Eggface

O. Sincere

“Eggface”

In the morning, walking to the bus stop was an easy trip. Aida could walk along the sidewalks without fear of scuffing up the hand-appliqued dress her mother made for her. Her hair would stay curled and continue to tickle the bottom of her chin. Her face would remain clean, though it sometimes would be freckled with the bits of rice she’d eaten that morning. Trips to the bus stop in the morning were only fraught with alleyways thick with jungle greenery. The wide leaves framed many of the small homes and waved to her in the morning, but if she wasn't careful, they would slap her over the head or make perforated lines on her skin. It rained often, but the rain was more like a friend who danced with her along the sidewalks and dirt roads. The rain showed her where to step along the ground. It showed her when to hop, twirl around, slide about, a dance the two shared all the way to the bus stop.

After school, the same path would not be so kind. The humid afternoon was filled with other children running circles around each other, giving no care to the wetness in the air. The other kids made her feel safe, but eventually they would all disappear into their homes. Aida’s walk was much further than the others. The first half was easy, but the halfway point of her trip was marked by the house with the green yard and the stone steps. When she’d pass it in the morning, the house was idle and quiet. It was newer than all the rest. All of the other houses had dirt for a front lawn spotted with patches of weeds and had wooden porches with creaky steps. This house was larger than the others and had a concrete driveway. For days, Aida walked toward the house with nervous anticipation because she knew he’d be waiting: the boy. 

She slowed her step, rousing her courage. Just after this. After this I can make it home. No problem. When she turned onto his street, he was there as always. The boy sat on the stoop of his home protected by a metal fence. Through the diamond shaped holes, he watched Aida’s figure move from right to left filling up the spaces as she passed. The moment he saw her, he wasted no time beginning their daily routine.

He strutted around in his cowboy hat and boots with a golden badge sticker plastered on his chest. At first, he was harmless. He would only call out to Aida calling her “girl” or simply yelling out “hey,” but Aida ignored him. She had nothing to say to the sheriff’s son. She had only seen the sheriff a few times around their small town, but it was enough for her to sense that there was something mean about him, so she was cautious around his home and around his son. 

The boy calling out to her soon turned into him shaking the gate as she walked by, but he never ventured past it. He’d laugh and giggle as his body swayed with the bend of the fence, but that still didn’t shake Aida. The boy only did this only for a few days until he got bored and tried something else. Now, instead of shaking it, he began throwing things at the gate or rather he was trying to throw things at Aida. Balls of dirt frustrated him. They were hard to mold and fell apart too easy. Losing his glass marbles made him upset especially when they would shatter at impact or roll into the dirt street. However, after another few days of trying to figure out what to throw, the boy became happy with only one thing: rocks. 

Once he figured out his weapon of choice, he did his own dance. In one arm he carried a small collection of rocks. With his free hand he cocked his arm back to throw. He’d hopped down the length of the yard repeating the motion. Most of his throws hit the gate and ricocheted in a different direction, but every so often one would make it through and connect with the ground around Aida or graze the fabric of her dress. It only took one hit for Aida to become afraid of him. On the day he hit her, making a small scratch on her arm, she decided that it would be best to run past the house.

Aida gripped both straps of her backpack and readied herself to make the quick dash past his house. She surveyed the ground for any wet spots that might cause a problem. As soon as she felt confident, she ran. The boy tried to keep up with her, but Aida was able to outrun his rocks. She was about to clear the yard when she heard a thud behind her. She looked back briefly to see that they boy had fallen. Aida stopped and turned to look at him. He had tears in his eyes and dirt all over the front of his shirt. Aida laughed at him. 

“It’s not funny!” the boy yelled as he lifted himself off the ground. “Stop it!” The boy clenched his fists and demanded her to stop, but Aida shook her head at him as she continued to chuckle. “Stop laughing you… Eggface!” and Aida did. 

Her face began to heat up and she took a few steps back to the boy. “Don’t call me that,” she said, shaking her head at him. With tears on his cheeks, the boy smiled and began chanting it over and over. “Eggface! Eggface! Eggface!” 

“That’s not funny!” The boy continued teasing her with the word as he went to pick up some more rocks. As soon as Aida saw what he was reaching for, she turned to run away. She ran all the way home so that didn’t have to wipe the tears from her face. 

When she got home, Aida could hear her mother in the backyard. She crept along the side of the house and let herself in. She found her mother pinning up the laundry on a clothesline. Aida watched her. The breeze outside made her mother’s house dress flow against her knees. Her hair swayed gently under her wide brimmed hat. Aida’s mother made sure to never leave the house without her hat. It was how she kept her skin bright, free from any blemishes. Aida sniffled, trying to clean her face up before her mother noticed her, but it was too late. 

