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Jesus Loves the Fat People
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ompom used her own soap when she washed her hands at public comfort rooms. "You'll catch AIDS touching things hundreds of people have handled."
Such as the soap container at Coffee Bends, her favorite caffeine factory. It was located one floor below the office of the Coalition of the Followers of Christ, where she worked as the executive assistant of the Pastor, so she could get her fix any time of the day. More importantly, it had a hand drier from hell. Pompom usually ate dinner at Coffee Bends. Thou shall not eat pasta with your hands dirty, the Lord God commanded. And ten out of ten doctors said: "Damp hands are breeding pits for germs."
Pompom felt cleaner when the drier scorched her hands. A few wads of Johnson and Johnson sanitary wipes and a good squirt of alcogel completed the task.
This ritual took a few minutes of her nights, and her prayers before and after dinner more. But only then would she feel safe to eat. Only clean would the Lord God find no reason to bring her death by e coli, or, worse, plague her with diarrhea.
That's what she thought anyway.
Unfortunately, women's thoughts weren't usually like God's.
"Good evening Ms Chua," Barbara said. "I mean-Mrs Chua-Sy." Her favorite waitress. Only she among the non-Christians knew.
Pompom made a Victoria 's secret gesture with her lips and forefinger. Barbara bowed and set down the pasta and Bloody Maryknoll on the table, aluminum sculpted and painted to look like a rock.
"Enjoy your meal," the waitress said. Other tables needed cleaning and other costumers needed serving but she just stood there, her waiting for Pompom's first taste and mmm of approval a nightly ceremony. Barbara waited. The pasta, however, remained untouched. "Is there a problem Ma'am?"
Pompom fingered her engagement ring. She was too young a twenty one year old but Arwin-well... Christian boys were different, and Arwin was very Christian. Before he proposed he gave her a book, the only book, besides the Bible, which Pompom had read again immediately after finishing. Of course, Arwin's book had pictures-"It's ok Bar. I just haven't washed my hands yet."
"There is something wrong with the comfort room."
"No, no," Pompom didn't want to be like those costumers who acted like they owned the place they ate at. "Someone's using it."
"Diarrhea!" Barbara mimed a gag. "I will investigate."
Pompom stood to stop her but the waitress had already gone off for the hunt.
Pompom sat down and stared at her only non-Christian friend's back. When that disappeared she stared at her pasta. When she was little her favorite game with her sister was a contest: who could finish eating her spaghetti the fastest? This game was played without hands. Cheer always won. Cheer, she got pregnant and married a Jehovah's Witness. He left his church too, that was emphasized, and they now claimed to be secular. The Lord God commanded forgiveness, seventy times seventy times, but Pompom found it hard to follow. Such infidelity!
Pompom brought her nose near the pasta. Cheer had won their games by drooling all over her spaghetti. She claimed that made the strands cling to her mouth and slide through her food pipe better. Pompom tried this saliva strategy once. She won the contest, but vomited afterwards.
She was not able to enjoy the candy prize.
Chimes brought her eyes to the door. She waved at the man who entered. Pastor Boy Sayson, Coalition unit head, Laguna base. He waved back and grinned. Pompom grabbed her Bloody Maryknoll (red mango juice really) and took a sip. The liquid went down with difficulty. It was as if her throat was being clogged by hair.
Pastor came and sat beside her. "Good work today, converting that, err-Iglesia ni Cristo?"
"Iglesia Watawat ng Lahi. INC members don't talk to us." Pompom smiled at him. "Pastor."
"This is a great school, Plato's." He smiled back. "What with this minimall just outside its gates, our own office so near the flock. It would be a waste ignoring the bleating of those lost sheep."
"The head of the Christian Brotherhood is set to write us a formal letter of pleading."
"They are that paranoid? Such little faith in their members!"
"After the C3 block conversion? Everybody's just making sure." Pompom felt her face red. She was one of the architects of their recovery of those thirty something lost souls. She and Susie.
"Don't look now, but this one's Catholic."
She turned to where the Pastor's snout was pointing. It was Barbara, strutting. "Shut up Boy," Pompom said. Then she added: "She is my friend, Pastor."
