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Short Stories

Recca Tan

Recca Tan's Book(1)

The Landlord's Journal

The Landlord's Journal

 Modern
4.1
Page1. My name is Jos. Not Jose, just Jos. There is no ‘e’ at the end. I was named after my dad, Jose, and so to prevent confusion, he named me Jos. He said it sounded cool at the time, and kept it. You can even check my birth certificate. Though, it did occur to me that the typist at the Civil Registry Office could have just made a typo. I am 20 years old, single and I live with my mom in Los Baños, Laguna. Mama inherited this huge boarding house because her mother, my Lola, passed away, and she was the only living relative. We just moved here last summer. Mama is the new Lady of the House, while I am the new Landlord. Page3. My journal. Who would have thought writing could be so exciting? What has gotten into me? Nah, I think it's because I have time on my hands and there's nothing to do. The old girls – the ones who have been living here before – have extra-curricular activities, while Mama is entertaining the two new ones. No, I don't want to join them. I am just shy of 6 feet in height, with black hair, black eyes, a tall nose and a wide mouth. I am not athletic but can last more than two rolls in the hay, consecutively, thanks to Melanie's expert training on endurance. My area of expertise is going deep. (Naughty grin!) Page9. Jo is here. Didn't she go home? I remember, she left the house yesterday, and here she comes into the courtyard from the direction of the chapel. She's wearing a dress, colored brown or beige. Whatever it is, it's a dull color. I hate dull colors. Okay, here come Mama and Jo. Jo is eyeing my journal with a cocked eyebrow. Does she think she knows what it is in there? Why am I concerned all of a sudden? We hardly talk. We hardly even make eye contact. WE ARE NOT FRIENDS! Page37. Though I wouldn't admit it out loud, I was beginning to get worried too. I would wake up in the middle of the night remembering my last words to her. “You know what you are? Frigid. I don't want you. What was I thinking?” If she was dead, those words would remain on my conscience forever. Mama refused to listen to the rumors, insisting that Jo was still alive, out there, somewhere. She wouldn't let anyone rent the room and refused to take any of the things out. Weeks became months and months became years.