“Why are you crying?” Her mother asked. As she waited for an answer, she crossed her arms and took up the small cross at the end of her rosary in one hand. She traded the small thing between her fingers as she looked at Aida. 

“I got called Eggface,” Aida said, trying to not cry again. 

“Well, you do look like your father,” she said, before turning to grab the laundry hamper. This was how Aida’s mother was. She only cared to get things done and keep things nice, but that didn’t seem to apply to Aida. “Come here,” her mother called. Aida hurried to her as she went to the other lines toward the back of the yard. Aida’s mother pointed to the last row of clothes. It was all of her dresses. There was one made of solid yellow fabric laced with flowers, but on the front was a black scuff mark. There was a powder blue one with a pleated skirt and another brown stain on the chest. Each of the dresses hung there. Each were different, but all of them were marred by a blotch of dirtiness. 

“Do you see this?” Her mother asked. 

“I didn’t do it!” Aida protested.

Her mother shot her indignant look for raising her voice. “But they are your dresses. Yes?”

“Yes.” Aida tried to make herself small and not meet her mother’s eyes. He mother’s anger was one that like to bare its head before exploding into a fit of yelling. Ever since her father left, Aida got to experience her mother’s rage firsthand. He was usually the on the receiving end of her tirades.

“You see how long it takes me to make your dresses, yes?”

“Yes mama.”

“I don’t have money to make you new ones. Your papa works hard so that we have enough, so you need to take care of these or you’re just wasting his money.” Her mother reached out to the dress closest to her and tried to rub out the stain with her fingers, but the spot remained. “Do you understand?”

“But he’s not here!” Aida said. Her father had left for the city a year ago. Her mother said that it was to make better money, but her father said it was because he was tried. Aida didn’t understand why he just didn’t go to sleep or take a nap, but she figured that both of her parents were tried because they spent most nights yelling at each other.   

“Go! Now!” her mother said pointing towards the house. Aida nodded her head and made her way inside. Though Aida was the one being scolded, she understood that she wasn’t the one wasting money, but she knew who was. 

For many days, Aida would try to ignore the boy, but the instant he called her that name, she would stop in her tracks and yell back at him. That only gave him more time to practice his aim and have fun with her. In time, the boy would become equipped with a slingshot which made it even easier for him to pelt her. Her dresses became dirtier which made her mother become more incensed. The more her mother scolded her the more upset Aida would be at the boy. No matter what Aida felt like she was the only one who had to take everyone’s anger, and no one cared when she was. She was dismissed by her mother everytime she tried to tell her about the stains. Her mother didn’t care to know what happened. She only cared that it stop and soon. One night, Aida’s mother had threatened to send her away. She was going to send her to her father in Manila, but that was the last person Aida wanted to see. If she didn’t do something about the boy, then she’d have to deal with that man.

 The following day, the rain came down hard on Aida. With her umbrella in hand, she warded off the lashes aimed toward her feet that urged her to run faster through the puddles and debris. The rain created a wet runway for her to strut down, most didn’t make it to the end, but she always did. The rain tested her often. The same way school tested her wits. The same way her mother tested her sense. Each asked her how she was going to get through and succeed, and her answer was always the same: I’ll dance.

On the walk home, Aida knew that she had to do everything within her own power to stay clean. She wandered the streets trying to see if there was another way home. Up the street, her path was a dead end. Down another the plants were too thick for her to get through, and she knew coming home with grass stains was just as bad as dirt ones. Her search for a new path was especially hard because of the rain. By the afternoon, it would usually clear up, but today it was consistent. It darkened the color of the sidewalks and made them slick with mud. Her angered friend was determined to make her slip and fall, to make her dirty another one of her dresses, and frame her for wasting money. 

When she couldn’t find a new path, Aida waited just beyond the sheriff’s house, thinking of ways to defend herself. She thought to use her umbrella as a shield, but the rain would still bear down on her and ruin the crispness of her dress. Aida knew wet things attracted dirt in the same way they attracted bugs or things in search of water. Her thoughts were interrupted by the grey sky as it began to boom. Aida saw a flash soon after. She reached for her ears, anticipating another loud sound but nothing came. Aida perked up. The rain had shown her the way again. Just because the boy wouldn’t stop calling her that name didn’t mean she had to listen. She was going to run with her ears covered just long enough to get out of the boy’s line of fire. Though she was prepared, it was hard to keep her ears covered while holding and open umbrella, but she managed. Once she took a deep breath, she ran. 

