Excuse me; do you know where the
palaeontology department is at?” I ask politely.
“Just go straight, exit this
building and you meet a cross road. Take a left and there you’ll find the
department. If you need further assistance, you can ask the receptionist
there,” she gives me a big grin. I give one back after thanking her.
I do what she says: go straight. I
pass a few people wearing lab coats and laboratory goggles. I start to wonder
what department this is. Ignoring and swerving a few workers, I find myself
outside of the building, standing on a cross-road path kind of thing. I make a
left and see a sign board that says:
PALAEONTOLOGY DEPARTMENT
I admire the font as I enter through
the automatic sliding doors. The foyer is empty. Just a nice rocky fountain
with water trickling down to a man-made pond with Koi fishes swimming in it. The
walls are made of glass with white thick framings around it. Behind the
fountain are exotic plants of all kinds that I can’t name.
Cream-coloured sofas circle the
glass coffee table. On top of it are stacks of newspapers and National
Geographic newsletters and magazines. In contrast to the palaeontology
department, it seems that they spent more time decorating and furnishing this
place than the main entrance. My footsteps echo as I gingerly walk straight
towards the little hallway that leads to somewhere.
I pass an open door and back up to
see if anyone’s inside the room. It’s empty—nothing but skulls and various
limbs that were owned by organisms once upon a time. The room’s dark except for
a bright desk lamp shining over a fairly big skull with a tool box and brush on
the table.
I continue on down the hall and
enter a big room (a well-light one I may say). Glass cases sit on pedestals.
They spread out amongst themselves on the carpeting. Goosebumps form on my arms
as I see the bony objects inside. Labels are given to each glass case with the respective
bone structure.
Hip bone of the
homosapien
200
B.C-260 B.C
I whiz pass the
exhibit and into another hallway. Then I start to think where could the people
in the department be other than lunch hour? It can’t be that all of them are out for lunch. There
must be someone who’s in the building.
“Over the next few months will be
nothing but research, research and research. No field work will be assigned or
carried out throughout the time span. We’ve gotten all we can from the time we
had in Nepal.”
A familiar voice escapes from
somewhere down the hall and I follow it.
After a few more steps, the voice
gets louder. It’s coming from a room. Just like the room I found earlier, this
one is open too except with dozens of people inside with notebooks and pens.
The seats are arranged like an amphitheatre except that the atmosphere is enclosed.
Down the aisle, I see a beautiful woman, speaking firmly as she points to the
projector screen. On the screen are slides of fossils and… of course, more
bones that make my stomach churn.
I back up a little to remain unseen
to the naked eye.
“In a few weeks’ time we’ll have the
correct the apparatuses to figure out the remains. The best guess now is what
this company has been tracking down for ages…” She gives a cold glare to the audience.
“Neanderthals.”
She lets an airy moment arise before
speaking again.
“Crazy explorers believe that they’re
still out there but my team and I have been camping out in caves for several
months and there were no suspicious activities carried out during ungodly
hours. As you can see by this short footage from our thermo graphic camera…”
The screen changes into the footage
that shows a green background and nothing else.
“We’ve sped up the time and so far
we’ve got nothing. We can’t come to the conclusion that they’re extinct or
still out there. Perhaps they still
are or not. But anyway, that’s not technically the objective of this research
case. I believe Professor Filmore has explained the objectives of this entire
thing in my leave of absence.” She nods her head to the stocky, dark man next
to her in a lab coat.
“Meeting adjourned,” she grabs a
gavel and smashes it to a table up in the front.
The moment the audience packs their
notebooks and stand up, I turn to the wall and press my back against it.
People start to pour out of the room
and I stay still, hoping no one catches a glimpse of me.
When the room’s empties out, I peek
back into the room. I see the front much clearer now. The woman with the
familiar voice is my fiancée. I’m so oblivious. How can I not recognize her voice? I mentally give myself a facepalm.
She’s just talking to the stocky
guy. I quietly and slowly waltz into the room and walk down the gently sloped
steps, pass the comfy-looking seats.
The closer I get, the louder the
mumbles get.
“Yes, I believe that’s a better
decision than what they had in mind initially,” the man has a pretty deep voice
for a stocky build.
“I’m still thinking of ways to speed
up the cleaning process but so far I got none. The layer of clay and unwanted
residue are just too thick and stubborn!” she says.
I stand awkwardly in front of them
and clear my throat softly, “E-Excuse me but—”
She gasps in an instant, “David!
Hey!”
I brace myself for a pair of arms
hurling at me and weave themselves around my body. The paper bag’s all crumpled
up from the jerks and yanks.
“David, I want you to meet my
colleague, Dr. Filmore,” she coaxes me to the guy.
“Ah, yes, the infamous David,” he
holds a hand out and I shake it willingly, “We’ve met already.”
