Dogbert’s Whip

“Wait a minute baby

Stay with me awhile

Said you’d give me light

But you never told me about the fire…”

If only they weren’t buried in a concoction of ground beef, diced tomatoes and grated cheese, even the plate of half-eaten soggy nachos would have voiced out their objections. For the first time in many months, I finally convinced a good friend of mine to unwind with me in a bar fashioned out of empty cargo crates in Tomas Morato. It wasn’t even ten o’clock in the evening, and there were still four bottles of San Miguel Lite in the bucket. But she says she has to ditch me in an hour.

Was it an urgent emergency? Was she working really early the next morning? Was the Earth going to stop spinning on its axis? Well, no. Her mom was waiting for her to get home.

“Argh! Even Cinderella didn’t have to leave the ball until midnight struck,” I jokingly chided her in my exasperation. “It’s not like your parole officer, err tita, will damn you to Alcatraz, err your house, for life if you get there after 11PM.”

“Well, if getting home early will prevent my mom from morphing into that paranoid and overprotective single parent, which by the way she is most of the time, then I’m glad to oblige,” she says, fiddling a bottle of beer in her fingers. “And besides, she’s not even aware that I went out with you to watch that kiddie play in Miriam and to grab some dinner and drinks afterwards.”

“Hu-what?! You mean you fabricated an alibi just to get out of the house? You’re sneaky, cunning and evil,” I teased her.

“She’ll never let let me go out with a guy alone. Even if it’s you.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that to me a zillion times already. And how old are you again?”

“I turned 28 last February, you dummy!”

“Splendid!”

***

“Drowning in the sea of love

Where everyone would love to drown

And now it’s gone

It doesn’t matter anymore…”

We started the evening by attending the final staging of a kiddie play in Miriam College. A mutual friend gave Jade two front row tickets for the event, and she initially decided to invite somebody who she has reacquainted with during their high school batch reunion over the holidays.

“It’s not really a date!” she defensively told with me when I found out.

“So what is it then? A casual meet-up? A rendezvous? A pre-mating ritual with someone you haven’t seen or spoken to in the past ten years? So it’s true about what they say about high school reunions – they’re so combustible that they can ignite non-existent flames.” I have to admit it; I can be pretty harsh with my friends.

“He hasn’t even committed to it yet. He probably has other things in mind other than watching a bunch of bratty kids act in silly costumes on a Friday night.”

“Then take back that invite. He’s nothing but a sour puss. You’ve gotta have some pride.”

And so along with her pride, Jade managed to convince me to tag along to the kiddie play and take the place of her supposed date. But not before calling me “Mr. Cheapo” and promising me a free Persian meal for my time. “And yeah, we should also grab some drinks after dinner,” I added. “Friday nights work best with beer and nachos.”   

Those were the chain of events that led to to watch “The Pearl of the Ocean” in an auditorium filled with wide-eyed parents, grandparents, and yayas in blue-and-white uniforms.

The plot of the kiddie play was rather simple: All sea creatures – fish, clams, octopi, among others – must unite to rescue the mermaid queen from a group of renegade sharks and sting rays. The mutineers demanded for the Pearl, the queen’s mystical gem that supposedly grants its bearer with undisputed powers, as ransom. 

As predictable as it gets, the joke was on the kidnappers as the Pearl does not exist at all. Well, physically that is. As the mermaid queen explained in her monotone, the Pearl is actually the L-O-V-E that shelters in their hearts. (“Awwww…”) Stunned, the mutineers begged for the queen’s and all the other sea creatures’ forgiveness. The former bad boys expressed their desire to mend their ways and serve the queen at her disposal. And yes; they all lived happily ever after.

***

“When you build your house

Call me home…”

Jade fidgeted on her chair as she ganced at her watch in 30-second intervals. It was quarter of an hour before 11, and her mom has sent her two text messages so far, inquiring about her whereabouts. I knew she was dying to get home that instant, but I was determined to keep her in the bar as long as her patience, and her sanity, would let her.

“Can you believe that the kiddie play was all about LOVE? I was expecting to see a humongous pearl… something bigger than a boulder! And what’s the big deal about casting sting rays as bad guys? I’m sure the infamous one from the Great Barrier Reef never intended to whack the Crocodile Hunter. Steve Irwin was a reckless guy; he’s had it coming.”

It was the beer speaking for me at this point. Women are such big cheats. They expect you to drink 5 bottles of beer from a bucket of six while they take two sips from a lone bottle, the same one they hold on to the whole night.

“Stop mocking the play,” she berated me. “It’s not easy managing around 200 pre-schoolers to act as sea creatures on stage. The teachers actually did a very good job.”

“Whoa! 200 kids! Do you realize that at least 400 people had sex to produce all those kids on stage?! Well less if some of them were rich enough for in-vitro fertilization…”

Jade must have been fed up with all my tipsy talk because a lull ensued afterwards. Then all of a sudden she said, “Do you think all those kids’ parents love each other? Or did some of them just drink too much alcohol and engaged in drunken sex? Did they get married just because, you know, they had to?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea,” I remarked, trying to sound witty. Why don’t you ask your parents? I’m sure they can give you a word or…” 

Shoot! That didn’t come out right at all. Beer does go directly to your brain. All our lives, Jade never hid the fact that her parents never stayed together. She’s mingled with her dad only thrice in her lifetime. It was her mom who struggled to raise her alone. And that’s why even if Tita can get neurotic and overbearing at times, she has learned to accept the reality that is her mom.   

We didn’t speak much after that. I gulped the remaining contents of my last beer bottle and we settled the bill. As we walked out of the bar, I asked her, out of nothing else to say, if she wanted to have kids in the future.

“Why do you want to know?” she winked. “You’re not coming up to me are you? There’s no way we’re having drunken sex! That’s gross; it’s just like incest.” And with that, Jade laughed. Her first time to do so that night.

I laughed along and felt glad that she still got has her sense of humor tucked in her sleeves. But something in her eyes made me realize that she might be faking it.

“But I’m sure you’d want to have a kid eventually,” I responded. “Can’t you envision yourself in a home with a husband and a couple of kids running around?”

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure if I still believe in love.”

“But you should! The mermaid queen says LOVE is in our hearts…”

“Oh shut up now, Derrick!” She said with a laugh. “Enough of that mermaid and her stupid pearl. It’s getting old.”

Although we lived only a block away from each other, Jade suggested that we take separate cabs. That way, she says, we’ll get home faster, even if it’s just a matter of seconds. It was a busy night, and somehow, it took a while to get a ride.

“Are you sure you don’t want to share a cab?” I asked for the nth time. “It seems like a busy night. And we’ll save money, too.”

“Nah. Let’s just wait a little longer,” she replied. “One will pass by eventually.”

I really don’t get it. How can a young woman have so much faith on Metro Manila’s taxi drivers, and yet have nothing for love?

Seconds later, a cab stopped infront of us. After making a mental note of the taxi’s plate number, I opened the door for Jade and asked the driver to take her home to Visayas Avenue.

“Text me when you get home, ok?” I told her, almost an order.

“Stop it!” she teased me. “You’re beginning to sound just like my mom.” 

***

<<< Disclaimer: This article was inspired by real events. I took the liberty of modifying and embellishing certain details for literary effect. This is the first short story that I ever posted in this blog. And yes, the italicized phrases preceding each section were lifted from “Sara,” an old Fleetwood Mac hit song. >>>

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