Part 20 (1/2)
The young man looked at the dead man at his feet, then at the red fedora perched there on the cardboard box. This image in the alley was only his, this young Miguel's, even as he accepted the metal cuffs around his wrists with a steely resolve beyond his years. He reminds himself: This will be forever one of the many things I will be glad is mine. All this, the finality of this one evening, the image of that one hat, the weight of that one stone, the cleaving of two lives on a dark, lonesome road.
-from the 1989 short story ”One Stone for Two Birds,” by Crispin Salvador *
At the top of the hill where Makati ends and Edsa enters Mandaluyong, we hit traffic. It's at a standstill. ”Maybe an accident?” Sadie says.
”Why aren't cars coming south into Makati?”
”Maybe a huge accident.”
We spend fifteen minutes in the same spot. Five minutes b.i.t.c.hing, five minutes telling dirty jokes, five minutes making out.
”Since we're not going anywhere,” Sadie says, clicking open her seat belt. ”Let me get that seat belt for you.”
”I don't think that's a good idea.”
”Push your seat back, sweetie.”
”Here, Sadie, let me ... How do I adjust it ... There.”
”Next is ... your, f.u.c.k ... grrr ... buckle ... it's kinda diffic-”
”Your hands might work better than your teeth.”
”There you go. d.a.m.n belt. Now I'll just unzip this ...”
”Ow!”
”Sorry, Miguel. It's these leather pants, they're ...”
”Just a sec.”
”... really tight. How'd you get them on in the fir-”
”Yeah, hold on. There's a tech-”
”They're stuck for good.”
”-nique to them.”
”You're free! Why don't you lean back?”
”'kay.”
”Miguel?”
”Yes?”
”Nothing.”
”What?”
”Nice boxers. I didn't know you liked sailboats.”
”That's not what you wanted to say.”
”Really. It's nothing. Shhh. Oh, look, a nesting Balzac.”
”You like it?”
”Sure. But maybe you'll think less of me.”
”Why would I?”
”You know, a prim and proper a.s.sumption girl.”
”Maybe I'll think more of you.”
”Yeah? Or at least more often. Mmm. Tastes good.”
”Oh, G.o.d.”
”And so hard! Mmph ...”
Poo-tee-weet.
”Sadie, your cell phone ... Um, should we get that?”
”Nope.”
”Seriously, what if it's important.”
”Mmph. You read it. I'm occupied. Mrrph.”
”Okay, it's, ah, from, uh, t.i.ta Saqy.”
”My mom's sister. Mmph.”
”Um, she says-ah that's good-she says everyone should go to the protesters and bring them food and water, or-ah, wow, that's nice-or at least say prayers.”
”f.u.c.k that. We've got better things to do. Mmph.”
”Oh, s.h.i.+t.”
”Mmm.”