I.
Entranced.
Another memory blackout episode.
“Hi!” her voice
drowned all sound inside the room. It was for Ino the only sound that mattered,
his senses shutting everything out.
“Sorry to keep
you waiting.” her eyes squinted, giving away a made up smile.
Ino’s heart
jumped many places and his eyes widened involuntarily.
“Even if it is
just a made up smile.” he told himself.
“May I ask why
you seem to be all smiles today?” Joey curiously asked sounding cutely
reprimanding.
“Nothing. I was
just wondering how it would feel to hold your hand.”
Silence fell.
It was the blanket they use to cover emotions they have yet to explore and
feelings afraid to admit. For a moment, he was lost in her blank stare. She
knows he is sitting in the quiet corner, beside the open window rushed by the
light of the setting Sun, but somehow she fails to see.
She took her
small steps pass the door to where Ino was sitting. Joey extended her small
hands to Ino, smiling.
“My classes are
over.”
“Let’s walk
home?”
Ino reached for
her hand touching her fingers first, and the divide between them closed in. Her
small hand was warm to the touch, her skin smell nicely sweet.
He was happy as
an empty glass being poured wine. A sucker for her sad puppy eyes and Ino felt
it happening again, falling such great height and ending lost in her eyes.
“Is this too
close to boundaries?” said Ino.
Joey turned her
head away, her hands still held by Ino.
“I don’t know?”
“What are the boundaries?” were the words uttered by her curved shy lips,
before she let go of his hand. Again, it was silence that became their refuge
from vague feelings. Knowing that the other is just close beside seem consoling
and side by side they start to walk.
Eye candy
billboards, industrial edifices and the occasional trees lined and littered the
road as they pass by; Ino giving infrequent glances to Joey who is preoccupied
with her own thoughts, her hands wrapped in tight to two bulky textbooks.
"There used
to be more trees in this area." said Ino as they come by an old church
road arched by tall aged Acacia's.
A light breath
drift by, clearing fallen leaves and bringing an earthly aroma. Ray of light
filtered by the canopy managed to pass through the leafy roof, reflecting in
many directions.
"I thought
so too." replied Joey as she looked back to Ino.
"I caught
them as they fall." There were three buds of sunshine in Ino's open palms.
"I know you
love flowers." "They maybe small and simple, but I think they are
beautiful." Ino's words seem to make the small Acacia blossoms glow.
"For
you."
And it was
certainly a meaningful smile. It became the definition of happiness. Maybe it
was a dream and he is no longer sure if it was a mirage or just an imagined
event he keeps to assure himself that he can still feel.
It was just the
right amount of afternoon light falling in her face. It was the first time in a
long time he existed in a perfect plain helplessly surrendered to unassuming
beauty.
"Can you
wait for me?" said Ino.
"I don't
know?" "Can you wait for me?" Joey asked back.
"You really
look wonderful today." replied Ino. It was not the answer she wanted to
hear.
He saw a hint of
disappointment in her eyes and only if they could stop pushing each other away.
It was the motions
and the unsure conversation of that afternoon he would choose to keep and let
eat the matter of his sanity, like a mold to bread. It is what's playing in his
head some years later while he walked the same old church road after the lost
years; hoping to rekindle fragments of nostalgia, looking for the same fallen
leaves of that day remembered.
They had now
reached the end of their walk; the attachment was almost unbearable to both
souls.
“This is my
dormitory, remember?”
“So I guess this
is goodbye for us?” Joey said plainly.
“Not goodbye for
us, only goodbye for now.” Ino reassuringly smiled.
She saw the
honesty in Ino’s eyes and how he meant the words he freed. The back of their
hands are brushing, tips of their fingers almost touching. She remembered the
warm security of Ino’s hands and how she turned off her defenses at the
lightest press of his fingers to her soft palm.
“I don’t know
what to say Ino?”
“I don’t know
what your problem is?”
He reached for
her hand, unable to contain meandering kept feelings that annexed his mind and
moved him to have her hands.
“Sorry Joey if I
don’t say much.”
It took enduring
restraint to feign indifference and hide helplessness. To hold confessing
insecurities and refrain from talking about little seedy creatures niching in
the recess of his mind, abhorring the sunshine.