Pompom focused on the waitress, so she did not pay attention to her boss grabbing a fork. Pompom would have strangled anyone who touched her food, but Barbara's cross, graven image resting at a valley between breasts, was suddenly shining like the morning star. This was the first time Pompom noticed.
Barbara stood at attention in front of her. "Place clear, Ma'am." The waitress looked at the pastor, feigned surprise and made a sign of the cross.
"Sinful act, sinful hand," Pastor said. "Gehena is always an option."
Barbara whispered to Pompom: "I'll cut my hand off after I crush his throat with it." Then she walked away.
Pompom called after her: "Another pasta please." The pastor cleaned the plate with his finger (which he then stuck in his mouth). Pompom felt her stomach lurch. Creeping bile reached her tongue. She grabbed her Bloody Maryknoll and drained the glass. The liquid was like phlegm in her throat.
Pastor Boy said: "I saw Susie distributing leaflets outside during lunch time. And I got word that she has been contacting younger members." He grabbed Pompom's arm. "You must stop her." He buried her with a stare. "Do it quick." He pushed her away.
Pompom waved at Barbara and mouthed the word "juice." Then she realized that the Pastor had sauced her arm. She was dousing it with alcohol when he got up and left.
Pompom's eyes stayed with his back until he opened the Coffee Bends' doors. Out he went and in came Carmela. Her former disciple, now a discipler herself. A bleating goat from Bulacan, she was a shepherd would-be leader now.
She waved at Carmela and the three girls following her. They were all glasses and one was wearing a skirt. "Ang Dating Daan?" Pompom thought. She stood up to meet Carmela. They rubbed their cheeks against each other's.
"Pom, this is Dulce." Braces. "Miren." Mole. "And Jane." The girl in the skirt, also wearing make-up. Pompom taught Carmela well. They exchanged greetings of the Peace of Christ and the four went to a corner table. It was the new recruits who remembered the protocols. Elder members, Pompom knew, tended to focus on other aspects of the Coalition. She looked to Barbara's direction and waitress gestured five more minutes. She headed for the comfort room. On the way she saw more Coalition members, disciplers with their flock, recruiting lost souls, arguing against backsliders, pushing those with leadership potential. Itch was urging her to scratch her cheeks. Susie had been her discipler.
The door of Coffee Bends' comfort room for women had a picture of the Immaculate Heart of Mary on it (the men's had the Sacred Heart of Jesus). Youth for Christ members complained about this to the building's administrator. He was a Methodist, and said that the owners of Coffee Bends had freedom of expression. Pompom could not understand how Barbara could stand this desecration of her faith. "Pity, pity, pity." When she opened the door she pushed at Mary's forehead.
Inside she first locked the door behind her. She wrapped the doorknob with tissue paper. This was for later, so as not to get her just-washed hands soiled by whatever previous comfort room occupants left on the handle.
Then she made sure that no one was with her by opening the cubicle doors.
After that she got her soap out. Then she turned the faucet on. The initial burst of water from the pipes were known to be stale. Hence she counted to ten before washing her hands. She dug under her nails and squeezed her hands until they looked like raw porkchops. She was reaching for the soap when she noticed the cut in the middle of her right palm. Then she saw a similar hole in her left hand. They were wounds, and they were oozing with blood.
The sink became a basin of blood.
Pompom continued washing. She soaped her hands. Rinsed. Clapped under the hand drier's inferno. Still bleeding she turned the doorknob, held the door with her back while she threw her now-red handle-guard tissues into the trashcan. She feared not the mystery of what was happening but the possibility of infection.
What was waiting for her outside the comfort room was far worse than germs.
Someone was eating her pasta.
"Good evening Pompom Chua." Susie dela Rocha was fat with child. "Would you like to join me for dinner?"
As she saw Barbara dragging a security guard through Coffee Bends' doors Pompom realized that Susie had spoken the same words she gave as invitation five years ago. The night they became friends. Back when they were still freshmen.
Nina was always late. Late for classes, for assignments. She violated curfew and cancelled appointments at the last minute.
Nina was Pompom's only friend at Plato's Academy, her blockmate and her roommate. So even though she knew Nina wasn't coming she sat at their favorite table at MaoDonald's
ompom used her own soap when she washed her hands at public comfort rooms. "You'll catch AIDS touching things hundreds of people have handled."
