“You walk into your home to find a couple you don’t know sitting in your living room, eating a slice of cake. Tell us what happens next.” The Daily Post
Home, at last. The trip from the office to my place was… uneventful. The stray dogs weren’t particularly amused by my silent passage, it took to barking nonstop. I thought it wasn’t going to stop, until a vehicle came sweeping.
By the sounds of screeching and doggedly protestations, I could tell: it almost squashed that homeless hound. My eyes were accustomed to see strangers in the streets, particularly, in the dark. Seeing another set of faces – couples to be exact – in our living room wasn’t exactly unusual. Just unappetizing.
Mr. Whoever aimlessly forked at his cake. Wait? Cake? I don’t remember buying any cake yesterday. Without shame, my thought balloon is probably registering my simple wish: “Please, let it be that there are still some slices left…”
Going back to the couple, ah, so this is the source of that shrill, excited chatter. Mrs. Whatever is animatedly chatting with my ma. They were too engrossed to have noticed my silent entrance. Yet, as I sheepishly zoom straight to my own room, without bothering to do proper ‘modern curtsies,’ I could feel two pairs of eyes boring through me.
It felt awkward, but man, enough with the strangers! I just want to go home, eat and sleep in peace. I didn’t close the door shut but brought it close to kissing its borders. Their chatter wavered for awhile, my ma obviously coming up with some kind of apologies on my behalf. Their voices drifted afloat in my room, while I hastily change from my stifling garb.
I’m fairly used to seeing my parents entertain people known to them, but not to me. They were part of that generation – those without the aid of gadgets, WiFi, or social media, are able to create meaningful connections and conversations.
They’re what people call the “approachable” type. Strangers – be it the delivery guy or the roaming solicitor – find it easy to come close to them, talk to them. They do it like… it’s the most natural thing. They could strike a conversation with the lowly worker as they could with an expensively clothed peacock.
Despite all that, my parents could be just as snob (as me). Yet, I seldom see this side of their demeanor. I think: they’re only snob to those who leave a trail of off-putting bad blood.
“Kids these days”
I didn’t know if it was some sort of coincidence. But the moment I sprang in sight, out of my pale blue room, they started chatting about “kids these days.” It’s a totally adult-kind of topic, usually incited by perceptibly uncharacteristic behavior displayed by kids (i.e., persons younger than the elders).
I didn’t bother to find it out for myself. I marched unto the room and head to the comfort room. Oh, the topic amuses them so. You could tell: by the rise in their voices’ decibels. It was about somebody else’s kids.
Mr. Whoever ranted about the neighboring boys, who according to whispers, took to planting marijuana in their backyards. Our place was, obviously, apt for such antics as it was predominantly populated with the local bush. Mix it with the rest of the bushes and viola! –They got their pot of heaven ready for the smoking!
I thought I wouldn’t hear any more of that shrill voice, until Mrs. Whatever decided to balk about the young gal. This girl had an uncanny bump right there in her tummy. Indeed, I haven’t seen her for awhile. She used to dally just outside our place, with her gang of emo-looking dolls. They don’t cause racket, which is why we leave them alone.
Hmm… This couple aren’t exactly strangers, are they? They knew stuff around our neighborhood!
I rinsed the plates and forks the couple used. The remnants of a sweet dessert went swimming down the drain. The house is blessedly quiet. The couple were the new addition to the nearby apartment block. They transferred last month, which explains why they’ve got the hottest scoop about our neighborhood.
Peace. I’m going to eat dinner in peace. I’m done heating my food. I’ve arrange the necessary implements necessary to conduct civilized dining. My back was contentedly seated and my hands ready to embark on a journey of gustatory delights. A piece of chocolate cake is waiting in the fridge. 🙂
This is sweet. And then ma called. Mrs. Whatever left her purse, I got to go climb their steps to hand it in. “I’ll bring it in, after I eat.” Ma said no, it’s running late and they might already be asleep. I must deliver it ASAP.
Grrr… That clumsy, forgetful Mrs…