A wanting stare
showing no apprehension. A quiet undertone of desire and hushed agreement. His
fingers moved and in the slightest touch, traced her lips. Their stare closed
in and their lips finally grazing. Both found a moment of honesty and for one
brief instance became true to their sensibilities. He watched her close her
eyes.
“Say it would
always be like this." said Ino.
She happily
smiled and pinched his nose.
“You always seem
to have the right words." said Joey.
“All for your
kiss!" and it was the naughtiest boyish grin that followed. A rehearsed
line he always imagined to say and finally said.
The months have
fallen of the calendar and they are on their last days. He wondered how the
afternoon Sun got cold.
Picture cut outs
of places they wish to get lost. Lazy days pretending to walk a somber beach
side. Spending midsummer's day looking out at shining mountains of golden hay.
The door
creaked. Last glance and maybe the last goodbye. Last appeal to emotion and
forgo binding apprehensions. Last chance to save their unsure and fibbing
hearts from complications.
It did not
happen as they say it would. It is the end of something beautiful and the
beginning of limbo and of dog gone days thinking of fates and of things that
could have been, but would never know. Of morning spent staring at the ceiling.
The door had
closed and the barrel clicked in place. And such is the predicament of them
whose tragedy is a celebrated romance.
II.
Click.
"Here is
something from an 80's seminal band we haven't heard for awhile."
The driver tuned
to a station that plays songs from his generation. He adjusted the volume to
gentler decibels. Just right to hear the jangling of fares being handed and
passed around.
"Here is
New Order playing "Leave me alone" right here in your all
music station that plays the greatest and the latest."
Entered the drum
machine in unlikely intervals and builds up to the intro.
On a
thousand islands in the sea, I see a thousand people just like me.
The Jeepney
moved at a steady phase. Road lines appearing and disappearing in routine
fashion. Impressive linear symmetry.
A hundred
unions in the snow, I watch them walking, falling in a row.
"Para."
The Jeep pulled
to a stop at a curbside, whilst the song seemed to claw its way out of the old
shackled transistor and manifest with ghoulish omnipresence.
We live
always underground, it’s going to be so quiet in here tonight. Played from
a roadside karaoke.
"The only
exercise I would be getting." Ino thought to himself opening the doors to
his dormitory.
"This
staircase and the usual nods and hello to acquaintances."
So it began the
labored climb and the forced nods and hello on his way to his 3rd floor room. The
stairs as well as the halls were occupied in some parts by pails, reminding of
last night’s downpour and the repairs needed to patch up the roof.
Whiff of
Nicotine leaks out of open doors. The kasera is not happy of the tenants
smoking habit considering the dated wooden furnishing the dormitory has. But it
gave the place a Greenwich - Bohemian kick.
Next door to Ino
is Karlo, a budding painter who always finds his pastel and charcoal best with
a friendly bottle of Cerveza ("Typical Artist" as Ino used to say.).
Across is Pedro, a Philosophy Major with left leaning ideals, a friendly mien,
and a reserve countenance.
He placed his
key and turned the knob. He had forgotten to reset his radio alarm.
Every time I
watched the sky, for these past few days leave me alone.
It was still the
song from the Jeepney and the road side karaoke that was playing, possibly
haunting him.
He unplugged the
radio, closed the door, and pulled up the blinds. Darkness had encroached the
city and on a night like this, one wonders what unsettling questions it would
bring.
The train
station is seen from a distance and tired eyes sees depth in things with deeper
shade. Jovial shrieks of children playing in the streets can be heard. Running
to and fro as if chasing their dreams or fleeing from the bondage of time. The
Sun had sighed and beings of different perspectives had woken and emerged.
He sank deep in
his only couch inside the sleepy room; listless while trying to make something
out of ambient noises. A floating Orb fiery Orange burned in the room. Smoke
hangs in the empty air, filling the room with the smell of dried burning
leaves.
This room had
been his altar and his lighted cigarette - an incense burning to obscurity. He
chuckled thinking of Tita, his kasera and what she may say if she finds out
about Ino's combustible venerating ritual.
His room is his
retreat to the center, Ino's ethereal sanctum sanctorum.
He felt the
poison in his veins pass through the valves of his heart; riddling it once more
with insecurities, worry and longing. A cavity moved into his chest, a rift
developed. Ino's feeling heart almost succumbing and failing to beat. He finished
his cigarette and stood up, approaching a door that was not there before.
