Looks like it's not over...
***
Over a dinner - 19 pieces of assorted dumplings...
Me: Hey, hey, I have something to show you.
Him: *chews siomai*
Me: *gets ID, untangles the lace, shows ID to him*
Him: Why are you smiling your fake smile?
Me: How'd you know it's my fake smile?
Him: It is your fake smile. *chews siomai*
He knows me quite well. He knows my fake smile, for Susanssakes. Maybe because of this - he has seen my true smile.
***
After the fracas with Baygon Boy (and about 12 or 13 similar incidents before that), I have avowed NEVER to introduce anyone (I need not elaborate "anyone") to my mom. I never want her to meet someone who'd be persona non grata in about 3 months. I didn't want this to happen, but last night, an "anyone" did meet my mom.
So he drives me home after an evening of 7 million balloons, 500 bits of sago and 19 dumplings. I gave him more than the dose of hugs he can tolerate. Off he goes. I see mom prancing in slacks, in a denim jacket, with a paper bag of clothes, looking for shoes. Something must be wrong. My sister got into a minor car accident. It was almost 11 pm, on a Saturday night, and outside is a gentle drizzle threatening to be a raging rain. These times, drivers of the tricycles that ferry us out of the village are singing 4-5 versions of "Delilah." The last cane umbrella we have, I "forgot" in the office.
I text Dan to come back. In four minutes, a red car was making a roundabout in our cul-de-sac. In another two minutes, my mom is inside a car that I never thought she will ride. Ever. They exchange pleasantries. Dan punctuates his every sentence with "po," and this reassures my mom that I am not dating someone who is older than she is.
We drive to the hospital that I've only seen in election flyers. My mother says she knows how to get there, and usually, when my mom says this, she feigns conviction. Not knowing where to go stresses him out. Knowing that he'd be stressed stresses me out. Remembering that my sister is injured, and we don't know the gravity of it, somehow, distracted, and oddly, relaxed me.
We get off the car, me and mom. He offers to stay. He mentioned earlier that he has a packed Sunday. I told him to go and do what he has to do, we'd be fine. And I surprised myself because I meant it.
And my mom told him "Bye. Nice meeting you." And I am surprised because I knew that she meant it.
***
A new level of intimacy - he gave me his nasal spray. Wow.
***
Public hospitals are not my happy place. They are dirty, and it seems that the most acceptable dress code are bath towels.
A man gets off a tricycle, a turban of a towel. He takes it off. He is missing an ear.
Bench in the waiting area. A thermos, 2 plates, styro cups. A packet of diapers, one is on a gaunt baby barely a year old, sleeping on a box that once held Piattos. A woman is tired, she sleeps, could not care less that people see her right breast. Another woman comes to her. "Ipapa-CT scant si Tatang."
A young gay boy, the pockets of his pants inside out, on a phone booth. "Nanay, kailangan mong pumunta dito sa Ospital ng Muntinlupa. Nag-paint si Tatay. Hinimatay siya."
Beside me is a very pregnant girl who couldn't be older than my sister Andrea (who's a college "frosh"). An aunt fans her, she grimaces, breathes deeply. I look at her. It must have been her very first kiss. Now she has stretchmarks, and her underarms are stained with pregnancy. She will not wear tank tops in a long, long time. She whines in pain, like she would if her date stood her up at Festival Mall. She is a child. She is with child.
An ambulance comes. There's just skin and bones where a man used to be. He convulses and cries for the next 20 minutes. A son, barefoot, walks inside the E.R., pleads for his father to be admitted. They are denied. The ambulance speeds away. He has to find some other place to die.
People. And here I am with my cute little concerns.
***
This I promise you - it will no longer be a one-man show. :)
***
No expectations.
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