My Baby
by Mary Poirier | From Issue One (Fall 2025)
♪ She's my Filipino baby she's my treasure and my pet
Her teeth are bright and pearly and her hair is black as jet
Oh her lips are sweet as honey and her heart is true I know
She's my darling, my little Filipino baby. ♪
-Ernest Tubb, Filipino Baby
Everyone but Chuck danced around the record player as it played a sweet country tune. The words of the song became a reality. His dream baby was in front of him. She gave him Deja Vu, where had he seen her before? Dancing at the bar, music guided her through the ebb and flow of the crowded dance floor. Her jet-black hair bounced with the swivel of her hips. Chuck took a swig of his San Miguel. His face tingled a warm red. She caught him staring. Her eyes sparked with a burning brown like wood crackling in a fire pit. She grinned at him, her pearlescent teeth cased between supple blood-red lips.
“Chuck, ‘siddown if you ain’t gonna dance,” the firm palm of his squad mate Henry turned him around.
“I could dance,” Chuck’s throat stung, his lips pursed together, a surge of frustration washing over him. Henry was always like this.
“Yeah, but I know you won’t,” his smirk became puckered lips for pointing. “She’s already dancing with somebody else.”
“I’ll get ‘er.” Chuck grinded his teeth and slumped into a rattan chair. His eyebrows drew close together.
“That’s what you say every night,” Henry laughed. “If ya ain’t doing it, I will.”
“I-I’ll do it, don’t go stealing my woman before I even try.” Chuck’s fist curled around the neck of his bottle.
“Don’t blow your wig bud. I’m just giving you some pressure. A deadline. If you get her to dance with you tonight, I won’t pet your cat,” Henry placed a hand on his chest. “I’m just trying to help you out here pally, I promise. Slip me five,” he offered Chuck his hand and they shook.
“Fine, Henry. Tonight. God, what a looker,” Chuck tossed his head back, his chest melted with a sigh. “I’d rather be sipping on a good ol’ honey cooler instead of this,” his finger sliding around the rim of his drink. Even from afar, her pout was plump. Her red pucker pursed around the lip of her bottle to take a sip. Chuck moistened his lips, his palm smoothed down his thigh. He was immersed. Eyes glued. His head turned and twisted like a boat bobbing on the waves of her movement.
“Well, you got all night, break a leg.”
The two chatted, recalling their strange day off. But Chuck trailed off, barely listening as Henry babbled on, a splatter of his saliva flicked onto Chuck, and it reeked of booze. The dew drop of saliva gushed onto Chuck’s upper lip, the bubble burst open from Chuck's unshaved whiskers. Henry didn’t seem to notice his spray as he rambled in his drunken haze. Chuck gave Henry nods and “uh-huhs.” But he sat, his whiskers lazily unshaven, red-shocked eyes from all the alcohol and not enough water, his blonde hair greased from the roots, ankles socked with heat rash, and the red sunburn hot across his face as if he had been whacked with a hot pan, staring at the beauty before him.
She made the heat disappear, as easy as the morning sun creeping in from the windowsill, and not the trapped humid air in the bar. It’s as if the heat wasn’t there for her at all. Her brown skin gleamed pearlescent, her dark round eyes looking over to him, red lips in a smirk, almost as if she was calling Chuck over.
Come here.
Chuck gripped the arms of his chair, turning an ear to the dance floor- had she called him for real this time? His squirrel tail eyebrows pinched closer together, squinting.
Don’t you want to dance?
Dance with me?
“Dance-” Chuck got an elbow jabbed into his arm. “Quit staring at ‘er dance. You’ll be just as weird as that dog-eater from yesterday.”
“Dog-eater? Henry c’mon.” Chuck rolled his eyes.
“My daddy saw it at the world fair back in ‘04. Anyways, that man was strange.”
What Henry was referring to was the strange man they had encountered the day before.
That morning was heaven. The sun rolled into the window of Chuck’s room, sliding down his face as warm and tender as a kiss. The cicadas hummed softly. Not far away, a scent trail of steamed rice cooked in the kitchen. How perfect could a Saturday morning get? Or it was until Henry woke him up.
Before Chuck could protest, the two of them found themselves on a beach wearing white undershirts and khaki shorts with hot sand between their toes. Chuck rushed over to the water, walking through the edge of the tide, washing over his feet. Henry had been on a mission to catch himself a needlefish for supper. So far to no avail. The two had heard rumour of some big fish—real big fish—swimming around on this strip of water not too far from the bar they were at right now.
The sun beat down on them. They’d reel in their lines, but there weren’t any bites. The two wandered on the beach for what felt like forever until they could make out a tiny hut on stilts deep out in the water. The sizzle of an oiled pan played tune with the cicadas, drawing the two men in with a heavy meaty smell. Someone nearby was cooking. When they went to investigate, an unknown meat was laid out on banana leaves and rice. Henry had bent down, insistent that it was dog meat. But Chuck recognized the metallic scent of pork, seasoned with something like pineapple juice.
