Blueberry Night
by Brian Dexter M. Medija
A car-borneSamaritan finds his weakness along a dusty city highway late at night.
 Published in two parts in SunStar Davao on August 24 and 29, 2000.

Ten-o'clock, the wheel squeaked as Leo stepped on the brakes of his Tamagotchi, in his constant but futile efforts to scare Carosel, our barkada's iron lady. This was how our barkada calls his Multi-cab, christened by Ate Lyrie, a bubbly Ateneo faculty member and friend who likened the vehicle's purported "cuteness" to the Japanese technogizmo. We were en route to Monte Maria, upon Ate Lyrie's invitation to the birthday of her father-cum-absentee celebrant (who's a ship Chief Engineer-and was deep at sea and on duty that Saturday night).

We had finished laying-out two of that week's issue of SunStar Davao's Young Up section, and before submitting the diskette to the publisher, we decided to drop by Ate Lyrie's place. Leo and Carosel had been bragging about how delicious Ate Lyrie's Blueberry Cheesecakes were, and I was thinking that was my night to prove or disprove their claims.

So the three of us rode the 'gotchi, and went uphill to Ate Lyrie's Monte Maria residence-which in my mind drew images of the witch's "pastry house" in "Hansel and Gretel" - only this time it had iron gates, and if you ever gnawed on its walls you would probably find yourself toothless in front of the mirror.

So it came to pass and we entered the iron gates, paced on the concrete floor and entered the magical place with one objective in mind: "eat and run." Inside, the pastry witch ushered us into the even more magical place called "the kitchen" and savored thereat her delicious renditions of the spaghetti and the famous blueberry cheesecake.

"Heaven on earth," I silently muttered. What could be more delightful than a splendid dinner to gobble away the stress-and for free. Ah, what pleasure!

After we gluttons have satisfied ourselves, we were off to bid Ate Lyrie goodbye and thanks. Mission: accomplished. The objectives have been met, and the gate crashers were ready to proceed to the next mission: drop Carosel off.

But the pastry witch was not about the let us run away unbilled. Before we could leave we had to labor: set up the fiesta buntings. We found out that there was an oncoming Fiesta that week. So we toiled, I held the ladder as Leo struggled against bushes and spiny vines in installing the colorful buntings. Carosel was the motivational speaker: "you can do it, Ley. Oh, dahan-dahan!"

We were hungry again. But it's OK. We thought it's all just a psychological thing. But we've eaten all that was "apportioned" for our consumption. We had to accept the fact that we have swallowed what was rightfully ours. Life had to go on, we thought. We had to proceed on our next mission. The sound of skidding wheels again reechoed in the streets.

So we proceeded to Central Park in Bangkal and dropped Carosel off at her place. Leo and I were left to accomplish our last mission: proceed to SunStar Davao's office at R. Castillo St., Agdao.

The wheels again skidded, Leo's usual-but-nice take on fun driving. We had been satisfied…now we were rid of one pain in the backside. (Just kidding.) So we had the usual bumpy ride to the National Highway. Everything went smoothly from there.

Suddenly, Leo stepped on the brakes. No, it was not another of Leo's un-funny tricks. I felt that I was not meant to feign laughter this time. I turned to Leo wanting to ask. Leo paused, revved up and said, "Shit, kasakit ng heart ko, Bri."

I didn't get it. Leo turned the vehicle swiftly. It was almost 11 in the evening and the streets were fortunately unclogged of the usual daytime traffic.

I didn't get it. I thought his heart was hurting literally. I looked at his chest-I knew something was going on. I turned my head around, my eyes looking for some semblance of a botica or even a sari-sari store. I thought, I still have some money to buy medicine.

I was blank. I didn't know what was going on, but didn't bother to ask what it was. I am usually that way when I knew something was fishy-or weirdly fishy-I just keep silent and wait for events to unfold themselves before me.

I was wrong. The 'gotchi slowed down when we finally completed the turnaround. I looked out the window and saw a small figure closing in. I have defective eyesight but don't wear corrective lenses, so it was hard to tell what the figure exactly was. But I was sure it was human.

Then it became clear. When we were at a fair distance-which was not more than a few feet from it-I saw that the image was that of an old woman. An old woman in shabby clothes and on bare feet. She had wrapped her blouse around her waist, leaving only a kamiseta as her upper garment. My eyes grew heavy. She was sweating, her gray hair unkempt, and she looked tired.

She must be tired. I couldn't look at her face for fear that the tears welling up in my eyes would cascade down my face.

I couldn't speak. What is an old woman doing in the streets at this ungodly hour? Who could have left her there? My mind was a virtual question mark. But I couldn't quite make out what questions filled me. But for sure, I was in shambles.

Leo asked, "Asa man ka, nang?" and the woman said "Alvarez." That was where she was headed to. It was an unfamiliar name to us. Was it a street name? A subdivision? We decided we should ask around.

I helped the woman as she boarded the 'gotchi. I touched her shoulders and guided her legs and her worn feet into the front seat. I closed the door and went to the back of the multi-cab.

We asked a few people we found along the way. There were barely a handful of people in the streets at that time. It was already 11:30 and we asked, and we asked, and we asked. Soon, someone pointed to the direction of Centerpoint in Matina Pangi.

We proceeded to the direction but Leo stopped at the 24 hour convenience store at Centerpoint and asked for some money. I was confused. I didn't know what it was for. Is he giving her cash for jeepney fare?

Leo explained the old woman had been waiting for a jeepney since lunchtime after visiting a relative but that none stopped for her, and that she hadn't eaten lunch nor dinner yet. She even forgot where she had left her slippers. She had taken off her blouse and wrapped it around her waist because of the heat earlier that day. I was shattered. I couldn't cry but I'm shattered. Leo had already cried a bucketful, and his eyes still brimmed with tears.

I gave him thirty pesos-which was all I had left. Leo came into the store, and after some time, came out with a pair of slippers and some bread and Zest-O. All this he gave to the old woman who was sitting silently and immobile in the front seat.

What kindness! I have been witnessing the greatest portrayal of kindness in my life.

I was arrested, for sure, and I had been that night since we stopped in front of that old woman. We had just finished a sumptuous meal of spaghetti and blueberry cheesecake and we didn't know that downhill, beside a dusty city highway stood an old woman-lost, barefoot and tired-hailing every jeepney passing by, praying for someone's patience and understanding. No jeepney dared stop.

I brimmed with tears. I still couldn't cry. I was confused and mad at the injustice recounted by the gentle old woman. What has the world become? I thought.

We reached the place called Alvarez-a small hospital-and the woman recognized it. She thanked us, and I helped her alight from the 'gotchi. She offered reimbursing what had been spent on her slippers and food, but Leo was quick to decline.

We looked as the woman walked into the narrow alley. We watched as she vanished into the distance. We proceeded on our way to deposit the diskettes to the SunStar office.

On the way, Leo admitted it's his weakness-he couldn't stand seeing old people in such a sorry situation. He cried again. I was speechless.

I thanked the Almighty for a night of Blueberry and kindness. ¤