Such as the soap container at Coffee Bends, her favorite caffeine factory. It was located one floor below the office of the Coalition of the Followers of Christ, where she worked as the executive assistant of the Pastor, so she could get her fix any time of the day. More importantly, it had a hand drier from hell. Pompom usually ate dinner at Coffee Bends. Thou shall not eat pasta with your hands dirty, the Lord God commanded. And ten out of ten doctors said: "Damp hands are breeding pits for germs."
Pompom felt cleaner when the drier scorched her hands. A few wads of Johnson and Johnson sanitary wipes and a good squirt of alcogel completed the task.
This ritual took a few minutes of her nights, and her prayers before and after dinner more. But only then would she feel safe to eat. Only clean would the Lord God find no reason to bring her death by e coli, or, worse, plague her with diarrhea.
That's what she thought anyway.
Unfortunately, women's thoughts weren't usually like God's.
"Good evening Ms Chua," Barbara said. "I mean-Mrs Chua-Sy." Her favorite waitress. Only she among the non-Christians knew.
Pompom made a Victoria 's secret gesture with her lips and forefinger. Barbara bowed and set down the pasta and Bloody Maryknoll on the table, aluminum sculpted and painted to look like a rock.
"Enjoy your meal," the waitress said. Other tables needed cleaning and other costumers needed serving but she just stood there, her waiting for Pompom's first taste and mmm of approval a nightly ceremony. Barbara waited. The pasta, however, remained untouched. "Is there a problem Ma'am?"
Pompom fingered her engagement ring. She was too young a twenty one year old but Arwin-well... Christian boys were different, and Arwin was very Christian. Before he proposed he gave her a book, the only book, besides the Bible, which Pompom had read again immediately after finishing. Of course, Arwin's book had pictures-"It's ok Bar. I just haven't washed my hands yet."
"There is something wrong with the comfort room."
"No, no," Pompom didn't want to be like those costumers who acted like they owned the place they ate at. "Someone's using it."
"Diarrhea!" Barbara mimed a gag. "I will investigate."
Pompom stood to stop her but the waitress had already gone off for the hunt.
Pompom sat down and stared at her only non-Christian friend's back. When that disappeared she stared at her pasta. When she was little her favorite game with her sister was a contest: who could finish eating her spaghetti the fastest? This game was played without hands. Cheer always won. Cheer, she got pregnant and married a Jehovah's Witness. He left his church too, that was emphasized, and they now claimed to be secular. The Lord God commanded forgiveness, seventy times seventy times, but Pompom found it hard to follow. Such infidelity!
Pompom brought her nose near the pasta. Cheer had won their games by drooling all over her spaghetti. She claimed that made the strands cling to her mouth and slide through her food pipe better. Pompom tried this saliva strategy once. She won the contest, but vomited afterwards.
She was not able to enjoy the candy prize.
Chimes brought her eyes to the door. She waved at the man who entered. Pastor Boy Sayson, Coalition unit head, Laguna base. He waved back and grinned. Pompom grabbed her Bloody Maryknoll (red mango juice really) and took a sip. The liquid went down with difficulty. It was as if her throat was being clogged by hair.
Pastor came and sat beside her. "Good work today, converting that, err-Iglesia ni Cristo?"
"Iglesia Watawat ng Lahi. INC members don't talk to us." Pompom smiled at him. "Pastor."
"This is a great school, Plato's." He smiled back. "What with this minimall just outside its gates, our own office so near the flock. It would be a waste ignoring the bleating of those lost sheep."
"The head of the Christian Brotherhood is set to write us a formal letter of pleading."
"They are that paranoid? Such little faith in their members!"
"After the C3 block conversion? Everybody's just making sure." Pompom felt her face red. She was one of the architects of their recovery of those thirty something lost souls. She and Susie.
"Don't look now, but this one's Catholic."
She turned to where the Pastor's snout was pointing. It was Barbara, strutting. "Shut up Boy," Pompom said. Then she added: "She is my friend, Pastor."
