Page 3 of Between Then and Now
And that’s when I see her.
Alexa Tiu. Beautiful, smart, perfect. She's wearing a black dress and carrying her white coat. Like me, she’s also twenty-five and the youngest in her batch, specializing in dermatology. But unlike me, she has a little group following her. I guess it helps that she looks so kind and pretty that anyone would want to be around her. She reminds me of Bon in that aspect, but I don’t think she’s as lively and talkative—which, in hindsight, is perfect for me.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. Maybe today will be different. Maybe today I’ll finally muster up the courage to say more than just “hi” to her. As I sip my coffee, I can’t help but steal a few more glances her way, wondering what it would be like to have her confidence and charm. Or just to have it directed at me.
I attempted to talk to her once. It was at a hospital mixer a few months ago. My friend John had convinced me to go, saying it would be a good opportunity to network and make friends besides him. At the mixer, I saw Alexa standing by the punch bowl, looking effortlessly stunning as usual. I’d rehearsed what I would say a hundred times in my head. But when I approached her, my mind went blank, and all I managed was a mumbled, “Hey.” She smiled politely and said hello back, but then someone else swooped in, and the moment was gone.
It’s always like that with Alexa. Chances of talking to her are like slices of pizza at a high school party—If you don’t get your slice immediately, you’d be left with nothing but crumbs. And so that’s what I always get: a small smile, a wave, a flicker of recognition. Just crumbs and never the whole slice.
“Brother, just talk to her,” John says from behind me. I jump at his sudden appearance. John has been my one constant friend in med school. “I could feel your desperation ten feet away.” I scowl at him as he keeps pace with me.
John and I are polar opposites, but we spent every single day of med school together. Our friendship started because he didn’t have a pen during our first anatomy class. It was the first day, and I was nervously organizing my supplies, making sure I had everything I needed. John plopped down next to me, looking equally apprehensive. When the professor began outlining the course, John started frantically patting his pockets and rummaging through his bag. In lending him a pen (which I never got back), we formed a weird alliance. He pushed me out of my comfort zone when I needed it, and I kept him grounded when his enthusiasm needed a reality check.
I sigh, grateful for John's presence but still feeling the weight of my social awkwardness. “Easier said than done,” I mutter, taking another sip of my coffee.
John claps me on the back. “Okay, let’s break into the usual spiel.” He clears his throat. “You've got this. Just be yourself. She's probably just as nervous as you are. It’s not you, it’s–oh wait, that’s for a different scenario.” I frown and shake my head.
He tells me those things every time I get hung up on talking to Alexa, and it always ends with me agreeing just to end the conversation.
When he tells me again that she’s probably just as nervous as I am, I scoff. Because I highly doubt that. Alexa always seems so composed, so effortless in everything she does. She’s a natural at making connections, her smile lighting up any room she walks into. Meanwhile, I’m the guy who still feels like a kid playing dress-up in a white coat.
My mind races with a hundred different scenarios. What if I walk up to her and stumble over my words? What if I say something stupid? What if she doesn’t even remember who I am? The more I think about it, the more my heart pounds in my chest, a mix of fear and anticipation battling within me.
As I finish my coffee and glance at the clock, I know my shift is about to start. I give John a small smile. “Thanks, man,” I say, appreciating his unwavering support. “Maybe tomorrow.”
He grins. “I’ll hold you to that.”
I smile back, knowing full well that I still won’t talk to her tomorrow.
CHAPTER THREE
Bonita
My car won’t start. I’ve already turned the key in the ignition several times, hoping for a miracle, but the engine remains stubbornly silent. Frustration bubbles up inside me, and I realize I have neither the patience nor the interest to figure out why it has chosen today to malfunction. With a sigh, I pull out my phone and call a service to have it checked. After I arrange for the home service, I quickly run inside to my dad, asking him to keep an eye out for it and to handle any details the service might need.
Realizing that I still need to get to work, I decide to take the bus if there are any available routes nearby. I lock the car and begin walking down our quiet street. The morning sun is just beginning to rise, casting a warm glow over the neighborhood. Birds are chirping, and a few neighbors are out walking their dogs or jogging.
I seeManongJose return from the market, carrying bags of meat and vegetables to get ready for later. He sells the best barbecue skewers in the afternoons, and it’s very rare for my day to go by without at least having one. I wave at him and smile.
“Want to order for this evening, Bonita?” he says as he approaches me.
“Yes, please. Five barbecue sticks for me. Extra spicy sauce!” I say as I reach for my wallet to pay him.
“I don’t have change with me, Bon. Just pay some other time. I’ll drop off your order around six?” he asks.
“Okay, if I’m not home yet just hand it to my parents.” I smile and we go our ways. Despite my earlier frustration, I can’thelp but greet everyone else I encounter. It’s a blessing and a curse to be me.
I wave at Freida, our annoying neighbor, even if I don’t really like her. In my defense, Freida is a stuck-up, conservative, mid-40s buzzkill whose life mission is to judge girls wearing short skirts. Sometimes, Haley walks by in volleyball shorts just to spite her.
I smile atTitaFrances—Haley and Kate’s mom andTitaElena, Emily’s mom, as they gossip on the sidewalks.
“What’s the tea this morning?” I ask as I walk past them.
“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.”TitaElena points to the yard across, whereManangLinda is waving at me. I smile and stop by her house. Even when I’m running late, I can’t resist veering over for a quick chat. Hashtag priorities.
“Bonita,” she says my name like it’s a song–her raspy voice adding allure to it all.ManangLinda is an endearing and feisty old woman with a crown of white hair that contrasts sharply with her impeccably dressed appearance. No matter the time of day, she always looks as though she's ready to attend a social event, with her neatly pressed dresses and a hint of makeup. She says the secret reason she maintained her spunky appearance was because she had no man in her life, therefore no stress. Honestly, if staying single means I can age into a fabulous, stress-free diva, sign me up.
Despite her age,ManangLinda's sharp eyes and quick tongue make her a formidable presence in the neighborhood. She’s never short on gossipy tidbits about our neighbors, always eager to share the latest scandal or amusing anecdote. And surprisingly, a town as small as Magnolia Heights has something new and amusing to offer every day.
