One Night, Nine months, and Thirty-Three Years Later

Chapter 2

"Mom, I'm here at the hospital—"

"What?" hysteria coated her voice.

"Uncle Tony was hit by a jeepney and I came along. It doesn't seem to be bad. He's being treated for the bruises, maybe a day or two and he'll be out," I said trying to keep my voice calm so she won't be alarmed.

There was a pause from the other line.

"I'll take care of him for a while but I'll be home in time for dinner," I finished, and then hang up.

I went to the waiting area and sat. The nurses milling around were just a few. The hospital was shabby, needing a fresh coat of paint. This place could get a good remodeling, a touch of repairs here and there, and the replacement of trusses holding the roof up. There were cracks on the main door posts. That would have to be reconstructed too, or at the very least supported. I realized that the engineer in me had begun scrutinizing my surroundings again. I stopped myself. Over-analysis is a sin I'm guilty of committing every day.

A short lady in blue scrubs approached me. She was holding a chart.

"Are you the one who brought in Antonio Garcia?" she asked.

I nodded and stood up. "Yes, is he okay?"

"Yup, nothing but bruises. But the driver told the doctor that he wasn't sure if Antonio bumped his head, so he recommended that he stay for the night for observations. If there's no vomiting, nausea, anything indicative of blood clotting, he will be released tomorrow." The nurse scratched her head. "Does he have health insurance?"

"I'm not sure—" I didn't know who to ask, he has no family. Not knowing what to do, I just signed my name so that he'll be admitted, and vouched to settle the bills prior to the release of the patient.

When everything was in place, I went to the room my uncle was assigned. A male nurse came in holding white linens. In swift motions, he was able to cover the bed and put a case on one sorry-looking pillow. There was a bench on the other side so I sat there and waited for my uncle to be wheeled in.

Uncle Tony is my father's older brother. I remember him from my childhood days as the uncle with kindly eyes. My mother told me that he has my father's eyes, the same as mine.

When I was growing up, it was Uncle Tony who would take me to a mall, which during that time, was only located in Manila. The first time that I went was when I was twelve years old and I told him that as a graduation gift, I'd like to go to Manila. I had never been there, but in books, I read about it, and in black and white movies, I saw it. In short, I was there, but never really quite. He laughed at me then, telling me that no place beats Batangas, especially our barangay since it's so peaceful here, and life is simpler.

But simplicity was not something I wanted at the time. I wanted to grow in experience, to learn about fancy stuff. I remember that when I first saw the poster of Bench in the mall, with a handsome, muscled man rowing a canoe, I had wanted to become a model. As I grew up, my skin got darker, I stopped getting taller, and my hair started to curl. To make matters worse, I have this huge birthmark—a patch of dark skin on the right side of my stomach, shaped like an elephant's trunk. It was hideous, and as I grew up, it got larger. What can I expect? For it to disappear? Worst, it looked as if it was a man's private part.

I realized that my dream of becoming a model was totally out of the picture, taken away from me, like the way my father had been.

My father was, well, he was someone I never really had and I say this with no anger, sadness, or resentment. He was a good man, I've been told, and when my mother speaks his name, it had always been with tenderness, that sometimes, I would catch her wiping a tear away as we talked about the past sitting on the doorstep passing time. I was still young, in high school, when she told me how Miguel died.