Pompom focused on the waitress, so she did not pay attention to her boss grabbing a fork. Pompom would have strangled anyone who touched her food, but Barbara's cross, graven image resting at a valley between breasts, was suddenly shining like the morning star. This was the first time Pompom noticed.
Barbara stood at attention in front of her. "Place clear, Ma'am." The waitress looked at the pastor, feigned surprise and made a sign of the cross.
"Sinful act, sinful hand," Pastor said. "Gehena is always an option."
Barbara whispered to Pompom: "I'll cut my hand off after I crush his throat with it." Then she walked away.
Pompom called after her: "Another pasta please." The pastor cleaned the plate with his finger (which he then stuck in his mouth). Pompom felt her stomach lurch. Creeping bile reached her tongue. She grabbed her Bloody Maryknoll and drained the glass. The liquid was like phlegm in her throat.
Pastor Boy said: "I saw Susie distributing leaflets outside during lunch time. And I got word that she has been contacting younger members." He grabbed Pompom's arm. "You must stop her." He buried her with a stare. "Do it quick." He pushed her away.
Pompom waved at Barbara and mouthed the word "juice." Then she realized that the Pastor had sauced her arm. She was dousing it with alcohol when he got up and left.
Pompom's eyes stayed with his back until he opened the Coffee Bends' doors. Out he went and in came Carmela. Her former disciple, now a discipler herself. A bleating goat from Bulacan, she was a shepherd would-be leader now.
She waved at Carmela and the three girls following her. They were all glasses and one was wearing a skirt. "Ang Dating Daan?" Pompom thought. She stood up to meet Carmela. They rubbed their cheeks against each other's.
"Pom, this is Dulce." Braces. "Miren." Mole. "And Jane." The girl in the skirt, also wearing make-up. Pompom taught Carmela well. They exchanged greetings of the Peace of Christ and the four went to a corner table. It was the new recruits who remembered the protocols. Elder members, Pompom knew, tended to focus on other aspects of the Coalition. She looked to Barbara's direction and waitress gestured five more minutes. She headed for the comfort room. On the way she saw more Coalition members, disciplers with their flock, recruiting lost souls, arguing against backsliders, pushing those with leadership potential. Itch was urging her to scratch her cheeks. Susie had been her discipler.
The door of Coffee Bends' comfort room for women had a picture of the Immaculate Heart of Mary on it (the men's had the Sacred Heart of Jesus). Youth for Christ members complained about this to the building's administrator. He was a Methodist, and said that the owners of Coffee Bends had freedom of expression. Pompom could not understand how Barbara could stand this desecration of her faith. "Pity, pity, pity." When she opened the door she pushed at Mary's forehead.
Inside she first locked the door behind her. She wrapped the doorknob with tissue paper. This was for later, so as not to get her just-washed hands soiled by whatever previous comfort room occupants left on the handle.
Then she made sure that no one was with her by opening the cubicle doors.
After that she got her soap out. Then she turned the faucet on. The initial burst of water from the pipes were known to be stale. Hence she counted to ten before washing her hands. She dug under her nails and squeezed her hands until they looked like raw porkchops. She was reaching for the soap when she noticed the cut in the middle of her right palm. Then she saw a similar hole in her left hand. They were wounds, and they were oozing with blood.
The sink became a basin of blood.
Pompom continued washing. She soaped her hands. Rinsed. Clapped under the hand drier's inferno. Still bleeding she turned the doorknob, held the door with her back while she threw her now-red handle-guard tissues into the trashcan. She feared not the mystery of what was happening but the possibility of infection.
What was waiting for her outside the comfort room was far worse than germs.
Someone was eating her pasta.
"Good evening Pompom Chua." Susie dela Rocha was fat with child. "Would you like to join me for dinner?"
As she saw Barbara dragging a security guard through Coffee Bends' doors Pompom realized that Susie had spoken the same words she gave as invitation five years ago. The night they became friends. Back when they were still freshmen.
Nina was always late. Late for classes, for assignments. She violated curfew and cancelled appointments at the last minute.
Nina was Pompom's only friend at Plato's Academy, her blockmate and her roommate. So even though she knew Nina wasn't coming she sat at their favorite table at MaoDonald's