The boy barely caught her as she ran past. Aida kept her head down as she ran and tried her hardest not to listen to the boy’s voice. Even though she had an umbrella, she could feel wisps of water on her face. She looked up only momentarily to see how much farther she needed the run. She smiled at the finish line she created in her head, but it was short lived. In the same moment, she felt her ankle buckle as it slipped off the edge of the sidewalk. Aida fell forward, barely catching herself from the ground. The adrenaline that coursed through her body made her feel dizzy at the sudden stop. She tried to shake the blurriness from her eyes, but that only disoriented her more.

As her vision cleared, she began to take in the world around her. “Eggface!” It was the first thing she heard, and the anger slowly made its way through her as she turned toward him. The boy stood about a foot away from the gate. Aida saw him with his slingshot cocked back as far as it could go, and it was aimed directly at her. She held her hands up to shield herself from the boy.

“Eggface!” This time the word made her feel a twinge of pain that coursed throughout her face. On her knees, Aida supported herself on the palms of her hands. She narrowed her eyes on her dress and watched it soak up the water from the ground. The wetness encroached around her, making the brown spots on the skirt darken. It was ruined. She knew the underside had become a catch all for the loose dirt and sludge. Instead of tears, she watched specks of red join the other bits. She almost expected all the small drips to dye the entirety of her dress, but the specks became diluted with water. 

With her fingers she followed the cut on her forehead, pushing wet strands of hair out of it. She looked over at the boy. He only watched her. His face was pressed against the gate. His cheeks bulged around the small pockets, and his eye was fixed in the center of one of the diamonds. His chant continued as if he waited for a metamorphosis to come about during his bludgeoning ritual. “Eggface,” he cooed from the other side. Aida wiped her hand on the front of her dress, leaving a vertical smudge of blood down her chest. It was ruined already. There was no point in trying to preserve something already tarnished. She returned to her feet and gathered her upturned umbrella full of water. When she closed the umbrella, the water it cupped was forced out.  

The rain pelted down on her. It didn’t wash off any of the blood or muck off of her dress or skin, but it cleansed her and made her face the boy head on. She was the one who needed to ensure nothing else would be wasted. Aida gripped the closed umbrella in her both hands. She knew now that it was never meant to be a shield, so she wielded it.

 “I’m no eggface!” 

With all her strength, she jabbed the umbrella forward. Aida aimed at the spot that stared back at her. She closed her eyes upon impact, something the boy failed to do. When Aida opened her eyes to see the damage that she had done, she almost couldn’t believe what she saw. In the boy’s face was the tip of her umbrella right where his eye should have been. Aida trembled at the sight and had a hard time understanding that she was the one making him bleed the way he did. In another swift motion, she yanked the umbrella out of the boy’s face along with a small, white blob that enjoyed seeing her in pain. Aida watched the white matter hit the ground and saw the tip of the umbrella drip with the boy's blood. Aida saw him crouched on the ground gripping his face. His screams sounded out in the streets. The boy wailed in his cage like an animal at the mercy of a poking stick. 

Aida didn’t find joy in watching him whimper in pain. It was already ruined. The weight of her actions began to bear down on her as the houses around began to move. Blinds began to open. Doors began to unlock. Unseen dogs barked in the distance. Aida ran home. 

She ran up and over fences and stayed away from main roads to avoid anyone seeing her. When she reached the front of the house, she saw her mother sitting on the porch, waiting for her arrival. When she caught a glimpse of Aida, her shoes caked with leaves and dirt, a thin stream of blood dividing her face into two, and another dress decorated with mire, she looked her up and down. “What is this?”

Aida stood at the foot of the steps, catching her breath. She pushed her hair back and pulled her school bag up on her shoulders. She looked up at her mother’s mortified face. Aida didn’t know how to answer, but she started with the most important part, “He called me Eggface.”

“Come here.” Her mother quickly gestured her over. The two entered the small house and made their way into the kitchen. Aida’s mother sat on her top of counter and reached underneath the sink for the first aid kit. When she came back up, she began cleaning up the wound on Aida’s face. Aida watched her pull out a bottle with clear liquid and a bag full of small cotton balls. “Who called you eggface?” Her mother asked. Aida didn’t expect the question, but now was the time to answer for all the things that happened. 