As Henry went to take a bite, a man hopped out from nowhere.
“You shouldn’t be here,” the man spat, saliva like sea foam at the edge of his lips. His almost black eyes, buggy and bulging in a stare.
“Hey pal, we’re not here to be a bother.” Henry grabbed the man’s shoulders.
“Don’t go anywhere near that Bahay Kubo,” the man pointed to the stilted house.
“Why? What’s the issue?” Henry crossed his arms. “We’re just fishing.”
“You’ll go missing. Men come and go along these shores and never come back. There’s Sirenas here. They’ll slice off your skin and eat you. They’ll even gut you open,” the man poked Henry’s stomach as he spoke. “Tearing you out, piece by piece,” his pointer finger made it to Henry’s heart.
“Don’t touch me, ya’ pervert.” Henry bumped chest with the man, pushing him back. “What is that? Sounds fake to me. You think you’re bulging ‘cause we’re not locals. This whole land is fulla’ phony stories! You’re all plagued with superstitions. Your stupid aswangs, dwendes, and now you’re saying there’s Sirenas.” Henry kicked the sand.
“It’s time you leave,” the man reached for his pocket, something glimmered inside. It was a bolo knife.
“Hey Henry, let’s just go.” Chuck rushed over from the water. He tugged on Henry’s shirt.
“Your friend is smart,” the man glanced over at Chuck, taking his hand out of his pocket, forgoing the knife. He walked back to the bushes he came from.
“Whatever, Pal. We didn’t mean any trouble.”
“I overheard you saying you want a Needlefish,” the man stopped in his tracks. “Go the other way, closer to the city. At night. You won’t see one here. I’m just trying to help you. Don’t go over there. Or you’ll die.” The man turned, walking far away from the Bahay Kubo in the distance.
“What a freak. How come he can go that way?” Henry groaned.
“Just leave him alone. I’m sure there’s a good reason.”
“I bet he’s hiding something good. I haven’t seen any of this baloney this guy’s talking about. The only thing I see this island bein’ plagued with is beautiful women. Lots of ‘em. Good and submissive too.”
Their afternoon at the beach had gone on forever. They came back empty-handed, no Needlefish in sight. Being at the bar felt like they were having an entirely separate day. It was so distant from the long unwinding beach they had been on. The unrelenting light-blues of the beach sky were now orange hues washed over with deep sea blues. Blues that were almost as black as the girl’s hair with the pearly whites who ruled the dance floor. Chuck’s heart pounded. Perhaps they didn’t catch any Needlefish, but Chuck was going to get his catch of the day: one hot woman.
“You should go, bartender’s about to do last call at the bar,” Henry pointed with his empty bottle to the bar.
“Are you scared about the warning that man gave us? He seemed pretty serious Henry. He almost pulled a knife on ‘ya.”
“They’re just scary stories to spook handsome white men such as us. We’re competition. We might be average Joes back home, but here we’re it-boys.” Henry stood up from his chair, rubbing a dry knuckle, still dusted with sand from the beach, “A strawberry blonde like you is as rare as a south sea pearl. You could make a lady swoon, Chuck! Pull yourself together and go get ‘er.”
Chuck sighed. Henry was right. The women here were God-loving, obedient, and family-valued. Easier to date than the broads back home. He couldn't complain about the view from his chair either. She was a view Chuck could take home with him. He dreamt of being full of home-cooked meals from a loving wife. He’d be just like a Goldfinch laying feather-bellied up on the head of a sunflower after eating its seeds all afternoon. His dream wife the sunshine that grew him supper and kissed his bird-beak with the honey rays of her light. But this wasn’t back home, and it wasn’t daytime.
“Last call for the bar!” the mestizo bartender shouted. Chuck gripped the arms of his seat and looked over at Henry, who tipped his hat as if to say now’s your chance pally. The pearl-toothed girl stopped her dance to skip over to the bar, leaning over the counter with her elbows. It was his chance.
“I’ll get another San Miguel, and whatever the lady’ll drink,” he gave her a wink. She smiled and reached for his hand, tilting her head back to the dance floor. Before Chuck knew it, he was drenched in a layer of sweat. He swore it was enough to fill a whole ocean, he could drown in it. Chuck hyper-fixated on making the right moves to impress the lady. He danced so hard that the floor spun. He was making the floor spin. Chuck shimmied, shook, and stomped until he rattled his whole reality. He was entranced, the music around him didn’t matter, nor did whoever got in the way of the dancefloor. But before he realized, there was nobody there anymore but the two of them. It was time to call it a night, at least on the dance floor.
“Well, Miss Pearly-Whites,” he never got her name. “Let me take ya home, dollface.”
