Keeping Miss Kalila

THREE

THREE

Her doctor said, “Avoid stress as much as possible,” but when an email appeared in her inbox first thing that morning, Kalila realized there was no dodging the huge ball of stress headed straight for her.

Our landlord contacted me today to say we have 3 months left on our lease, the message from Magda Valles, acting principal of Bahay Munti said. He isn’t renewing our contract.

Her fingers flew over the keys, but they still couldn’t keep up with how fast her mind raced. Were they being kicked out because they’ve been unable to consistently pay rent?

KALILA: That’s unfair, Miss Magda! Did he say why?

MISS MAGDA: Centennial Land bought the row of properties on our block. We have no choice but to vacate the premises within 90 days.

Kalila stared at the message for a long time, and she felt as though her brain forgot what words were, what they meant. Breakfast forgotten, she paced to her room and collapsed on her bed. This cannot be happening. It’s nearly the start of the school year—where are the children going to go?

Another message came in.

MISS MAGDA: Will you be able to come in today so we can discuss next steps? If you can’t, I’ll have someone send you the minutes of the meeting.

KALILA: I’ll be there.

She closed her eyes, letting fat tears roll down the side of her face and into her ears. It was so unfair that an educational facility for underprivileged children could be shut down just because a multinational company decided it needed a new condominium or mall. Bahay Munti had already suffered enough setbacks ever since the incumbent mayor decided three years ago that the local government would only be providing partial funding to the school. The faculty, staff, and residents were forced to come up with various ways to keep the school running, and were able to raise funds by doing garage sales and asking local government officials and businesses for help.

Her eyes fluttered open when she felt movement on the bed, and she smiled, realizing Rainbow had come up to snuggle with her. “Oh, Rainbow…” she sighed, stroking her dog’s head. “I’ll just be sad for juuuuust a little while longer, is that okay?”

Rainbow raised her head and licked her face, a gesture she’d always found comforting, dog breath notwithstanding.

“Thank you, baby.”

. . . . .

On an ordinary day, Miss Magda was the epitome of composure in her two-piece pleated floral ensemble, black pumps, and signature teased hair. She carried herself with an air of confidence that was never intimidating, and when she spoke, it was with a calming cadence that reminded Kalila of her favorite Homeroom teacher.

Today was no ordinary day.

Miss Magda’s reading glasses, often neatly perched over the bridge of her nose, was resting on her hair and she had just spent several seconds looking for it. One of Kalila’s co-teachers, Miss Berna, seemed to figure out what was happening, and pointed out the obvious. A frustrated grunt came out of the Bahay Munti principal when she tugged at the spectacles too hard and broke the beaded eyeglass chain attached to it.

“Do we have a direct line to anyone in local government?” Miss Magda asked, ignoring the rolling blue and green beads on the table. Her strokes were heavy against her notebook as she wrote the last suggestion thrown into the conversation. “If we go through the normal channels, all the red tape is going to ensure we’re out of here even before our appeal is heard.”

Someone at the table blurted out “Didn’t you use to date Konsi Crisostomo?” and Kalila failed to realize the question was for her until Berna nudged her.

“I—what?” She turned her head to see Miss Kring eyeing her.

“Councilor Yves Crisostomo,” Kring said. “Do you still have his number?”

“Uh…let me check.”

What is her life right now—a screwed up version of A Christmas Carol? Was she being haunted by Ghosts of Boyfriends Past?

Actually, she corrected herself as she scrolled through her phone book, only one came back. Ex Number Two was probably sitting in his office at the City Hall, reviewing ordinances and minding his own business—

“Yeah, I still have his number. Not sure this is still active, though.”

“Good. Kalila, could you try getting in touch with him…ask for some assistance?”

“…sure.”

—until, of course, she decides to dial his number. So really, this was more of a summoning than a haunting. Which was, in hindsight, what also happened with Datu.

God, she hated feeling like a damsel in distress.

A female voice answered the number she dialed, disorienting her a bit. “This is Councilor Yves Crisostomo’s phone. Jona speaking, how may I help you?”

“Oh, hi Jona. Is Yves—I mean, is the councilor busy?”

“Who is this?”

“I’m Kalila Rayos, a teacher from Bahay Munti.”

Jona seemed to be distracted. She asked Kalila for her name twice, put her on hold, and then, “I’m sorry, the councilor is in a meeting right now. Can I take a message instead, Camila?”

“It’s Kalila,” she corrected, a little annoyed now. “And yes, could you please tell him Kalila Rayos called, and if he could call me back as soon as possible I’d appreciate it.”