My heart stops beating for a second,
“I’m sorry, w-what?”
“Oh, I see!” she chirps, tightening
her hold on my arm.
Dr. Filmore lets out a hearty laugh,
“Yeah, you was the one suffering the most when she was unconscious.”
Oh. It was that guy I saw when I was
called in to the hospital. I always thought he had this ‘leader of the pack’
kind of look. But with his lab coat on, he seems like your average Joe.
“Right,” I laugh sheepishly. I feel
intimidated by this guy. He probably has a higher GPA and SAT than I do. Heck,
I’m considered as a high school drop-out.
“I should get going. Don’t want the
wife to come yapping over my phone,” he laughs more while walking out. “See
you!”
We wave at him when he’s out the door.
“So,” she starts. I look at her, “How’s
the off day going so far?”
I shrug and think back to this
morning, “Kearney hates me.”
She looks at me with the most
endearing eyes, “Yeah, he really does.”
My shoulders slump and the paper bag
rustles. She spots it immediately.
“Is there food inside?” she says
with her voice, already eager.
I straighten back up, “I thought it’d
be a very fiancé thing to do when I’m
off.”
She coos and snatches the bag away
from my hand then lays it out on the table with a gavel on it.
“I heard your presentation just now,”
I decide to help her out with the set up. “You were really good. I can’t even
talk straight when I have interviews on TV.”
She huffs a laugh, “Please, that’s
nothing. You’ve done tons of interviews—probably millions. You have more
experience than I do.”
I beckon her to sit across me as I
settle myself down onto a chair.
She scans the entire table; dish by
dish.
“What’s that?” she points to the
ramekins containing chocolate and whipped cream on top of it. “I know it’s chocolate
and some cream thing but what is it?
“It’s pot de crème; uhh, a French
dessert. I thought you might like it. I made it this morning,” a smile paints
on my face.
It doesn’t matter where we are; she
and I usually eat in silence. My mother always says that it’s rude to talk with
your mouth full or over a meal. I see businessmen and women do it nevertheless
I don’t care; it’s their thing I guess.
Finally she reaches for the dessert
I made (credits to my mother, she actually taught me how to make this). Then,
she spins the ramekin 360, observing the dish.
“I’ve never heard of these things
before. What’s in it?”
I swallow my last gulp of food and
say, “Just cream, sugar, vanilla, a pinch of salt, coffee and lots of dark chocolate.”
She stares at me in bewilderment, “Wow.
How come you never bring it up?”
“I don’t know, I guess it’s just
that I haven’t made it in a while.” I reach for the other ramekin and dig in.
She does the same.
Her lips press together in a fine
line and let her eyes roll back, “Oh my—”
“Gosh,” I finish the sentence for
her.
She narrows her eyes at me for a
moment, “This is so good. If good
music is translated into a dish, it’d totally be this one.”
I grin at her and I feel my heart
fluttering.
Never
had anyone complimenting my cooking before, I think.
Suddenly, she gets out of her seat
and approaches me. Her palms press against my cheeks simultaneously bringing my
lips to meet hers. Our noses bump each other just slightly but then nuzzle
themselves onto the other’s cheek. I taste the bittersweet chocolate and coffee
that tickles my taste buds. Not long, she lets go of me and says, “Thanks for
bringing me lunch.”
Mesmerized, I slur, “Yeah, no
problem.”
Her cheeks turn bright red from the
kiss. Just then I feel my lunch doing back flips. I feel 19 again. I thought
that we would get used to the romantic gestures we give each other but it turns
out that we’re not. Maybe it’s because we often do it or we’re just
spontaneous. I’m afraid that I might run out of spontaneous gestures.
She sits back down and finishes the
whole ramekin, wiping it clean and leaving faint traces of chocolate.
When lunch hour’s over, we clean up
and I pull her in for another short kiss. The blush appears again.
“Would you do me a favour and jog
with Kearney today? I might be coming home late tonight and I won’t have the
time to give Kearney some exercise.” She smoothes her fingers across my collarbone.
“But he hates me!” I whine.
“Try
to bond with my dog, at least. Whatever’s mine is yours,” she gives me a
look and stops stroking my collarbone. Her hand climbs to my chin and she
stands on her toes to give me a light peck on the cheek, “Just bring him his
squeaky toy to the park or something and play fetch. Give him treats and he’ll
probably let you in.”
She talks about Kearney like he’s
her son. Unfortunately, she told me whatever belongs to her is mine too. I'm practically
supposed to own this dog but the tables have turned; the dog owns me.
“I have another meeting in a couple
of minutes, you should get going. I’ll try to make it back home as early as I
can, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper to her.
We exchange ‘I love you’s then I
head out. I stop halfway, “By the way. Kearney needs slobber control. He did it
all over the hardwood floor again.”