Yosi Break
A long day of school with just a short while to stand and wait for a jeepney ride that would most likely be longer than its supposed to be. This calls for a cigarette, he says to himself. Feeling that soothing, hard earned drag flow outwardly mixed with pressures weight, it’s so promising that imagining it is almost as good as living it. He fumbles inside his huge pockets, caverns of oversized jeans, and finds a pack almost crushed to its end. Just one stick is left, and thank god! Sometimes you just have to believe in fate, his inner voice hesitantly echoes. If he hadn’t took so long in the shower earlier this morning, because of an erection that had to be nurtured, and for letting a rather elderly woman take the spot in front of him while standing line for an MRT ticket, then he wouldn’t have been late for class to have had to skip his routine of lighting up one before tackling the day.
What he needs now is fire, or something hot enough to scorch that dry old tip. Yet again, his hands dwell deep into the denim mines, and with a blink of an eye, hits gold. He always preferred matches, especially after that not so pleasant incident when during one hot summer day the whole city melted from the heat, and of course so did his lighter, in which he kept inside the pocket of his bag. He didn’t notice it explode from the heat until he started to feel that someone had just poured boiling spring water on his back. He stood there in the sidewalk, just like what he’s doing now, only that time he was a burning bush, an omen cast down from heaven revealing itself in one of the busiest streets in Manila. Sweaty but patient matrons stood bewildered beside him, almost succumbing to the urge of getting down on their knees and making the sign of the cross, while our modern day Moses was stomping on his bag, trying to kill the fire. Though he only got a slight burn on the back of his neck, nothing that a common ointment couldn’t help, his bag got the worst of it. Half-charred and disposed of as no longer usable. After that, “stick with matches!” is what he always says, “I don’t think it’ll turn on you and plus it makes me look more…whatchamacallit…macho” There’s one left, he can hear it shaking its lonesome sound inside the tiny box. Fate be rejoiced once more! Although how events transpired to give him this one match stick escapes him, unlike the cigarette, he still thanked his lucky stars it was here. He strikes it against the sand paper with a manly gesture, yet nurtures it from being extinguished like a mother. He doesn’t inhale the first puff, in fact he never does. It’s bad for your lungs to inhale a match’s fumes, one of his friends had warned him before.
Just when he’s about to stick that cigarette in his mouth and enjoy that first “real” puff, a slight tap on his shoulder keeps him from doing so. It’s a middle aged man, wearing a brown fisherman’s hat, who just happened to be passing by in need of a light. He liked the way the man slouched down with a half-smile while asking for a slight favor, so he gladly loans his stick for a short while. The man thanked him rather kindly after succeeding in lighting up. This is also something he liked, for people who ask for a light usually just give him a slight grunt, while some just walk away as if no one just did them a favor.
Keeping his eyes towards the oncoming traffic, waiting for the right jeepney to take him home, he could feel the familiar fatigue after a long day start to settle in him. He did have to run from one end of the school to the other early this morning without anything to eat, plus he didn’t get much sleep last night because of a really good movie shown on TV. O well, at least the days’ over and done with. I did survive didn’t I? Thinking about his relief, he remembers the cigarette in his hand, which only adds to a more comforting thought.
He places his last stick between his fingers and lets the rest of his arm complete the process in its own volition of placing this white cigarette, burning red on its tip with such a fragrance to behold, on his dry and tired lips. With just an inch away from satisfaction, a taxi stops to a screeching halt, just an arms length from where he’s standing. The little beat up white car with yellow stripes that have seen better days is packed with noisy and energetic high school students. Still in their school uniforms, it looks like the whole gang skipped a day of class today, and their excursion is far from over. One by one they exit the taxi; the driver has on a face which shows a sigh of relief while gathering from the six students the total fare. The second to the last to get out and set foot on the concrete is the one that catches his eye. She’s pretty well developed for a high school girl. Her breasts teasingly reveals its voluptuous curves underneath that thin white blouse, from the angle of the sunlight he can tell she’s wearing a rather generous baby blue bra. Her long navy blue skirt bulges with a fine arch quite nicely, he thought; maybe she failed a year and had to repeat, that would certainly explain some things. Although not all that pretty, according to his taste just a tinge above mediocre, her overall appearance sure does command ones libido. While examining this sultry schoolgirl, a short and lanky boy walks from the taxi towards the one with the cigarette. The boy was polite, actually, too polite, as he addresses him as “po” in a way elders are greeted. Honestly! He’s probably just a year younger, and he’s quite convinced that he doesn’t look old for his age. However, despite the accidental insult, he silently offers his cigarette. The little bastard’s probably desperate for a smoke. The moment a thick white cloud rises from the boy’s mouth, another one takes the source, then another, then another as if passing an Olympic torch. Of course they’re having such a good time that they grow oblivious to the fact that the cigarette they’re passing around belongs to someone else who is outside their circle of juvenile delinquents, not to mention that its his last stick. A few of them exchange a few words before lighting up, while some wait for their laughter to fade away before placing a cigarette in their mouth. The girl who caught his eye is the last one to take his stick. She definitely takes her time, shuffling through her pink purse, looking where her pack is placed in that jungle of no man’s land. All six of them smoke, he thought to himself, but not one of them has a light. He dwells on this a bit, but drops the matter suddenly. Some anomalies are best left untouched, or aren’t worth wracking your brain with at all. Finally, with the last one’s Capri lit, he gets his cigarette back like it was on layaway. He watches the group scurry along towards the university mall, and at the moment his eyes dawn upon his hand, he sees it holding a cigarette that’s already more than half burned.