They left the bar and went towards the beach. He smirked, he’d get his catch of the day after all. The tides brushed against the shore as he brought his lips to hers. He pulled away at the sharp bite of her teeth, feisty. A devilish grin rose on her face.
“Your place close?” he licked his lips, tasting her salty saliva mix with the metallic of his bleeding tongue. The beach rolled on forever. It was so dark he couldn’t make out a curve or bend in the shore. It was so dark he couldn’t tell what direction he was walking in. Was he in the same place he went fishing, or was this a different part of the beach? It was just an endless path of sand and water- and the gorgeous lady guiding him to wherever their destination might be. She didn’t answer him, only pointing forward, sliding her finger across the sea.
“I’ll take that as a yes, dear,” he mumbled. She looked back at him, her one-sided smirk just barely a crescent. She stepped on the backs of her heels to slide out of her heels. Chuck took his shoes off too. She grabbed his wrist, running, they kicked up the sand behind them. Chuck breathed heavily, chest tight, just to keep up with her. But he shrugged it off. The woman probably walked across the long strip of beach every day. Everything was fine. They made it far down the beach. Out in the water, a Bahay Kubo sat on stilts. Chuck narrowed his eyes.
“Out here?” He gasped. His heels digging in the sand.
She stripped and tugged at his shirt to join. Maybe that man was her father? Scaring us away to protect his treasure. Chuck told himself.
They got in the water, swimming out until it was deep enough that he could no longer touch the floor, even at his generous height of six foot two. They kissed and locked tongues. Bobbing with the flow of the water. They laughed and splashed at each other. Her supple thighs strapped over his lap in the water, and she cupped his face to kiss. Their hair was wet, sticking to their faces. Somehow being sopping wet made her more alluring. Her white shirt pressed into her breast. He held her face, in total awe of the woman. She said no words, yet she had him on a leash like a dog. Chuck would do anything to please her. She leaned in close, the curve of her lip brushing the bridge of his nose until she met his lips. Kissing. Her breath warmed him up in the chill of the water. His belly felt hot. He craved her touch. He needed it. She kissed his neck and he winced, he tilted his head further back. She was attached to him like a leech, and he had to pry her off. She looked at him doe-eyed.
“God, what did I do to get a view of those pretty eyes?” Chuck moaned. But his wave of ecstasy washed away as the pupils of her eyes narrowed like a crocodile. She kissed his neck again, and her teeth sunk into his flesh. He closed his eyes, holding back the way he held his frustration back at Henry. Suck it up. You’re a soldier. He reminded himself. He didn’t make it to the Philippines from the U.S.A just to act like a sissy. Sissies didn’t get women, and this was going to be his first medal of honour.
“Do-dollface,” Chuck grunted through gritted teeth. “Why don’t we get to the fun stuff?” he grabbed her hand and guided it down to his pelvis. She let go of the hold on his neck, licking her teeth. The moonlight glistened on her teeth, and Chuck swore they were fangs. But he shrugged. He couldn’t let Henry or any silly storyteller spook him away from a lady. She pulled his wrist, pointing to the stilted home.
Despite swimming out, he didn’t feel like they were getting closer. The only thing that grew was Miss Pearly-white’s shadow. Her damp hair blended into the silhouette of her shadow. She swam with her legs together, with a fish-like roll of her hips. Chuck stopped, his heart stopping as the moonlight reflected over the water, revealing what was underneath. His pretty blue eyes went wide, and his mouth dropped. The shore seemed further and further away and the Bahay Kubo was impossibly far. He was stranded.
Miss Pearly-white turned and grinned, giving Chuck a taste of her lips. She pulled Chuck’s hand to her chest where her heart was beating. She threw herself at him. He thrashed in the water, but it was too late. Her jaw clamped down on his flesh, like an oyster guarding a pearl. Chomping down until her white teeth were flossed with Chuck’s coarse brown chest hair that salted the water with his sweat. Chuck swallowed the salty ocean water. His nose stung and he gagged. She pulled him deeper into the water and now Chuck was drowning. She watched him sink. The calm comfort of drowning slowly blurred his vision. But the sight was clear as day. She was half woman and half fish. He supposed that wasn’t his Filipina baby after all. A long fish swam past him, it was narrow with a pointed nose. He laughed underwater; the air bubble exploded as it mixed with his blood. Chuck may not have gotten a girl tonight, but at least he beat Henry on finding a Needlefish.
Mary Poirier [she/they] is a writer and a poet from Hamilton, Ontario. Their writing is inspired by their interactions as a hard-of-hearing, lesbian, and Filipino artist. They are currently studying at Humber Polytechnic in the Creative Writing Postgraduate program. She has an advanced diploma in Fashion Arts from Seneca Polytechnic. She is currently working on her debut novel, a historical fiction horror. Her poetry has been published in Feels Zine, Queer Toronto Literary Magazine, and Fifth Wheel Press. She loves her dog, a golden-doodle named Mavis. She is an aesthetician by day and a writer by night.