Between Then and Now

CHAPTER EIGHT

Bonita

M r. Ramirez loved my proposal when I showed it to him last week. He appreciated the relevance of my topic in today’s world, emphasizing the importance of documenting humanitarian efforts. Last week felt like a blur as we worked with the legal team to draft a new employment contract. Completing all the necessary paperwork felt like a formality compared to the excitement building within me right now.

Today, I’m packing for the trip, with my laptop strategically placed on my bed so I can pack and still chat with my friends during our usual FaceTime sessions.

Even though Haley and Kate still live near me, they’re currently on a family trip. They have one of those giant families that hold annual reunions and have matching shirts to commemorate the event. Right now, I think it’s a great-grandmother’s birthday. Or was it a third cousin’s christening? I don’t know, but it’s one of those matching shirt events because they’re both wearing identical blue tops.

“Okay, but one month on a remote island? Can you do that?” Emily asks.

“I can and I will, Em,” I reply confidently, adjusting my laptop camera to get a better angle. “It’s a chance to capture something truly impactful. Plus, who wouldn’t want to spend a month in Batanes?”

Kate chimes in, her face brightening with curiosity. “Do you think you’ll find a romantic subplot there, Bon?” She is such a hopeless romantic, our dear Kate .

I laugh. “I’m going for a documentary, not a love story, Kate. Though,” I add with a mischievous grin, “who knows what adventures await?”

Haley, ever the supportive sister, nods thoughtfully. “Just promise you’ll come back with some good stories to tell. And if you try to get into trouble, at least make it interesting.”

“Hey, I’m there to work,” I reply playfully as they all glare at me. “But seriously, I’m going to make the most of this opportunity—it’s a chance to showcase what I can do with a camera and to shed light on the incredible work happening out there.”

Emily, always the pragmatic one, nods approvingly. “Just make sure you take care of yourself, okay? Remote locations can be tricky.”

“I will, Mama Em,” I assure her. “And don’t worry, I’ve packed enough sunscreen and bug spray to last a lifetime.” She smiles, as if she was just about to remind me. Emily always–and I mean always–reminds us to put sunscreen on before any trip.

“I would tell you to bring some first aid medicine, but since you’ll be surrounded by doctors, I wouldn’t worry too much.”

She’s on mobile, and it looks like she’s getting ready to ride the subway. Her line freezes for a bit, but once she’s back, I hear her say “Keep in touch.”

“You keep in touch. You’re on the other side of the world.” She gives me a glare and we chuckle at how she’s struggling to swipe her MetroCard. On her third and finally successful attempt, we give her applause, which only makes her glare at us more.

As Kate waves from their screen and our call ends, I catch a glimpse of her lavender tattoo, and I pause as I’m reminded of the day we all got matching ones.

It was the summer after our senior year of high school, and we decided to get ourselves matching tattoos–much to the dismay of our parents. Since we would be moving to different universities, we’d see each other less, and we wanted to solidify our friendship in a way that was both beautiful and meaningful. It was Kate’s idea, as are most of the sappy stuff we go through.

It was Haley who insisted on the tattoos, though. According to her, we needed something more permanent than just bracelets. So, we each got a tattoo of different flowers–because duh–that somehow symbolized us.

Em got a rose on her back, a nod to the name her father gave her. Kate got a lavender on her wrist, symbolizing how gentle and soothing she was as a person. A hug from Kate is like a visit to a therapist–comforting in all ways. Haley got a lotus on her thigh, which looked like (and meant that) she was resilient and strong. Haley is the type of friend who would tell the waiter that you ordered curly fries, not potato wedges. And she’s done that for me more times than I’d like to admit. I don’t exactly have any issues with talking to strangers, but I’m not a fan of confrontation or anything that resembles discomfort.

And then there’s me. I got a sunflower beside my collarbone because I always thought sunflowers exude warmth and happiness—something I’ve always tried to maintain for myself. It’s a reminder for me to always seek the light, no matter how dark things might get. And to be that light for other people too. I’m not gonna lie–sometimes it gets tiring to always be everyone’s source of light and happiness, but it’s the least I can do for the people I love.

I continue packing, the thoughts about my friends consuming me. I miss them. It feels almost impossible for us to be whole again after Emily moved out. But I guess that’s the thing about solid friendships. They may hurt every now and then, but they’re always there.

On the day of our flight, Richard agrees to take us to the airport. We are still a few hours early despite it being a domestic flight, so Ryan and I decided to get some food before we take off.

“So,” I start as Ryan takes a bite of his chicken sandwich, “what is it about this Alexa girl that you find so endearing? Give me something to work with.” We eat as we walk back because we entrusted our luggage with a stranger at the boarding gates.

“Well, she’s beautiful. She’s smart, obviously. And she looks like a really fun person,” he says.

“Looks like?” I ask in shock, a piece of my panini almost falling off my mouth. I chuckle as I finish chewing my sandwich. “You mean you’ve never actually uttered a single word to her?” I ask as I wipe my mouth.

“I said ‘hey’ once, sometime in the last year,” he shrugs.