Wanting to savor whatever’s left he immediately takes a puff while still scanning the road for the right vehicle to board. But just when he can taste the smoke lingering in his mouth, just waiting for his lungs to take it all in, he suddenly bursts with a surprised laugh, opening his mouth and letting the still unsavored puff waste away into the open air. He recognizes his friend who just came from inside the campus, but definitely not what he’s wearing. “Why the hell are you dressed like that?!” he asks his friend. Seeing his friend in fiery red tights which covers his whole body from neck to ankle, making his ribs and even his balls protrude is enough for him to boast out laughing, as he takes the image all in. His friend taps him with his equally red plastic pitchfork as a form of greeting, and then tells him that they have some costume party for their organization, which explains why he looks like a crimson rat with horns. Still laughing out loud he lends his friend the cigarette, seeing that placing pockets on such a ridiculous outfit may prove to be impossible, his friend just took one stick for a quick smoke forgetting to bring a lighter. As his friend lights his own cigarette using his, he can already see the jeepney he’s supposed to board just making a u-turn across the street. He gets his coins ready for the fare, still chuckling at the sight of his friend. Deciding at least to take one first and last “real” puff before halting the jeepney, his elation comes to an abrupt stop as he watches his friend handing him back his cigarette while apologizing for accidentally putting it out as he tried to light up. Nevertheless, he holds the unlit butt in his hand, and stares at it with disdain. The jeepney stops just a few steps away from him, right after he waves at it with the same hand holding what is left of his last stick of pleasure. His friend bids him farewell as the devil scrambles back into the building, probably out to fetch his lighter. He let the butt fall to the ground, not flicking or throwing it, but just letting it drop from his hand, giving it to gravity. He steps on it and smudges it with his right foot, exactly the way how he puts out all his cigarettes as a final act to a satisfying fragment of time. See you tomorrow, have fun at your party, he says to his friend with great casualness as he slowly climbs into the jeepney to start his long and tiring journey back home.
What he needs now is fire, or something hot enough to scorch that dry old tip. Yet again, his hands dwell deep into the denim mines, and with a blink of an eye, hits gold. He always preferred matches, especially after that not so pleasant incident when during one hot summer day the whole city melted from the heat, and of course so did his lighter, in which he kept inside the pocket of his bag. He didn’t notice it explode from the heat until he started to feel that someone had just poured boiling spring water on his back. He stood there in the sidewalk, just like what he’s doing now, only that time he was a burning bush, an omen cast down from heaven revealing itself in one of the busiest streets in Manila. Sweaty but patient matrons stood bewildered beside him, almost succumbing to the urge of getting down on their knees and making the sign of the cross, while our modern day Moses was stomping on his bag, trying to kill the fire. Though he only got a slight burn on the back of his neck, nothing that a common ointment couldn’t help, his bag got the worst of it. Half-charred and disposed of as no longer usable. After that, “stick with matches!” is what he always says, “I don’t think it’ll turn on you and plus it makes me look more…whatchamacallit…macho” There’s one left, he can hear it shaking its lonesome sound inside the tiny box. Fate be rejoiced once more! Although how events transpired to give him this one match stick escapes him, unlike the cigarette, he still thanked his lucky stars it was here. He strikes it against the sand paper with a manly gesture, yet nurtures it from being extinguished like a mother. He doesn’t inhale the first puff, in fact he never does. It’s bad for your lungs to inhale a match’s fumes, one of his friends had warned him before.
Just when he’s about to stick that cigarette in his mouth and enjoy that first “real” puff, a slight tap on his shoulder keeps him from doing so. It’s a middle aged man, wearing a brown fisherman’s hat, who just happened to be passing by in need of a light. He liked the way the man slouched down with a half-smile while asking for a slight favor, so he gladly loans his stick for a short while. The man thanked him rather kindly after succeeding in lighting up. This is also something he liked, for people who ask for a light usually just give him a slight grunt, while some just walk away as if no one just did them a favor.