“What is this regarding?”

She paused and thought of how to phrase “they’re kicking us out of our school and I need your help!” in the most nondesperate way possible.

“I uh…need a consult regarding an educational facility within his district,” was her reply.

“Got it, Ms. Rayos. I’ll pass your message along.”

The call was ended before she could say “Thank you.”

. . . . .

“Hey, have you had lunch?”

Kalila looked up from her computer and saw Miss Berna walk into the faculty room, carrying a brown paper bag with the 7-11 logo on it. Blinking, she glanced at her watch and realized she’d spent her entire lunch hour typing up the meeting minutes and Googling properties for sale around their barangay.

“Oh crap, I haven’t!” She rubbed her hand over her growing belly in apology and shut down her laptop.

“Naku, Kalila…remind ko lang ha? You can’t skip meals anymore.” Her co-teacher’s voice was laced with concern. “I bought siopao for merienda, do you want it?”

“It’s fine, Miss Berna. I’ll have lunch out instead,” Kalila said as she grabbed her bag. “I need to do a bit of walking anyway.”

“Bring an umbrella; it’s very hot out.”

“Will do, thanks!”

It took her approximately ten minutes to reach Chayong’s, her favorite carinderia. Two other carinderias were closer to the school, but there was a reason Chayong’s was almost always full. Their food simply tasted better, and they served a better variety of dishes. To Kalila, it meant Aling Chayong was not only an excellent cook, but also an attentive entrepreneur. Their chicken pork adobo may be five-star quality, but even adobo aficionados would get sick of it if they had to have it every single day.

“Eating here today, Miss Kalila?” the graying Aling Chayong asked, her friendly grin exposing the fact that she was missing a front tooth. A taxi driver just vacated a spot on the bench fronting the stall, and Aling Chayong quickly motioned for her helper, Macoy, to bus out the used plates and utensils.

“Opo, Aling Chayong. Hello, Macoy.”

“Hi Miss Kalila.” A shy smile appeared on the teenage boy’s face as he wiped the table clean. “Upo ho kayo.”

She thanked Macoy, and upon Aling Chayong’s prodding, lifted the lid off each kaldero in front of her to see the carinderia’s offerings for the day. There was ginataang langka with shrimp, pinakbet, tinolang manok, and sinigang na baboy. At the far end of the long counter, she spotted tortang talong, grilled fish, fried eggs, and hot dogs displayed in stainless steel food warmers.

“Pinakbet and rice for me, Aling Chayong.”

The woman scooped the mixed vegetable and shrimp paste dish into a small plastic bowl, adding extra slices of okra because she knew Kalila liked them. Meanwhile, Macoy prepared her cup of rice.

“O, ito lang? How about some fish—goes well with the pinakbet!”

She laughed. “How could I say no?”

Kalila grew up with and around carinderia food. While her father, Harold, toiled as a rank and file employee at a construction firm in Saudi Arabia, her mother, Elena, ran a small carinderia outside their subdivision. At night, after she was done with homework, she’d sit at the dining table and watch Elena peel, chop, and slice ingredients for the next day’s dishes. Eventually, she learned how to do it as well, and became her mother’s sous chef. Indeed, her fondest memories with Elena Rayos involved food, and she often got nostalgic when a carinderia dish brought glimpses of her childhood back.

Elena still cooked and served food to people, but in Pampanga, where she and Harold now lived.

I found a pinakbet that will rival yours, she texted her mom after the first bite of pinakbet and rice.

Your baby must be messing with your tastebuds, Kali, came the reply, making her chuckle. How’s my apo? Are you taking care of yourself?

She’d gotten too immersed with exchanging text messages with her mother that she accidentally answered an incoming call without confirming who it was. Fully expecting it was Yves on the other line, she said, “Konsi! Thank you for calling back.”

“…Kon–si?”

That voice…was definitely not Yves’. Kalila took a moment to check and saw Datu’s name and number on screen.

“Kali?”

“Oh, h-hi Datu! I’m sorry, I thought”—I scared you off when I told you I’m pregnant, I mean you didn’t call or text for days but it wasn’t like I was expecting anything—“you were someone else.”

“Expecting an important call?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll make this quick then. Are you at work?”

“Sort of. I’m having lunch at a carinderia nearby.”

There was a pause. “Lunch? At this hour?”

“Long story, but yeah. I’ll be back at Bahay Munti within the hour.”

“23 Talisay corner Narra?”

She blinked. “Yes…why?”

“I’m on my way. And I come bearing leche flan.”