When Val was little, she thought her mom was a queen. It had a lot to do with the way she carried herself, her long neck holding her head up high, her face framed by a straight dark mane that flowed down the slim frame of her back. She had the kind of mestiza beauty that literally went beyond skin deep, crafted by a refined bone structure guaranteed to shine through even in old age.
But aside from her upturned nose, almond-shaped eyes and a mouth that naturally curved upward, her mother’s beauty was also defined by the way she moved. She didn’t just walk; she glided. To retrieve a fallen object, she didn’t just bend; she bowed in a graceful arc. When she gestured, her long fingers fluttered like butterfly wings. She looked taller than her five-foot frame because her back was always erect, her chin parallel to the floor.
Val liked to think she looked like her, and was tickled pink when people confirmed her theory. But in terms of height, it was clear that she took after her dad, who was a towering six-footer. The tall, dark and handsome cliche, he was often mistaken for a professional basketball player or an actor. He was the perfect partner for her mom, a king in his own right. He and her mom were childhood friends, but it was only when they were grownups that they fell in love.
Her dad held a high position in an insurance company, which afforded Val’s mom to choose being a homemaker over employment. They lived comfortably in a private subdivision, in a two-storey house shaded by fruit trees and blanketed by Bermuda grass and flowering shrubs. They had a maid, a cook, and the occasional laundrywoman and gardener. But Val never had a nanny; her mom was her constant guardian.
In their tiny kingdom, there was no doubt that Val was the princess. Her parents tried not to spoil her, but it was inevitable since she was the only child. Her room, painted with her favorite colors pink and purple was filled with more toys, clothes, and shoes than was necessary.
So there they were, living a charmed and, not to mention a well-insured, life. His father liked to joke that because of his job, they were insured in every imaginable aspect—life and death, retirement, health, travel and even Val’s education.
But when he left that fateful day many years ago, he took with him the family income, which included the means to pay the installments for such safeguards. Overnight, the queen and the princess lost their king, and had become paupers. It was years later that the irony of it all had struck Val—that while preparing for their future, her parents had forgotten to insure the most important thing of all: their own marriage.
* * * *
“I spy with my little eye—gray hair,” chanted Val as she stood over her mom sitting under the dim yellow light of the kitchen. She parted the locks in sections and paused. “Uh-oh, more gray hair underneath. I told you I can color it for you.”
Her mom shooed her daughter away and patted her hair in place. “I grow a gray strand for every delinquent student. And there seems to be more and more each year.”
She held up her red gel pen reserved for checking test papers, and pointed it at Val. “Meanwhile, you should stop dyeing your hair. You’ll get bald from all those chemicals.”
Val shrugged her shoulders. “Plenty of time before that happens.”
Her mom shook her head while clicking her tongue. “Foresight, Valerie.” She got back to her papers and let the silence rest between them. Without looking up, she spoke. “So have you finally thought about what you’re going to do after graduation?”
For a millisecond, Val ceased chewing the chunk of bread. She gulped it down and said casually, “I have my plans.”
Her mom sighed. And somehow, that one tiny sigh instantly made Val’s blood rush to her cheeks in a mixture of embarrassment and indignation. She knew what her mom was not saying out loud. That she was wasting her scholarship. That she should have enrolled in a real course. That volleyball wasn’t going to sustain her after graduation.
But somehow, Val couldn’t think beyond volleyball, the one thing that had kept her sane throughout the rollercoaster ride that was the tweens and teens, when her ridiculous height felt like a curse. After that summer, when she gained the inches and none of the pounds, she felt nothing like her graceful mother and more like a spindly spider: all skinny arms and legs stretched out to infinity.
She was an awkward beanpole, towering over her classmates and even her teachers. Val slouched and tried to make herself look shorter, but it never really worked because she was always at least a head taller than the second tallest girl in class. During those times, she hated her dad more for his giant genes than his desertion.
Then one random afternoon in the sixth grade, Ms. Ramos, their Physical Education teacher , announced that they were going to learn to play volleyball. PE, at least in their school, was like a Russian roulette of sports wherein they spent the entire school year being drilled on the basics of every sport imaginable: badminton, chess, sprinting, softball and yes, even basketball—which Val had sucked at despite her height.
The students wore bored expressions as they formed themselves into groups and took turns in hitting the ball. Sport after sport, they did this: a half-hearted attempt to learn the mechanics and skills yet no one was expected to excel. Going through the motions was quite enough. They didn’t even have a proper net because the high school volleyball team was using it in the gym. Val and her classmates had to imagine the space in front of the podium—where the parents usually settled in monoblock chairs to watch their daughters’ graduation ceremony—as a proper volleyball court.
As Val watched the ball sail towards her, it was obvious that it was going to land a long way behind her. She wouldn’t be able to hit it in time with her lowered arms, her right hand cupping her left. So she did the most logical thing she could think of: she jumped and smacked the ball with her hand.
The ball ricocheted off her palm and hit the floor almost immediately.
Ms. Ramos blew the whistle tied around her neck. “Fabian!”
The next thing Val knew, her teacher had jogged a few feet directly in front of her, tossing another ball into the air.
“Again!”
Instinctively, Val made the leap smacked the ball down in a steep decline.
“Again!”
This time, the ball was tossed even higher, and that was the moment when Val’s awkward limbs finally discovered their purpose. Her legs lifted her up, making her feel as light as air. A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine as she drew back her right shoulder, elbow bent, making the entire length of her arm as taut as a bowstring poised to release its arrow.
Her palm met the sailing ball at the same time her wrist flicked as sharply as a lion-tamer’s whip. The ball struck the concrete and thumped a few times before rolling away.
A great hush descended on the make-believe court. Then the whole class broke into wild applause and hooting. Val was stunned, unaccustomed to such displays of admiration. Her gaze slid over to Ms. Ramos who was beaming at her. Slowly the realization that she had done something awesome hit her, and Val beamed back.
From then on, Val had become a different brand. She was no longer just the “tall girl.” She learned to hold her head up high because she was a varsity athlete. Suddenly, school became more than just wading through an endless muddle of homework and quizzes, churning out grades that teetered from average to a little above average.
Engulfed in an atmosphere of competitiveness, of doing or dying, of pushing mental and physical capacities to their limits, Val’s aggressive streak was awoken. She was filled with the need to always win. Because winning meant being admired and applauded, something that made Val feel like a princess all over again.
But now, as she stared at the plate, her chest stabbed with the sharp tip of her mother’s tongue, she suddenly felt tired. She pushed her half-eaten snack away. “I’m going up.”
For once, the sight of her tasteful room gave her no comfort. Val belly flopped on her bed, knocking a pillow to the floor. She picked it up and buried her face in it.
She loved her mom, she really did. She was the one consistent adult in her life and Val knew that she was a lot less messed up because of this.
She just wished that sometimes, her mom would take a break from her constant worrying and working. Val was tired of scrimping, anticipating, planning the next step—which was why, most of the time, all she wanted to do was float around, not caring where the tide would take her.