This is my entry for 'Shary's Writing Prompt Contest #2. Hope you will like it.
Title : Misty Rose
It was a usual foggy late afternoon of December 1970. Misty Rose heaved a sigh as she dropped her bags in front of her late grandparents’ home. Eight hours of traveling to the 3000 feet-above sea level town of Neblinoso made her lips pale and eyes a bit sullen. However, looking at the 50-year old, 500 sq. meter, sky blue bungalow house, brought her a lot of memories - singing folk songs with Lolo and Lola, playing with her porcelain dolls, planting vegetables in Lola’s garden, picking mangoes with Manong Joey, the caretaker and of course her dear friend, .Luis.
The last time she stayed in the ‘Azul House’ as what her brother called it was when she was 16 years old. After graduating from high school, her parents agreed to send her to Neblinoso (in Spanish, it means ‘foggy’) to learn practical domestic duties before getting a degree at a liberal arts university in Manila. She hated the idea of living in this rustic town. Almost once a week, the trees, shrubs and houses would be misted over for almost an hour either early in the morning or in the late afternoon.
She was grandma’s favorite grandchild. She even named her after seeing a very faint pink-colored rose being veiled in the mist. She used to tell her husband that Misty Rose’s melancholic aura makes her a human portrait of Neblinoso. She wanted Misty Rose to be in the ‘Azul House’ for a longer time.
Manong Joey opened the door and carried her luggage. Misty Rose sat back on the ivory white, cottony sofa to relax a bit. From the kitchen, Manong Joey brought her a glass of water.
“Misty Rose, a glass of water for you.”
“Manong, thank you po. I mean, thanks for keeping the ‘Azul House’ clean.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied “Your grandparents were so nice to my family.”
Manong Joey paced towards the window and touched the ivory white curtains. He turned his eyes to a painting on the wall. It was a portrait of the young, glowing Misty Rose when she turned 16. Her dear friend, a novice painter gave it to her.
“You look so happy in this painting,” said Manong Joey.
“I think so, Manong.”
“Did you see him?”
“Who?”
“Luis.”
“The last time I saw him was the night before I left.”
“He’s here, Misty.”
Misty Rose drank the glass of water and uttered. “It’s foggy, isn’t it?” She took her pink handkerchief and brushed her misty eyes. Manong Joey nodded.
“Please excuse me for a while, Manong, she said. I’ll visit Lola’s rose garden. ”
Though vines had already covered the walls of Lola’s rose garden, the roses were still in bloom. Her heart leaped as she saw the white, yellow, and red roses. But her cheerfulness was short-lived. She turned gloomy when she realized that her favorite rose was missing.
“Oh, maybe, it’s just in the corner,” she pondered.
After striding around the garden, her eyes finally caught, one small faint pink rose. Amidst the fog, she gazed at the bud. It evoked a sense of nostalgia inside her. She remembered her first love. Memories of their friendship – young, sweet, tender, and innocent warmed her heart. His affectionate smile, his presents for her like that painting, Fuji, an adorable puppy, and the teddy bear that her brother accidentally soaked into the mud, their up-to-midnight conversations at the veranda, and late afternoon picnics at his Grandpa’s nearby pineapple farm - all of these flashed in her mind.
But now everything seemed to be obscured. For five years, she let herself hang on his affections. She longed to see Luis. A confidante advised her to forget about him and moved on, but she couldn’t. She wanted to know his true feelings towards her.
While being occupied with these hazy thoughts, a dim figure appeared at a distance. Wearing a bow hat, he was tall and manly. He walked slowly towards her.
“Misty, my friend, is that you?” the man said.
Her eyes glowed when he heard his voice. Suddenly, her heart beat fast. She could hardly breathe. “Yes!” Misty Rose answered. “It’s me.”
As he approached towards her, his broad hands patted her shoulder. He grinned and removed his glasses.
“Hi!”
“Oh, it’s you, Luis.”
“Misty, how are you?”
“Fine.”
“It’s been five years.”
“Yes.”
“Good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too, Luis.”
“How’s Manila?”
“Vibrant.”
“How’s New Jersey?”
“Well, I think Neblinoso is still better.”
Misty Rose couldn’t believe her eyes. A while ago, she was thinking about him and ‘their’ past, and now he was standing in front of her. She wondered whether or not it was the right time to make things clear. With her eyebrows raised and eyes widened, she asked Luis.
“Luis, it’s been five years since the last time we met and I just want to thank you for everything – for being so kind to me and…”
A sudden laughter of a child, interrupted her. As he looked at the boy’s face, a feeling of disappointment started to fill her heart. The boy ran towards Luis and hugged him.
“Daddy, Mommy’s calling us for dinner,” the boy held Luis’ hand.
“I’m sorry, Misty Rose, but my son wants to eat dinner now,” said Luis. “What did you say again?”
She choked and turned speechless.
“Are you okay, Misty?”
“Yes, I just wanna go home now, Luis.”
“Wait!”
Heartbroken, Misty Rose dashed towards home, sobbing, and whispering his name. “Five years of hoping, waiting, yearning for a man who never loved me was such a waste!” she yelled as she went inside her bedroom.
After hours of crying, she opened the window. It was still foggy outside. She leaned on the pane and whispered a prayer. With her long wavy hair covering half of her face, she rested in the soothing evening breeze.
“I guess we’re never meant to be”, she sighed.
She resigned herself to her fate and gazed at the starry sky.
"Neblinoso is nothing but a misty place", she thought.
With her dreams all shattered, she took her luggage and traveled back to the city.
In her apartment, she cleans religiously, cooks her breakfast passionately, and even sings an old song sweetly. So that was what she was doing early morning every day.
But on late evenings, when the seemingly misty sky gets dim, she desired not to smell the sweet roses of the garden again, not to gaze at the smile of that old painting, and not to hear the words spoken in the middle of night at the veranda.
Yet, his image still hover like a twilight mist on her clouded mind.
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