“The boy.” Her mother was silent as she poured the liquid onto the cotton, she was waiting for more of an answer. “He was throwing rocks at me and calling me eggface.” Her mother looked, checking to see if she was telling the truth. “The boy was the one getting my dresses dirty.” Her mother grabbed her chin and tilted her head up to see the scratch better. “I told him to stop but-” Aida was interrupted by the burning sensation she felt on her forehead. She winced and teared up as her mother wiped her forehead repeatedly. Once her mother turned to throw out the blood-stained cotton ball, Aida continued, “But he didn’t.”

“So, what did you do?” her mother asked as she returned to the kit. 

“I poked him with my umbrella.”

“How hard?”

“In the eye.” Aida’s voice was small as she said it. “My umbrella went in his eye mama.” 

Her mother huffed as she unwrapped the bandage and put it across Aida’s face. 

“What boy is this?”

“The sheriff’s son.” As she said it, her mother’s eyes widened. She took her up Aida by the wrist, her nails digging into her soft skin, and pulled her off of the counter. Aida was barely able to land on her feet.

“Go pack your bags now!”

“What? Why mama?” 

“You’re going with your father!”

Aida looked down at her dress. It was covered in filth. She thought that if she told the truth, her mother would understand and not send her away. The though of leaving made Aida eyes well up with tears. “No! I don’t want to go.”

“Now!” Her mother’s voice sounded throughout the whole house. It stunned her. She watched her mother throw the kit back into its spot under the sink. “Go!”

Aida spent the rest of the afternoon packing her things and having her mother check her bags. By the time the evening rolled around, Aida sat at the dining room table doing homework. Her mother was in the kitchen cooking dinner with the phone tucked between her head and shoulder. She was speaking to her father. Aida was sure that he was on her way to get her, but she just didn’t know when. She had to sit and wait.

Before long, quick thuds sounded out throughout the little house. Aida looked up at her mother and saw her through the door frame in the kitchen. Her mother looked back at her and furrowed her brow and focused her eyes at Aida. Aida was sure that it was her father. She waited quietly, but even her own breath sounded loud. She covered her mouth with her hands and waited at the table. Instead of coming around the corner with her father, her mother rushed to her, holding a finger up to her pursed lips. 

Aida wasn’t sure what to do, but she nodded. Her mother reached for one of the bamboo mats rolled up in the corner of the house. She stepped lightly and whispered to Aida, “Come here.” She took up the schoolwork on the table and forced it into Aida’s hands. Her mother unrolled the mat. “Lay down here” she said, still in a whisper, kneeling over it. Aida hesitated, but her mother grabbed her by the collar and pulled her toward the ground. The width of the mat was barely taller than she was, and her mother began to roll her in the mat like the others. Aida felt her mother stand her up and wrap her arms around her. She barely managed to lift the girl off the floor, but she ensured Aida made it into the corner with the other rugs. “Stay quiet. Don’t move.”

From inside the rug Aida could in the door open and her mother speaking to someone.

“Good evening sheriff.” 

“Evening. Where is your little daughter?” His voice was low.

“She’s with her father.”

“Will they be back soon?”

“Oh no. My husband lives out in the city. In Manila. He came to pick her up this afternoon. She will be living with him for now on.”

“This afternoon?”

“Yes sir. I was surprised by it too, but he demanded she stay with him.” Her mother’s voice didn’t sound right. It quivered and was shaky like she was going to cry. “Is there something wrong? Something you need help with?”

“Yes. My son is missing an eye. He says a little girl did it to him.”

“Aida wouldn’t do that”

“And yet she happens to have left this same afternoon to where again?”

“Manila.”

“I find it strange.”

“I’m sorry sir but I can’t help you.”

There was a long silence before Aida heard a loud thud. Her mother yelped, but she didn’t know why. The floor became littered with heavy footsteps. There was a crash somewhere close to her and her mother began to plead, asking the sheriff what he was doing, but he didn’t answer her. He didn’t say anything at all, but Aida could hear him grunt along with the banging and commotion that she heard throughout the house. Aida could hear her mother’s begging drift up the stairs along with the sheriff’s footfalls. From upstairs, she heard a cluttered march and things hit the floor.  

Aida stood in the center of the mat with her arms wrapped around her schoolwork. She couldn’t console her herself. She hadn’t imagined this would happen and she was scared that her mother was going to get hurt because of her. Aida didn’t know if she should crawl out of her hiding place and give herself to the sheriff. That way, he would at least leave her mother alone. But to leave, meant to disobey her mother, and she didn’t want to do that either. So, she cried. She cried hot tears that she couldn’t wipe from her faces and bit her lip to keep herself from making too much noise as the sheriff’s rampage continued around her. 

When the noise came back downstairs, the sheriff’s threats began.