Through a glint
of light passing through the window, he saw his name etched roughly in the door’s
surface. The wooden door opened and a vast troubled ocean beckoned. A gust blew
a salty mist to his face. A small stony isle was waiting for him and invited
him in isolation. He dipped his feet in the damp sandy ground, mindless of the
roaring tides and bellowing winds.
Just then, the
door closed behind.
"I'll be
gone for awhile." Joey saw Ino walking away, his footsteps hushed and his
silhouette fading. Half awake, she tried to ask where he was going. But all she
can muster to say was, "I can't wait for you Ino." in that waking
dream.
She saw him put
up his sad smile as he always does, while trying to say something hushed she
did not understand. Then he was gone.
III.
Mang Herbert
has been a postman all his life. He takes pride knowing the names of each
person in every household in his route. He can’t imagine doing other things
aside from being a postman.
“I love my
job!” is what he usually says to familiars. Mang Herbert is living his
childhood dream which many had faltered to do. Leafing through the pages of his
Primary School Yearbook after being visited by a curious desire to reminisce,
he saw the following intriguing entry.
Herbert Costello
VI- Olives
Ambition : Meet people + Travel = Mailman
He giggled
reading the scribbled silliness in bold font. It has been a long time being a
postman, delivering parcels and old people’s pension among other letters that
he packs in his bag and throws at the back of his blue and white service van. A
long while trying to live by each episode’s example of Postman Pat which he
watched as a kid; a jolly bespectacled mailman who moves around from town to
town merrily in his clay-cartoon world.
There were days
of yore when keeping in touch would mean having a pen and paper and would
involve licking intricately designed stamps – those were days of romance. The
long wait and anticipation for letters was agonizing and the appearance of a
mailman in the neighborhood is taken as a sign of good tidings or of enveloped
ill news.
“People don’t
write letters anymore.” sighed Mang Herbert.
“The mighty pen
has been defeated not by the sword.”
The leaps in
communication has dwindled the significance of letter writing and it has been a
long 15 years down trend, the postal corporation has been experiencing.
Earlier that
day, he had received his own letter of tidings from the Post Master himself. The
Post Master expressed his appreciation of Mang Herbert’s years of service and
loyalty. It was a letter filed with niceties and flowery words well placed,
informing Mang Herbert how downsizing would help business continuity.
It is his last
day today as a mailman and he was given the choice to have the whole day to
himself.
“I’ll have
plenty of time for everything tomorrow.” Mang Herbert said.
A mailman to
the end. He will walk the line and strut his last dance. As today would be his
final act, he decided to honor his daily customs by staying true to it.
He played his
favorite bebop tune in the van en-route to his point of delivery, tapping his
fingers at the steering wheel; just like he did every day.
That morning,
he noticed a single registered mail out of the bulk of credit card notices and
advertisements in his bag of mail. It is for a sweet young lady he knows from
his rounds. He was used to seeing the excitement in people’s faces before when
he hands them their letters. Back then, he was delivering real letters rather
than corporate churned templates that pass as letters these days; he bitterly
thought.
“I’ll save that
one for last.” he sheepishly smiled as he placed the letter in the dashboard
and decided to deliver it as his last stop of the day.
Day’s end, his
legs were tired and feeling his age. He took of his visor and wipe off the
sweat from his sun burned forehead.
“Retirement
doesn’t seem to be a bad idea.” he tried to convince himself while passing an
old church road on his way to a student dorm.
“I wonder if
she would be happy to receive this?” setting his eyes at the letter in his
hands. It has local stamp on it and bears the name of that someone they used to
talk about. He remembered how she is animatedly irritated when they talk about
that boy.
Mang Herbert
always enjoys his time with Joey. It was just a sly strategy of his to play the
tired thirsty old man asking for glass of water; her sweet and bubbly
personality invigorates and keeps him happily occupied at the end of his
deliveries.
“Fancy seeing
you little miss.” Joey watering the thorny Bougainvilleas turned around to see.
“Ay! Tatay!”
“How are you?”
she surprisingly asked.
“Same as old,
tired and roasting in this hot weather that we have.”
“Care for a
glass of iced water Tatay?” “I’ll get you one.” she smiled.
“Not this time
Joey, but thank you for asking this old man.”
