Family Values

I. Human Dignity

"What if we just drag all of the blind people out of the way? All the ones we see on the streets?" my dad asks. We're in the car on the way to church. He's driving, and I'm on the seat next to him.

"What?"

"They're traffic hazards. And I don't know if you noticed -- there seems to be more of them on Sundays. Taking advantage of how some people behave better on church day than on the other days." He checks the traffic light and the car ahead of him. "Running over one would be a hassle too. I bet it takes a longer time to get things processed when you hit somebody. They'll take my licence. Have this impounded. Type up reports in the precincts. What'll you do if ever we run over a blind man?"

"Call Tod?" I say. Tod is Dad's right hand man. He knows everybody who's anybody in City Hall. I figure he could get us out of any sticky wicket. Or so I thought.

"Tod's nothing. Call a lawyer. That's what we'll need."

The road's slick and glossy. It has stopped raining, but the thin sheet of water can still make the pavement slippery. Perfect day for an accident.

II. Blood and Water

John hands me the wad of cash. It's in a white envelope. "Don't forget the receipt."

If someone else said it, I would have taken it as a thoughtful reminder. But it was John. Anything my brother ever said hinted at a complete lack of trust. Now, what he means without saying is he wants to make sure the money goes to whatever it was I said I was needing the money for.

I shut up, but I want to give him a piece of my mind. I'm your sister, damn it.

III. Freedom of Choice

My legs are still numb. I can't feel my belly, even if I poke it with my finger. I look around and see Tod sitting on the chair next to me. He's reading the Sunday paper and looking for familiar names. The obits page.

I knew it. I shouldn't have brought him along.

The doctor comes in the room (it's the spare in his house which he turned into a recovery room) and tells me that I should be fine the next day. The womb's clean, as far as he could tell. Every bit's been scraped and taken out. There's no way an infection would start, that's his promise.

I can't help it but I cry for hours. I miss my mother.

Keeping It Together

So for a minute I thought that the train was going to run me over and grind my innards into a summer fruit slosh on the Ayala station tracks. But then Oliver grabbed my collar and pulled me back, and I'm reminded of that scene from Sassy Girl where the very drunk love interest is saved by the unassuming protagonist.

I don't want to ramble on and on. But I have to tell you that my life flashed before my eyes and it was a pretty boring show. If I could I would've channel surfed, or subscribed to a different cable provider. I'm regretting that I didn't live my life. And I mean LIVE like the way the boys in "Stand By Me" or the dimwitted beauties on "Temptation Island" circa 1980 film did.

"You all right?"

"Yeah," I said. It's a strange feeling to be looking at Oliver so closely. My recollection of him in college was this unflappable and gorgeous student who made being a genius in engineering equivalent to owning a car. And he owned a car. How uber-cool was that? Years later he's within breathing distance and I can barely feel my legs -- the skin on his face was luminous, his eyes evenly lashed, his bone structure was a candidate for the perfect symmetry test. He could blind me with all that beauty. I reached to touch my eyes and pretended there was something in them.

When he spoke again, there was a mini second delay from the time his mouth moved to the point where I heard his voice. Like a missing audio-video lock, video editors would say. "You should really be careful."

"Yeah." It was the only word in my vocabulary that moment. I wanted to run into the wall and smash my head to get the words out, pick them up like I would do to coins from a broken coin bank. See? I have pretty coins! I have sparkling wit!

"I gotta go. You sure you could find your way back? On your own?" he asked.

There really was no point to the question, I realize just now. He wanted me to go on my own because he didn't have time, the energy, or the emotional attachment, for him to accompany me to my house's doorstep. That's the problem with married guys.

"Yeah."

We waited for the next train to arrive, and when the doors opened, I managed to squeeze my way through the egressing mob and into the car. I heard the buzzer and the doors closed. Oliver had gone. I felt faint, but the pack of people held me up. I might have lost my cellphone which I put in my shoulder bag pocket, but I wasn't really up to protecting anything. All I focused on was getting home without falling apart.

Homecoming

She knew where everything was -- the piano, the old reading lamps, the weathered garden set. It was as if she flashbacked into the past, for a split second, and then she saw beyond the thick blanket of dust and white cloth that covered everything. She was all alone now, officially. She had just buried her last parent. Her brothers had settled in another country, never wanting to see Manila again. She had come back for no particular reason, but having no particular reason was as compelling as having one.

"Oh hello."

Someone, in a white flowing veil, snuck out of the doorway at the far end of the hall. The little girl stared back with her dark eyes.

"Hello," the little girl answered.

There was a jasmine flower stuck in the girl's ear. Missa felt the scent soak into her skin, the fragrant air dropping a few degrees colder. The girl started to walk very small, unsure steps toward the woman in front of her.

"You're back," the girl said.

Missa walked toward the girl, confident and business-like, as if meeting a new client.

"Well, I don't know for how long. How are you?" Missa asked. She even offered her hand to shake.

The girl scratched her nose and looked at the ceiling. What could possibly be more interesting than the spanish lamps hanging up there, she must have thought. "Your parents, they're all right, you know," she said.

Missa gazed at the girl. Then her hands trembled at her side; her chest tightened as if a balloon was inflating, wanting to burst her open into a mess of shattered organs, limbs, body parts. Her knees fell sharply to the floor. The pain was too much.

The girl clutched Missa's arms quickly-- she was very near her now. Missa shivered in her own tears, tears she kept from escaping when she went to the hospital to see her mother fading, shrinking into her bed. These were the same tears she hid with dark Gucci sunglasses at her father's burial.

"You shouldn't worry too much, Missa," the girl said again. She stroked Missa's hair with her pale bony hand, then wrapped her arms around Missa's grieving body. A few days from now, the girl thought, her friend will be back to her old self.