“You can’t hide her forever! If I see that girl-”

“You’re not going to touch her!” There was a loud smack. She could hear heavy skid across the floor. Aida couldn’t hear either of them anymore, everything fell silent. She was stuck waiting, trying to figure out what to do. It was the same way she felt that afternoon, trying to decide how to get past the boy. Then, the rain helped her figure out what to do, but here, she had no such help. She was going to have to figure it out on her own. 

So, Aida made a choice: she was going to help her mother. She wriggled around in the rug to loosen its hold, but that only caused one of the rugs beside her to fall. The sound must have startled the now silent sheriff because Aida could hear his footsteps retreat. Aida waited to see if she could guess what he was doing. Soon, she heard the door shut. She fell over, hoping that it was safe for her to come out.

When she unrolled herself from the rug, she was able to see her home in its new destroyed state. Drawers were pulled out and cabinets were left ajar. Dinner was spilled all over the kitchen floor. The dining chairs and table were all out of place. Pictures were crooked and things on shelves were laid sideways, on the floor, or broken. The damage didn’t seem like the sheriff was looking for her. It seemed more like he wanted to destroy the things in his way. 

Aida’s mother sat on the floor near the table gripping her forehead. Aida peeked at her, hoping she could catch her attention. Her mother’s face was streaked with tears and her house dress was stained. 

“Mama?” Aida’s voice was hoarse. When her mother looked to her, Aida could see the cut on her mother’s head. Aida gasped and ran into the kitchen. She reached under the sink for the first aid kit and returned to her mother. Aida opened the kit on the ground and tried to remember all the things her mother used to bandage up her own cut that afternoon. When she pulled out the large roll of gauze, her mother put her hand over Aida’s

“Not this one. This one.” She pointed to a box of large bandages and then to the bottle of alcohol and cotton pads. Aida cleaned her mother’s wound and dressed it with a little bit of guidance. When she finished, she looked up at her mother. 

“The boy is mean like his dad, mama.”

“I know.” The two were quiet as Aida packed the kit back up. When she finished, Aida met her mother’s gaze. 

“Do I still have to go with papa?” She asked. 

Her mother reached over and wrapped Aida up in her arms. “Come here. You stay right here.”

For the next few days, the sheriff paroled the neighborhood still looking for Aida, but her mother would not let her leave the house. She missed school, but her mother made up for it my teaching her how to do most of the housework. Aida learned that her mother had a funny way of teaching her things. Her days of learning new house chores was coming to and end. The last thing left was to learn how to clean the bamboo mats. 

“Watch me.” Aida’s mother unrolled two mats and clipped them on the clothesline. She took up two wire hangers and handed one to Aida. Her mother began to unravel the hanger’s shape and twisted the long piece of metal together until it was one long coil. At one end, she began to bend the top into various shapes and angles until it resembled a pinwheel. When Aida finished hers, she tried to blow on to the petals and make them twirl around themselves, but she had no luck. 

“Look.” Her mother began to swat her mat with the makeshift beater. She worked her way up and down the entirety of the mat in neat columns. She turned her head slightly to avoid breathing in the dust. She would allow the cloud to fall on the ground before starting another round of beating. Aida took up her beater in two hands and swung it into the center of her mat. A large puff left it and was immediately ejected into her face. Aida tasted the dirt in her throat before she began to cough it up. In a fit of coughing, she continued to strike the mat, each time expelling the debris from mat then from her lungs. 

After a few hits, her mother snatched the beater from her and tucked it under her arm. “No. You don’t have to hit it that hard. Just like this. Watch.” She went back to swatting her rug. “See? Not so hard. It won’t get in your face.” She handed Aida back the beater and stood next to her, watching. Aida tapped on the rug with her pinwheel as her mother gripped her chin. She turned Aida’s head a little. “This way you won’t get it in your face. Okay?”

“What about the top?” Aida asked. She stretched her arm above her head and used her beater to touch the top edge of the mat. “It will fall on me.”

“Then you go like this.” Aida’s mother guided her to the side of the mat. “You can still reach it from here, right? Now you can clean it without dirt falling on you. Good?” Her mother peered down at her waiting for a response. Aida only nodded. The two returned to their chore. It was silent between them and every so often Aida looked over at her mother. She was focused, but her lips moved slightly like she was whispering something to herself. The brim of her hat covered her mother’s eyes from her view. Aida was more focused on her mother than her chores. When her mother caught notice, she smiled down at her. 

“Here-” Her mother took off her hat and placed it on top of Aida’s head, “To protect your face from the sun.”

“To protect my ‘eggface?’” Aida asked, pouting out her lips. 

“No. To protect your pretty face.”