Free beer (Fast Fiction)

A little of the moist he considered only necessary to swab the chalk dust which settled on his palms. ‘501’ must be reduced by pummeling small arrows from a good seven feet and nine inches away – the one-fourth inch tape included. The bucket of beer for him was never just a bet, not even the packs of cigarette. What is it that sets their mood? A Billy Joel song? The new nineteen-year old waitress?

“Double twenty!” his new partner yelled. And double twenty indeed. At forty, he had doubled his wealth but also doubled his wives (and debts). ‘Men and their insatiable pleasures’, they always say that. But, in his many years of drinking with journalists, politicians, lawyers, doctors, teachers, artists, musicians, and what have you, he had come up with the conclusion that men are pigs indeed. At least after a few beers.

The college students on table number four beside the bar exploded with laughter, probably talking about some little adventure they did. He used to be as trim as them, he remembered. Then work, age, and stress came; and the car he bought was used more often, even on a mere five-hundred-meter walk. It didn't help too that big grills of pork and beef became part of his daily diet. Add the visits at bars to drown the pressure of two wives, and his weight is doomed to rise.‘Screw life, we eat and drink because tomorrow we die’. They always say that. Not after a bypass or a costly operation though. A visit to the doctor in some pale room always scares them. Changes them a bit, and makes them re-evaluate their lives – even their last will and testament. He had thought about that too. After all, a few of his friends had already kicked the bucket to meet their maker.

 

“Out!” his partner had aimed for that green flake of that pie but missed. Perhaps that it is the price for secretly cursing the moon. He steadied himself mechanically to execute the drill. For that moment, he was a deity holding a thunder bolt. Just like an artist who escapes this world by painting their own reality, he raised his left hand victoriously for a high-five. His minions rose to applaud. They are now sure that the couple of beers they have grabbed are free. 

Nothing beats free beers.

Days of Age

My father logged out his facebook account and fell silent for awhile before he left the  computer table. He stood like he is still 35, far from what he looked like 18 months ago after he had his operation. Cancer. I’ve witnessed my friends, mentors, and my ‘lolos’ being devoured away by this disease ..after which, they cease to exist. Just when you thought you could still have the chance to talk to them..awan dan met gayamen. The absurdity of life is often reminded to you by the simplest pondering of everyday. Tonight, I saw a man who can still live for another 20 years.

My father proceeded to watch the evening news while I start to cook our dinner. My sister is already married and my mom is away from home about 3 years now, so naturally, “karne” nga kanayon ti maluto for us 3 guys . My brother is not yet home, I bet he’s on a night out – on a bar having his gig. I thought he could turn pro if only he can change some of his ‘rock and roll’ attitude, but then, he is rock and roll - just like me 6 years ago.

“Mangan.” (Eat) I called out, and prepared  our plates. I remembered that when I was in my first year college in my rebellious years, I had broken plates and glasses, after the occasional shouting and the screaming – ironically, I hated my father for his unmanaged anger on even the most mundane things, and often quarreled with my siblings because of reasons that I seemed to have forgotten. Tonight, there was only silence. “Kasano eskwela?”… “Ada bagsak ko ya…” I bowed to avoid his gaze. But he did not look at me, “istimarem ah nu next”  he said without any emotion at all. My typical dad. Back in college, even with the inviting explosion of demand for nurses, I took up “other” courses and shifted thrice – accountancy to political science to philosophy and finally to English literature, because it’s the easiest to pass…honestly. My undergraduate life was a joke, or shall I call it “rock and roll”. “Wen.” I said. I must have said that word a thousand times only to break them.

I finished my meal earlier and paced to the computer table. I thought I will just check my facebook for 5 minutes but I knew that ‘that’ will not happen – 5 minutes will turn to 1 hour to 2 hours to 5 hours. I suspect that FB is the reason why I failed the subjects. It’s really hard for a 23 year old guy, in a post graduate course who is, at the same time working, not to crave for a little bit of diversion or entertainment…in this case, Facebook (and occasional parties of course). “Single and ready to mingle”, I recalled while scrolling down on my FB status. And after a while, it caught my eye, I saw a link which my father posted and I saw a sign of a middle age crisis. It was a picture of a man with a quote which says:

“First I was dying to finish high-school and start college. Then I was dying to finish college and start working. Next, I was dying for my children to grow old enough for school, so I could return to work. Finally, I was dying to retire. And now, I am dying and I realize I forgot to live..”

My father, a 50 year old man who has yet to see his grandchildren, is evidently absorbed in a melancholic crisis of growing old. When I was in college, I fiercely debate for existentialism and even brand faith, the arts, and even entertainment as weaknesses to exist. I took the arrogance of sounding smart but now that I have succumbed to it, I realized that I have to live and pass through time, one year after another, to understand the ideas and feelings of the old and of course, the reason why they always tell me that I am  "too young".

In this life, the old is reminded by their impending demise when they see the young and see themselves in them. However, for us who are young today, soon, our skin will get wrinkled, our sight and hearing will get weaker, our body will be more fragile..,it will be a battle against time and disease, of this mortal age.,and soon we leave our names and possessions in our grave--not a professional, or a  doctor, a lawyer, or a wealthy man..but a decaying corpse. We, the young, shall also be reminded to take things slowly before we die.

So what is the meaning of life if this is how absurd it is? Is it in our own adventure or journey that will give us the answers? Perhaps.

With that conviction, we must move on from those questions to find answers..moving on even from regrets, from those mistakes.,and accepting that we are not any bigger than life itself. Perhaps, it is only then that we can understand…or perhaps, I can only put some words in this note to give me peace of mind.

(My father died about 7 months after I wrote this)