That night
December 11, 2006
I guess my brother and I would still talk about it after 10 years. After more tropical storms and other uncanny disasters hit the country. After a family picnic when he'd turn to me and say, do you remember the time… After times when we would stop and laugh for no reason.
After the time when we are just as old as he is.
I can reluctantly say that he looks like me. We have the same eyes, the Ravida clan - big and startled, perpetually surprised by life. Last time that I saw him, he was walking away with my aunt's money, which she gained through the house sale.
That night, we saw him and I am certain he saw us, peering over our shoulders like frightened kittens. A didn't want him to find out that he smokes now. For Tita Magdalena, he says. My brother looks strangely fragile in the dark and I feel the need to shield him from something. Or someone.
The last time we met, I remember the questions he didn't ask but should have.
Last Friday, I saw him with a woman. She looked like a pearl - dirt converted to art. I smirked a bit and moved closer to A. A's eyes shone like headlights - who is that, he asks. I don't know, I whisper. But I did know and it reminded me of the woman they say he left in Camiguin. I wonder if he loved her, if he knew about her child who ran around buck naked til he was three. Five saw him in a coffin, after a final bout of pneumonia.
I stay with A until the music is over and it's time to go home.
