The Virgin's Last Night by Cecilia Manguerra Brainard - Love Stories Series #3

 

Cecilia Manguerra Brainard, photo by Doreen Stone

 

From Cecilia Brainard: I am sharing my story, THE VIRGIN'S LAST NIGHT,  as part of my Love Stories Series featured in this blog. Earlier stories posted include Nikki Alfar's THE MECHANISM OF MOVING FORWARD and Geronimo Tagatac's  A SIMPLE GRACE.

My story, THE VIRGIN'S LAST NIGHT, was inspired by an unmarried aunt whose beau from her youth came around late in their lives, when he was a widower, and she still unmarried. She had spent most of her life taking care of her younger unmarried sister. In Cebu, they were referred to as the Old Maids living on Mango Avenue. My aunt sent the man away, ridiculing him (her nieces and nephews assumed) -- Are you out of your mind? At our age?

One day when I was already writing stories, I remembered my aunt and her old beau, and I wrote the “The Virgin’s Last Night.” The story flowed, with few revisions. 

This story first appeared in Going Home to a Landscape: Writings by Filipinas (Calyx Books); it also appeared in Growing Up Filipino II: More Stories for Young Adults (PALH & UST PH. It is part of my short story collection, Vigan and Other Stories (Anvil), and my Selected Short Stories (PALH and UST PH).

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BIO: Cecilia Manguerra Brainard is the author and editor of over 22 books. She has written three novels: When the Rainbow Goddess Wept, Magdalena, and The Newspaper Widow. Her recent books include her Selected Short Stories and Growing Up Filipino 3: New Stories for Young Adults. Two books she edited were released in 2025: How I Became a Writer: Essays by Filipino and Filipino American Writers, and Step Into Our Kitchens: Theresian Recipes and Tales.

She has forthcoming translations in Greek, Japanese, Portuguese, Macedonian, Arabic, Serbian, Slovenian and Azerbaijan, in addition to earlier translations of her work in Turkish and Finnish.

She received an Outstanding Individual Award from Cebu, a California Arts Council Fellowship, a Brody Arts Fund, several travel grants from the US Embassy, National Book Award, Cirilo Bautista Prize, travel grant from the National Book Development Board, and others.

Cecilia taught at UCLA, USC, California State Summer School for the Arts, and the Writers’ Program at UCLA Extension. She served as Executive Board member and Officer of PEN, PAAWWW (Pacific Asian American Women Writers West), Arts & Letters at the Cal State University LA, PAWWA (Philippine American Woman Writers and Artists), among others.

She also runs a small press, PALH or Philippine American Literary House (palhbooks.com). Her official website is https://ceciliabrainard.com. 

THE VIRGIN’S LAST NIGHT

Copyright by Cecilia Manguerra Brainard. All rights reserved.

 

FOUR MONTHS AFTER PETRA SANTIAGO DIED, and the night before her own death, Meding Santiago got out of bed, reached for her rosary by the side table and started reciting the Creed. It was almost midnight, and she was saying the rosary that Thursday for the second time. Since Petra died, she slept poorly, her mind fixed on the image of her younger sister on the hospital bed, waving her bony fingers in front of her face before she finally stopped breathing. Sometimes she would forget that Petra was gone, and she would pour another cup of hot chocolate or turn to say something to no one, and she would be surprised at the depth of her grief.

She was on her knees, with her eyes closed, when she heard a soft knock on the door. She rose and walked to the door. She opened it, expecting one of the servants, and was surprised at the figure of an old man. It took Meding a second before she caught her breath and said, “Mateo, what are you doing here? You’re dead.” 

“Here to see you, Meding. It’s been a long time,” replied Mateo, standing first on one foot, then shifting his weight to the other, a man embarrassed.

“Well,” Meding said, clutching her nightdress at the collar, uncertain about what to do, what to say, uncertain about her sanity at the moment.

“You’re not crazy,” Mateo went on. “I’m dead.  I know, it’s strange, but that’s how it is sometimes. I have to get back before sunrise.”

“Oh,” Meding said, accepting this explanation with some kind of relief. Ever since her sister’s death, life had taken on the quality of a dream, and Mateo’s presence was just another strange event. She squinted at the figure by the doorway. “You’ve gotten old, Mateo,” she said, “and paunchy too.”

“You’re just as beautiful.” Mateo hung his head the way he used to as a young man, many years ago.

Meding laughed and walked over to the armoire mirror to study her image. “Mateo, you and I know I’m no spring chicken.

A Simple Grace by Geronimo Tagatac - Love Stories Series #2

From Cecilia Brainard: I am proud to share GERONIMO TAGATAC'S short story, A SIMPLE GRACE. This is part of my Love Stories Series featured in my blog.  All articles and photos are copyrighted by the individual authors. All rights reserved. This is featured in my blog with permission from the author. 

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GERONIMO TAGATAC'S father was from Ilocos Norte.  His mother was a Russian Jew. Geronimo has been a Special Forces soldier, a legislative consultant, a dishwasher, cook, folksinger, computer system planner, a modern and jazz dancer and a roofer.  His short fiction has appeared in Writers Forum, The Northwest Review, Alternatives Magazine, Orion Magazine, The Clackamas Literary Review and The Chautauqua Literary Review.  He’s received fellowships from Oregon Literary Arts and Fishtrap. “Summer of the Aswang,” received the 2017 Timberline Award for short fiction.  Geronimo's short story, "Hammer Lounge" is part of Growing Up Filipino II: More Stories for Young Adults, collected and edited by Cecilia Brainard. His first book of short fiction, The Weight of the Sun, was a 2007 Oregon Literary Arts finalist. 

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A SIMPLE GRACE

Copyright by Geronimo Tagatac, all rights reserved

CATHERINE, C.K. HER FRIENDS CALLED HER, would later tell him that the way he moved when he made his way between the row of lecture hall seats and the way he sat himself down without the help of his arms is what drew her interest. The very simplicity of his gracefulness touched something in her.  

        C.K. saw him the following Friday evening, in the Interlude Bar. She’d gone there with Charles, a grad student who was ten years older than her. He was chummy with the younger faculty members who frequented the place. Marco was chatting with the woman bartender and, at one point he said something to her that made her laugh. C.K. was sure he knew that she was watching him by the way he sat, half turned toward her on his bar stool as though he could hear her through the clutter of conversation punctuated by the occasional raised voice or wave of laughter. She was almost sure that he would hear her if she spoke to him across the space between them.

            Marco felt her swift glances, returning them with his own in which he took in her thick straight brown hair cut square several inches below her shoulders. He guessed she was not much more than five-feet-two inches tall.  He noticed her light-colored eyes behind her wire-rimmed glasses, the black turtleneck sweater, and wide-legged pants of a fabric that softened the shape of her legs. He watched her leave with her companion but noticed she didn’t hold his hand or lean into him in that way lovers do, and that rubbed away some of his envy.