“Oh my god. I didn’t know it was this bad. We need to work on your skills, Ry,” I say. We’re back at the boarding gates and take our seats as we finish eating.

“Thank you. I don’t know where to start,” he says.

“We should start simple. You see this?” I say, pointing to my lips. “These are called lips, and they can curve upward. And when they do, it’s called a smile.” I smile widely.

“Are you going to be this condescending the entire time?” he asks.

“Yep. Welcome to the Bonbon experience.” I extend my hand for him to shake. “No backsies. ”

Ryan shakes his head with a frown and moves my hand away. “Is this going to be your entire approach? Mocking me into social grace?”

“Partly,” I admit with a grin. “But seriously, confidence is key. You’ve got to show her you’re interested, not just in admiring from afar.”

“That’s her,” Ryan says, as a flock of people joins us in the boarding area. Alexa is beautiful; he’s right about that. She has long black hair that dances with the wind. She’s tall, like a supermodel. Which doesn’t matter because Ryan is a giant too. I honestly never noticed how tall and shredded he’s become until today. He’s wearing a linen button-down white shirt and some khaki pants. Even through the fabric, you can tell he’s been working out. His light brown hair is almost blonde in the sunlight reflecting from the airport ceiling. At least he already looks the part; he just needs to amp up his charisma a bit.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Ryan asks.

“Because, Miller, you already look perfect for someone like Alexa. You just have to learn to talk to her,” I say.

“Thanks for casually calling me hot,” he says.

I look at him with exaggerated disgust. “You see, what I don’t get is how you’re unreasonably cocky around me but melt into stammering goop around her.” I roll my eyes.

“What can I say? You bring out the best in me. Or the worst. Depends on how you look at it,” he says with a shrug.

I cross my arms, raising an eyebrow. “So, you’re saying I’m the best? That’s cute.”

“Or the worst,” he shoots back.

“Or the best,” I say.

“You really do have pretty selective hearing, don’t you?” he chuckles .

“Sorry? What was that? I’m pretty?”

Ryan shakes his head in annoyance as a few people join us on the seats.

“Hey, Ryan. Introduce us to your friend,” one of the guys—now I notice is John—says.

“My friend can introduce herself,” Ryan says, avoiding any chance to speak further, and motions for me to continue. So, I do.

“Hey, everyone,” I say. “I’m Bonita, but you can call me Bon.” Then I proceed to tell them what I’m going to do and why I’m on their medical mission. The others introduce themselves as well. Once we’re well-acquainted, Mia, one of the girls, says, “That’s so cool.”

“Yeah, I guess. I have you guys to thank for giving me a story,” I acknowledge gratefully. The exchange eases any lingering tension, and soon we’re chatting animatedly about our expectations for the mission and exchanging stories about our backgrounds and interests.

Mia, for example, decided to become a doctor because her parents are doctors. Typical overachieving family. John chose the field of medicine because he took a chance to take the exam, and he passed. I laughed at that because it’s something I would have done on a whim.

Alexa is within the group, but like Ryan, she’s keeping to herself. She’s holding a book–and not even one of those fun fiction books–and reading intently while we chat endlessly.

Eventually, Ryan and I excuse ourselves to get our in-flight coffee because, of course, we need it. While walking toward one of the airport cafes, I ask, “Have you tried to make a move? At all? ”

“Nope,” Ryan says. “Couldn’t bring myself to do it. She’s just too… perfect, you know?”

“Ryan. Yeah, she’s drop-dead gorgeous, but I think you’re forgetting that you are too,” I say, and I immediately regret it. The last thing I need on this trip is for Ryan to misread my intentions and get the wrong impression that I’m attracted to him.

“No, I know.” He grins, thankfully not reading into what I said. “But there’s good looking, then there’s Alexa. Unattainable. The other doctors tried asking her out and she turned them down. I can’t have that happen to me.”

“Why?” I ask. “I mean, being turned down means you actually asked her. And that’s a lot better than this creepy stalker thing you’re doing. Even high schoolers have better game, Ry.”

“You don’t think I know that? I just never know what to say to girls,” he says.

We’re approaching the cafe now, and Ryan orders for us both. This time I go with a caramel cold brew, and he goes with, again, boring coffee.

“Try it out, then,” I say. “Pretend I’m a stranger. Ask me out.” I point to the empty table. “I’m gonna walk over to that seat there.”

Ryan hesitates for a moment, eyeing me skeptically as I sit down at the table, pretending to be a stranger. He’s clearly skeptical so I ease into the role and lean back casually in my seat, playing the part of a detached stranger.

He approaches me slowly, still unsure if this is a good idea. “Alright,” he starts, clearing his throat nervously, “so, um, do you… come here often?”

I can’t help but smirk, enjoying his discomfort. “Oh, wow that was terrible.”

“Hey,” he shoots me a glance. “I figured I’d start with the basics. You know, ease into it,” he says, slipping into the seat across from me.

“Okay,” I reply, leaning back in my chair with exaggerated interest. “But read the room better. We’re in an airport. Instead of asking a girl if she comes here often, maybe ask if she travels a lot?” I say as I tie my hair into a ponytail. One thing I don’t like about my new haircut is that I can’t tie the entire thing, so I’m always left with a half blob on top of my head to keep it out of my eyes. “Also, Ryan, people here are usually on the move so make your questions concise. With the travel question, you can find out if she’s local or just passing through.” I shrug.