Keeping his eyes towards the oncoming traffic, waiting for the right jeepney to take him home, he could feel the familiar fatigue after a long day start to settle in him. He did have to run from one end of the school to the other early this morning without anything to eat, plus he didn’t get much sleep last night because of a really good movie shown on TV. O well, at least the days’ over and done with. I did survive didn’t I? Thinking about his relief, he remembers the cigarette in his hand, which only adds to a more comforting thought.
He places his last stick between his fingers and lets the rest of his arm complete the process in its own volition of placing this white cigarette, burning red on its tip with such a fragrance to behold, on his dry and tired lips. With just an inch away from satisfaction, a taxi stops to a screeching halt, just an arms length from where he’s standing. The little beat up white car with yellow stripes that have seen better days is packed with noisy and energetic high school students. Still in their school uniforms, it looks like the whole gang skipped a day of class today, and their excursion is far from over. One by one they exit the taxi; the driver has on a face which shows a sigh of relief while gathering from the six students the total fare. The second to the last to get out and set foot on the concrete is the one that catches his eye. She’s pretty well developed for a high school girl. Her breasts teasingly reveals its voluptuous curves underneath that thin white blouse, from the angle of the sunlight he can tell she’s wearing a rather generous baby blue bra. Her long navy blue skirt bulges with a fine arch quite nicely, he thought; maybe she failed a year and had to repeat, that would certainly explain some things. Although not all that pretty, according to his taste just a tinge above mediocre, her overall appearance sure does command ones libido. While examining this sultry schoolgirl, a short and lanky boy walks from the taxi towards the one with the cigarette. The boy was polite, actually, too polite, as he addresses him as “po” in a way elders are greeted. Honestly! He’s probably just a year younger, and he’s quite convinced that he doesn’t look old for his age. However, despite the accidental insult, he silently offers his cigarette. The little bastard’s probably desperate for a smoke. The moment a thick white cloud rises from the boy’s mouth, another one takes the source, then another, then another as if passing an Olympic torch. Of course they’re having such a good time that they grow oblivious to the fact that the cigarette they’re passing around belongs to someone else who is outside their circle of juvenile delinquents, not to mention that its his last stick. A few of them exchange a few words before lighting up, while some wait for their laughter to fade away before placing a cigarette in their mouth. The girl who caught his eye is the last one to take his stick. She definitely takes her time, shuffling through her pink purse, looking where her pack is placed in that jungle of no man’s land. All six of them smoke, he thought to himself, but not one of them has a light. He dwells on this a bit, but drops the matter suddenly. Some anomalies are best left untouched, or aren’t worth wracking your brain with at all. Finally, with the last one’s Capri lit, he gets his cigarette back like it was on layaway. He watches the group scurry along towards the university mall, and at the moment his eyes dawn upon his hand, he sees it holding a cigarette that’s already more than half burned.
Wanting to savor whatever’s left he immediately takes a puff while still scanning the road for the right vehicle to board. But just when he can taste the smoke lingering in his mouth, just waiting for his lungs to take it all in, he suddenly bursts with a surprised laugh, opening his mouth and letting the still unsavored puff waste away into the open air. He recognizes his friend who just came from inside the campus, but definitely not what he’s wearing. “Why the hell are you dressed like that?!” he asks his friend. Seeing his friend in fiery red tights which covers his whole body from neck to ankle, making his ribs and even his balls protrude is enough for him to boast out laughing, as he takes the image all in. His friend taps him with his equally red plastic pitchfork as a form of greeting, and then tells him that they have some costume party for their organization, which explains why he looks like a crimson rat with horns. Still laughing out loud he lends his friend the cigarette, seeing that placing pockets on such a ridiculous outfit may prove to be impossible, his friend just took one stick for a quick smoke forgetting to bring a lighter. As his friend lights his own cigarette using his, he can already see the jeepney he’s supposed to board just making a u-turn across the street. He gets his coins ready for the fare, still chuckling at the sight of his friend. Deciding at least to take one first and last “real” puff before halting the jeepney, his elation comes to an abrupt stop as he watches his friend handing him back his cigarette while apologizing for accidentally putting it out as he tried to light up. Nevertheless, he holds the unlit butt in his hand, and stares at it with disdain. The jeepney stops just a few steps away from him, right after he waves at it with the same hand holding what is left of his last stick of pleasure. His friend bids him farewell as the devil scrambles back into the building, probably out to fetch his lighter. He let the butt fall to the ground, not flicking or throwing it, but just letting it drop from his hand, giving it to gravity. He steps on it and smudges it with his right foot, exactly the way how he puts out all his cigarettes as a final act to a satisfying fragment of time. See you tomorrow, have fun at your party, he says to his friend with great casualness as he slowly climbs into the jeepney to start his long and tiring journey back home.
posted by jiggy at 10:41 PM
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