Waves and experiments

They wanted to define me; to know every cell, nerve and thought which makes me. They attached electrodes, wires and hoses, any imaginable machine all over my frail body. Once, they’ve shown a picture of me tangled in wires and things and I thought how nice it would be without all those mess. They made me draw things, force me say something about anything— about life, sea and stars. They took notes and marked the chart named “Progress” while I watched drawn lines grew steeper. Everyday has always been like that.

But, one day, they took me to the sea to watch the waves; they’d like to see if I could count them all. The sun had just squeezed out of the horizon and a little gold spattered across the sky. I remembered father, now gone, telling me about God and I realized I did like God as child and I miss liking him so much. The salt spray got into my eyes and soon tears streamed down my face. The youngest of the scientist was beside me that time and I saw him scribble the word tears in his yellow notebook. He watched the waves too, until he can’t bear the sight of them. He stood up and wheeled my chair away from the shore. He said it was getting hot. I never saw the sea or the young scientist since then. If I had learned to love, I could have earned a heartache.

They attached more and more electrodes until I technically became some part of an external machine. They kept track of my “Progress” and everyone seemed to smile as I solve more mysteries for them. Satisfaction marked their faces and for a moment they looked like vampires who had just preyed on the best of blood. I hear them whisper to each other words that seemed to hang in the air. I hear those words over and over again. I was perfect.

Until some peculiar noise from the machine startled my once peaceful world. People were suddenly rushing to me and it took them a short time to swarm over me. Some pulled the electrodes, while others add another types of those. More and more machines were brought. I was injected with orange, green and red fluids. Everything blurred and every part of me ached like hell. There were frantic looks on all their proud faces but none of them seemed to really figure out what was happening to me or how painful everything was.

I held the soul-containing crystal box in my hand while the youngest of the scientists wheeled my chair along the shore. It felt good seeing him again after what seemed to be a very long time. The sun squeezed itself down the horizon and gold splattered across the sky. I remembered God and I know I liked him now and salt sprays got into my eyes. Someone said it was getting cold; I was not sure who.

Exchanges

Love is X; either you substitute anything with it or substitute it with anything. I dropped a sunflower on your grave stone to undo the gloom the gray sky had cast us from above.

I was single, turning thirty when I made my way to the famous "Love and Hate Stop Shop." If you haven't heard of it in Davao City, then I guess it's somewhere else I was not allowed to tell. It's one of those stores where you can buy crispy mix, hate-inducing hormones, bathsoap, LPG tanks, koi, and love spells. The store had a coffee shop too, right outside it, for those who have all the time in the world to wait for everything.

I decided to go to that store after five years and ten months since my best friend told me that it existed. She was all nervous and jumpy when she gave me a number to call just in case I would need some weird stuff for weird purposes. I saved the number and I know why.

There are a lot of things you would want at thirty--good life, career, happiness (whatever that is) money and love (whatever this is). Those days, things already have price. But at that time, I was already able to pay for any of those things. Still, I wanted something else.

The night before, I dialed the number. There was only silence but after ages, a smart voice answered.

"Love and Hate stop shop. Thank you for patronizing us. How can we help you?"

There was quite a rush of blood in me. If that was excitement, I don't know. But it was only at that time I was sure my best friend was not lying.

"I'm not looking for a product. I'm actually thinking of...of a kind of service," I mumbled the words. I was alone at my house and yet there was this kind of secrecy in my tone.

"We are a very large network ma'am. Just tell me what you want, and we can get you anything or anyone..."

I wasn't sure how I explained the details. When I finished talking there was a sound of pages flipping and after a little while, she referred me a product.

"Are you sure that's what I want? The thing is well...complex. I want it hundred percent sure. I can pay for extra service," I said.

There was a laugh and I would have slammed the phone if only I never wanted the thing so badly.

"We have money-back guarantee if you will not be satisfied."

At first I was really surprised that the Love and Hate Stop Shop was a gasoline store too. And the coffee shop was nearly filled with people I never expected to need weird stuffs. Even the city mayor was there drinking a gasoline-colored liquid.

I entered the shop which looked like a clinic inside. There's a registration counter where some lady would make you sign forms and check your bag for weapons. I was instructed to wait on the couch. For some reason, nobody was there except me. I think they wouldn't want other customers see what one bought.

The lady presented me a nicely wrapped package. I felt it was almost like birthday to me except for the weird feeling in my stomach. I was nervous.

"That's the nightmare exchange cream," the lady smiled. "You could open it, if you don't want anything else."

I gingerly ripped the colorful wrap. The box was not sealed with anything so I flipped the top cover open and a purple plastic jar was revealed. I opened the lid and I almost expected to see some living thing inside. But there was only white cream. There's a piece of note with the jar and "Directions for Use" was written on it.

I returned the jar inside the box and handed it again to the lady.

"Please wrap it again and make it pretty." The lady smiled at my instructions and took the jar away. When she came back I paid and asked for a receipt but well they don't issue receipts. "Deliver it as soon as possible."

They say you were on drugs the night before you died. Everybody believed that except for your family and me. You had a nightmare and you died because of it. Still, I would have liked it if you suffered a little bit.

My sister is well right now. Tomorrow, she'll be marrying the new love she has found. Old friends would gasp in disbelief to see my once demented sister blooming with life and happiness. She doesn't remember you nor the nightmare she had about you.