“We’re going off-topic here; I’m not planning to ask out a random airport girl.” He frowns.

“But if you can’t talk to random airport girls, what makes you think you can talk to someone you’ve known for years?” I answer back.

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Alright, fine. So, ditch the pickup lines?”

“Why? Do you have pickup lines prepared?” I ask, genuinely interested to hear this.

He grins widely and nods aggressively. “Yeah, hear this.” He clears his throat. “If you were a vegetable…” He pauses and looks at me. “You’d be a cute-cumber.”

I make a cringed expression. “Oh my god,” I say in a hopeless sigh. “Ew, no. That’s just... painful. What are you, fifty? Do you have, like, a little book of knock knock jokes in your back pocket?”

He grins sheepishly. “No, I don’t. I have it bookmarked on my phone internet, like a sane person.”

“No sane person calls it phone internet. And no sane person bookmarks these days. We take screenshots and leave it in our gallery to rot until our phone memory blows up.” I look at him with a flat expression that hopefully conveys how stupid I think he’s acting.

Looks like he understands what I mean because he sighs and quickly follows up with “This is so hard. When did this get so hard?”

“It’s always been hard, Ry. You’re just noticing it more now because you care more,” I say, softening my teasing into something more understanding.

“Fair enough. But seriously, we have to up my game if I’m going to win over Alexa,” he says, resigned.

“Yes, and pickup lines are not the way to do that,” I say as the barista calls out our names.

As we stand, Ryan says “But they’re good. Listen to this.”

“No,” I say.

“If you were a fruit,” he says anyway. “you’d be a fineapple.”

I stop walking and stare at him with a disgusted expression. “I said no. Please never do that again,” I say.

He sighs dramatically. “Tough crowd.” He gets our cups from the counter and hands me mine.

I chuckle. “For starters, maybe don’t compare her to produce?” I say as we return to the boarding gates. “And, please, for the love of Nelly, lose the Y2K pickup lines.”

“But I’m trying to be funny,” he says.

“I liked you better when you were grumpy,” I say with a shake of my head.

We make our way back just in time to board our flight. The entire flight is peaceful, though the turbulence is terrible when we’re almost landing. The plane rocks and dips, causing a few nervous murmurs among the passengers. As the plane shakes violently and hits another pocket of rough air, fear makes me clutch Ryan’s arm, my fingers digging into his bicep.

He turns to me, his expression suddenly devoid of any amusement and replaced with genuine concern.

“You okay?” His voice is steady despite the chaos around us. He pats my hand that’s still violently clutching his arm.

“Yeah, just a bit dizzy,” I manage to reply, though nothing about my wavering voice sounds fine.

Ryan doesn’t hesitate. He immediately assists me by pushing my forehead gently, so my head is firmly on the headrest. With a firm yet gentle grip, he removes my hand from his arm and holds it in his own, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of my hand.

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, his voice soft but authoritative. I obey, shutting out the disorienting sights and sounds around me. “Breathe in,” he says, and I inhale deeply, focusing on the rise and fall of my chest. “Hold it for three seconds.” He counts softly, “One… two… three… Now exhale through your mouth.” I release my breath, feeling some of the tension slip away.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice like a balm. “Keep doing that. Just focus on your breathing. You’re gonna be okay.”

The plane continues to shake as we descend, but I’m somehow calmer now, thanks to Ryan guiding me through the breathing exercises. As the runway grows closer, the pilot skillfully maneuvers through the rough air, finally touching down with a slight jolt. I finally feel my mind and my heart settle, so I open my eyes .

I realize I’m still clutching Ryan’s hand, and I notice our intertwined fingers. I quickly pull my hand away, feeling a faint flush of embarrassment.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice a bit hoarse. I notice the imprint of my ring on his fingers from how tightly I was holding him. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s nothing.” He chuckles. He bends over to get a bottle of water and unscrews the cap. “Here. Drink up.” He hands it to me, and I take it. The water is surprisingly comforting, and I watch Ryan out of the corner of my eye. He’s stretching his fingers and cracking his knuckles. I suddenly feel bad for probably being the cause of that discomfort.We sit in silence for a moment as the other passengers gather their belongings.

“You’re really good at this, by the way,” I say as I lean back into my chair.

“Well, if I’m not good at this… I might as well be an underwear model.” Ryan shrugs nonchalantly.

“What a shame for the grannies that you’re good at this, then,” I say in emphasis. We both laugh as the fear from earlier completely subsides.

We finally retrieve our stuff and disembark, stepping into the warm, tropical air of Batanes. As we go out of the airport, the first thing that hits me is the air. It’s different here. It’s still hot, but it’s crisp and shockingly pure. Unlike Manila, where five minutes out in the open air will clog my pores and grease my hair. The view is breathtaking, even from here. I can see rolling hills and coastlines in a distance. I almost forget the discomfort of the turbulent landing and a sense of excitement replaces it as we prepare to change lives and have our lives changed in return.