“I have a
letter for you and guess who sent it.” Mang Herbert winked, handing the letter
to Joey who looked utterly curious.
“You really
like him do you?”
Joey just
smiled.
“I’ll leave you
now with your letter and you owe me a cold glass and a friendly chat next
time.”
“I’m happy to
deliver that letter to you.” Mang Herbert gave a broad grin before leaving,
happy to see Joey smile as she peeled off the envelope like a child opening a
present.
Hi Joey,
I always enjoy writing you notes. This time,
I decided to write you this letter hoping to catch you smile when you read it.
Sorry, I don’t say much when we are together
and I hope that this writing could say more than what I really could. This may
look or sound meaningless but I write it just the same to reach you.
I maybe gone for a while, but I would always
have you in my memory and there I would find you. There we would play dress up and pretend to like Coffee. I would
find you under the shade of a Persimon tree and there we would laugh and chat
till we tire out. I would poke fun at you and you will be annoyed in turn;
stick out your tongue and wrinkle your nose as you always do.
I’ll give you French Fries then so you will
stop ignoring me, as I know how you like that oily treat.
I am missing you now and will miss you
always. Goodbye and see you in that memory.
Ino
A deep silence
fell inside her and not even the whisper of her soul can be stirred, not
knowing if it echoes regret or a sense of loss.
Throw a coin in
the well and wait to hear it sing its lament.
“Joey! I think
you should see this?” a dorm friend watching the news called worriedly.
* A fire had razed an old male student
dormitory near the Manila University.
* A report from the Fire Marshall pointed
the origin of the fire to be the 3rd floor of the dormitory which
started around 3AM and had reached critical Fire Alert Level.
* Investigation is underway to determine the
cause of the fire that had ravaged the building, but initial examination points
at Cigarette as the most likely culprit.
* An unverified report mentions a missing
male tenant, residing in the room where the fire started. No body was found in
the search for casualties and investigation is still open.
Back to you Kabayan.
IV.
The area was
cordoned from scrappers and kibitzers. Tita watches her loss from the yellow
lines. The dormitory was her source of income and the structure at San Pedro
Street was family heirloom. It is one of the oldest structures in the district
and it was their family’s home where she grew up before it was converted into a
dormitory, when her parents passed away and her siblings migrated.
Tita could only
think of what the fire investigator told her while he casually points to his
clipboard checklist.
Fire code violation. Building code non
compliance.
All she knows
is that people stay at her place and they owe her rent.
“I’m old
already and had been running this dormitory a long time.”
Codes and city
ordinances where alien concepts to her. She is not the brightest child of her
parents, explaining why her siblings bequeathed her the house.
She tried
reasoning with the investigator and even mentioned the pails she places all
over the house when it rains as good substitute to fire extinguishers.
“I should have
placed more No Smoking signs.” Tita
mockingly told herself.
“Manang!”
called out one of the Fire Marshall clearing the lot.
“We got this
lying in the burned rubble.” he spoke as he approached the Yellow lines.
“I don’t think
it will be used in any way in our follow up investigation.”
“Maybe it is a
journal belonging to one of your former tenants?”
“And what use
would I have for this?” Tita ranted. Imagine only a journal being salvaged out
of many other possessions the fire had licked.
“Maybe someone
would come looking for it?”
“I don’t know.
You figure it out.” said the fireman.
“It just
doesn’t seem right to just throw it away after it survived incineration.”
“It was like
waiting for someone to pick it up as it lay there in the heap of charred
lumber.”
“Neither
touched by water nor fire.”
V.
Some four years
had gone after the fire engulfed Tita’s dormitory. The property doesn’t have
insurance and where use to stand a 3 storied dormitory is now an empty lot
enclosed by metal sheets.
Neighbors
around say Tita was petitioned to migrate to the States by her siblings. While
there are familiar faces in San Pedro St. that had stayed behind, telling
stories of that fiery night for free beer in frat parties.
Karlo keeps a
small signs shop near the corner of San Pedro St. smack in the middle of
student food diners and barbeque stands.
He dropped his
Art course, claiming to have lost his muse; but never dropping his love for the
bottle. His canvasses now are banners and sign boards which he carefully
letter, his pastel replaced by Neon paint. In the morning, you would see him
outside his shop working on commercial sign orders with a bottle of beer in one
hand; his drafting still impeccable after downing his third ale.
