THE GIRL CALLED PORTIA

Portia opened her eyes. Before her brain can function well, her feet brought her to her
grandmother’s armoire. An antique made to last for a lifetime, it was made of teakwood. Teakwood is
expensive and rather rare, but her grandpa’s love made things happen. She remembered how her grandma
hung her dresses on hangers and folded her Vandana on its shelves. Her mom used to throw punchlines
that it was a family heirloom although her pa brought it in one of the thrift stores. She opened it and two
naphthalene balls rolled over. An old lock box was stored on one of the shelves. As a five-foot and two-inch
tall woman, she might need a chair to get it. She opened the lockbox. Inside, there was a jade necklace in
the shape of the great Buddha. She was not so sure if her grandma was Buddhist since she had a crucifix
and even knelt every six p.m. to say her prayers. Portia had that feeling that her grandma’s memory lives
on inside the jade. She wore the necklace. She looked at her face in the mirror. The necklace suited her
perfectly. As she examined her image, it was funny, but she did not take after her mom’s angelic face or
her dad’s curly hair. She had this chiseled face but with huge cheekbones, elf-like ears, and slanted eyes
that made her look very Asian. Her long straight black hair stood out when she sat next to her siblings with
curly hair. She had fairer skin too. People would tease her a lot including her relatives, saying that she was
not a real daughter of the family. She realized how she looked like her grandma Leonora. However, her
grandma was too old to make her, so it was impossible that she came from her womb. Something about it
made her sad, but the same vibe made her smile.

That day her grandma woke her up. She was alive in her dreams. Her white dentures beamed as
she smiled. She was wearing her favorite dress- a pink one with big flowers, and her hair was well done.
She held her hand and they walked into the garden. She could feel the tight clasp- not wanting to let go.
She was sure she heard her talk. Unfortunately, she could not remember what the conversation was all
about. She thought that her grandma was such a beauty. Eighty years had only brought her elegance: well-
respected wrinkles, crow’s feet around her doe eyes, silver hair all tied in a bun. She stood tall for a person
with an aching spine, and she smelled like the morning when flowers were in bloom. For a moment, she
thought that she was in heaven with her, until she realized that she was gone many years ago. It was ten
years since her grandmother’s death. She could not believe it at first and she kept running around the school
grounds, crying her heart out of disbelief when the family decided to give up the life-support. It was the
only thing that kept her breathing. She remembered how her grandma’s eyes were crusted with eye gunk
when she visited the hospital. She held her hand and it never held her back. Her rough arms were filled with
wrinkles. She smelled like urine. Her smiles were gone. It was very different from before. She wished she
would call her name nonstop. She wished she would smile at her and ask her to pull her silver hair. She
missed her stories. She missed how she held her when she cried.
 Portia had always been different from her sisters. She felt distant from her dad who expected her
to be a boy and hit her many times when he got drunk. She resented her mom who made it so clear how
special her sisters were compared to her. She was never the most talented person in the family nor the
prettiest one. She could only feel proud of how ambitious she was. All her life, she wanted to be like her
sisters, but she was not. It was Leonora who loved her. She was the only one who would come running to
rescue her whenever or wherever. She shielded her like her own. She was the one who was sleepless when
she was sick. She was a friend and a mother to her. It was she who made her tailored-fit dress every
graduation day. She bought her first shoes, her first ice cream, and her first book. She opened her eyes to
many beautiful things: poetry, stories, colorful linens, roses, and festivities. She had to reminisce all these
twice a year during her grandma’s birthday and death anniversary.

It was raining heavily, and the roads were flooded. Portia kept walking. Even when it was foggy, she
knew where she was heading. The storm signal was raised to three, but she had to visit her before it got
dark. On her left hand were candles and a lighter wrapped in plastic. On the right hand, was an umbrella
big enough to keep her head from the rain yet the wind destroyed it. She was wet from head to toe. The
wind was whirling, and she could hear the angry waves coming from the sea kilometers away from where
she was. The water from the cemetery rose knee-deep and no one was around except her. She was
determined enough and even the storm could not stop her. Finally, she reached her grandma’s resting
place. It was like a small house with one room. Even when they were never rich, her grandma had a decent
place in the cemetery. It was dry inside. She could even close its door and stay there for a night when she
wanted to. For her, it was a quiet place- a haven where she could cry her heart out. True enough the rain
did not stop until midnight. Surprisingly, she was not afraid of the dark, of the tombs, or of the bad spirits
that lurked. The wax from the candle melted away until the only thing that lit the cemetery was the dim
streetlamps outside. The frogs croaked loudly, and she fell asleep hugging the cross in her grandma’s resting
place. In the morning, she recited Edgar Allan Poe’s Annabel Lee as if she had an audience. She understood
every line and it brought her some solace. It was creepy to imagine, yet she had never felt so alive.

Tiny raindrops danced on the roof of the pantheon, yet the surroundings were getting brighter. The
sun slowly began to shine as she stretched her arms getting ready to roam around the area. It reminded
her of the looks in her grandmother’s eyes- that concerned look that troubled her mind. She touched her
wet clothes from last night’s rain, yet a fever made her feel warm amidst the chilly temperature. Clanging
bells from a nearby church kept ringing. She decided to make some rounds and visit other relatives with
whom she got acquainted years ago. There was this unexplainable peace as she hopped from one area to
another. She realized that some of the tombs were broken. There were bones of unknown individuals
scattered all over the area. There were healthy wriggling earthworms on the muddy ground. Now, she
thought about how helpful she would be when she died. For sure, she would fertilize the earth. Then again,
thoughts of her granny filled her mind. As she roamed around, she could not help but weep and apologize
many times. She punched her chest as hard as she could and cried until her throat began to dry. She blamed
herself for everything. She just could not move on from that incident. She remembered the blood on her
hands as she found her grandma lying unconscious on the ground. She had flashbacks of how she tried to
wake her up, but she wouldn’t even open her eyes. She had to watch the people run around not hearing
what they were saying. She had to watch medics rushing her grandma into the ambulance while she was
left there on the spot where the unfortunate event happened. Everybody moved forward while she
lamented. Each day she blamed herself for being the stubborn kid that she was. She could have just gone
with her. She could have just agreed to go with her that day. She wished she was not that feisty. She wished
she had been kinder or more obedient. Maybe, she would not feel as guilty, or maybe her grandma wouldn’t
stumble and hit her head on a rock. As she stroked the necklace, tears fell from her face. That unexplainable
agony squeezed her chest and made her gasp for air.

Three days passed and her family was in search of Portia. She had been declared missing days after
the storm ended. No sign of her in the graveyard. Days turned to weeks. Weeks to months. A year already
passed, and she never returned home. She contacted no one. She never left anything to anyone. No trace
of her. She just simply disappeared leaving everyone with unanswered questions. She never felt at peace
while at home, and maybe now she already is.