He would
sometimes be visited by a fellow beer connoisseur, who everybody calls “The Doctor”. No one really knows his
real name and he seems to prefer it that way. The only thing people know about
him is his liking for black t-shirts and wayfarers. They also say that he used
to be a Radio jock, which makes him a revered figure in this college-community
like Baranggay.
Tonight, he had
left the smoky curb to hang out with this semester’s new enrollees. He wore his
favorite paint tarnished white shirt and let his long hair down. He must have
looked like a rock star and every kid in the party coveted his acknowledgement.
He looked for
someone in the crowd. As suspected, he saw him in a corner. A rock star like
him adored in this party. His wide brimmed glasses hide a friendly mien. He was
starting with their story in his usual reserve countenance. He looked a little
flushed and at this stage, he might be on his sixth bottle and had finished
with his leftist litany.
He caught his
eyes. “Professor Pedro!”
The crowd
parted as Karlo makes his way. Pedro handed him an ice cold bottle and asked if
the Doctor would be coming to crash, before continuing his story.
“Sorry. Where
was I?” Pedro asked, trying to see if this semester’s students are as
interested as last year’s flock.
“Ummm. Well
Professor, you were just telling us how your term paper got burned as well as
Karlo’s paintings.”
“Oh yes! I was
simply trying to establish that the only thing that exists is space and the
ideas that occupy it.” pushing his glasses back to add a scholarly effect.
“Whoah! That’s
some heavy stuff my friend!” Karlo laughingly said.
“Story that
goes around said the fire had a claimed a casualty?” somebody asked.
“Well, it was
from our friend Ino’s room where the fire started as claimed by the other
tenants.”
“He was the
only one missing, though we did not see him move out.” continued Karlo.
“Not a body was
found in the search and only Ino’s journal was retrieved after the fire was put
out.”
“Journal isn’t
burned?” asked by the intrigued students in unison.
“Not a single
leaf.” was the confirming answer they got.
“What had
started the fire?”
“They say it was
Cigarette, but I say spontaneous combustion.” said Pedro.
The students
thought it was a nerdy joke but they hesitated from laughing, seeing how the
professor maintained his dire expression.
Karlo was
tickled by this new variation of the story they have told countless students a
number of times already.
“Pare. It’s
funny to hear the theory of self combustion from a comrade loving person.
Pedro didn’t
budge and kept silent for what feels like a minute or two.
“His mood fits
again. It’s a full moon I guess tonight?” said Karlo of his philosophy
professor friend.
“Pedro for the
sake of argument, Spontaneous Combustion only burns the body and shouldn’t have
affected objects outside it.” Karlo said sensing the start of a dialogue that
harks back to the logic and reasons exchanged in the Academy of old Greece. He
heard approving noise from the crowd.
Pedro continued
his fiddling after his long pause.
“It was love
that burned him.”
“An intense
love and rage he tried to contain in his chamber.”
“He was afraid
that anyone he share it will be consumed.”
“I saw it in
his eyes as his heart is too small to contain it.” Pedro further said.
“This is the
first time I am seeing my drunken friend, your professor, drop his materialist
hold and turn into a romantic.”
The students
laugh at Karlo’s joke, but they are eagerly anticipating what Pedro is next to
say.
“An intense
feeling he severely kept that it caused Arrhythmia.”
“That it turned
him into a fire that burned everything.”
Everyone kept
silent at this point, convinced on the possibility of someone burning from the
inside and contemplating the story; even Karlo.
“So!” Pedro
exclaimed breaking the silence.
“If you pass by
San Pedro St. on a cold night and finding it empty.”
“When you hear
the wind howls and see a flick of light from a faint dancing ember.”
“That is a man
consumed by his inner fire.”
The last bottle
was dropped and it is the end of a night of many nights to follow. The party
went well and Karlo and Pedro would see their new acquaintances in the diners
and in the classroom in the morning. Probably dehydrated and with blood shot
eyes.
“So it was love
that is to blame for what happened to your term paper and my painting?”
“Good
Storytellers concocts the best stories drunk.” Pedro wittingly said.
“Was that a
Dylan Thomas quote?” and both friends laugh as they walk.
They find San
Pedro St. quiet and empty in this cold night. The wind howled and a weak blue flame
ignited in the thin air.
--END--