Posts tagged ‘short story’

By: JENA ISLE

My name is Pepe. I am 12 years old. People say nobody would read what I will write because I lack schooling and English is my second language but you see, I very much want to share with you the story of my friend Dave. I am confident that although I’m not really a writer, I hope I will be able to communicate the message I want to, through this story. My qualifications? I earned the “Best in English” in my grade six class. This is my story.

I met Dave one night in a bar. Right after I graduated from elementary, I worked as an errand boy for Paradise Bar. I wanted to earn to be able to continue my schooling the coming year.

Dave was not one of the “ugly Americans” as others call them. (“Go home, Yankees!” I often hear the cry of protesters in the streets.)

According to the women in the bar, he looked like Mel Gibson – the actor in Braveheart. (I watched that movie several times with them, and I had to agree.)

When the other airmen were noisily drinking, he was just in one corner, silently sipping his beer. He was also soft spoken and treated me kindly -unlike the other Americans. He always gave me a tip – not in coins but in paper- that was a lot for me.

Every night, he came to the bar, all by himself. The women would crowd around him and tried to talk to him, but in the end , he always preferred to be alone. One time when all the customers left and I was done gathering the empty bottles, he summoned me.

“What’s your name?” he smiled.

“Pepe” I answered.

“Where do you live?”

“Gueco Street.”

“Do you want to work for me?”

I was surprised, “What work?”

” A yard boy and someone to clean my house once a week,” he continued smiling at me. “Lighter work, and more pay”

” Yes, ” I nodded eagerly.

” You can start tomorrow.”

I started working for Dave. He lived alone in a three – room apartment near their Military Base. I learned that he was a pilot – an officer – he had a “wing” symbol on his military uniform. At times when I was done cleaning the yard, he would talk to me about his family back in Wyoming. How he missed them. He said he had a younger brother my age. (Perhaps that was why he had helped me?)

He went less and less to the Paradise Bar as days went on. He allowed me to stay in the other room of his apartment. I went home during weekends to give money to “Nanay” (mother). I was earning more and I was able to save money too.

During evenings, we would barbecue at the backyard and just talk. He asked
me about my family and my plans. I told him about how I wanted to go to high school; that I was the eldest of 5 children and that my parents could not get good jobs because they were not able to go to college too.

I was not telling him this to ask for help. I was telling him because he was able to encourage me to talk and I didn’t usually open up that easily. I think we were alike because we didn’t talk openly about ourselves to other people.

One day when he came home;

” Myrna, this is Pepe, Pepe this is Myrna – my girlfriend.”

I was shocked. I stared at her face and saw a smirk. I did not like her but I shook her hand anyway.

” Sige na, iwanan mo kami,” (Go on, leave us alone) she said in the dialect, so I left them.

I could hear Myrna’s laughter echoing in the house.

“You don’t like her,” Dave said when she left.

I did not reply.

“You’ll like her when you’ll get to know her better.” he said and I nodded.

Everyday thereafter, Myrna came to the house even when Dave was not there. She ordered me around like she owned me. I am not new to this as bad people always do that to poor people like me.

“Pagkatapos mong gawin iyan, labhan mo ang damit ko!” (After you’re done with that, wash my clothes!) She would bark the order at me.

I had no choice but to obey, she was my boss’ girlfriend and I could see that Dave’s happiness was complete with her around.

One day. when Dave was at work, Myrna came. She had a man with her. They went straight to Dave’s room. I can hear her giggling.

“ Eto, puede na ba ito? ” (this one, is this okay?) She asked the man.

There was no reply and when they came out, she was carrying Dave’s big camera in one hand.

“Ate,” I asked ” Saan po ninyo dadalhin iyan?” (Where will you bring that?)

“Wala ka na doon”, (It’s none of your business) she pouted at me.

I could not do anything when she walked past me. When evening came, Dave arrived and I waited for him to ask about the camera but he said nothing , so I presumed that everything was well.

During the days that followed however, I noticed that Myrna no longer came to the house. Dave went back to his usual silent moods. I tried to talk to him but he answered in monosyllables.

“If it’s about the camera, ..” I started.

“No, don’t worry about that,” he replied, and that was that.

He did not want to talk about Myrna and I did not dare ask. By then I knew that when Dave wanted me to know, he would tell me. As days passed, his mood improved.

We went back to cooking barbecue and talking about his experiences: how he had slipped into a pond because he was rushing to school; how he and his brother enjoyed their first rodeo and many others. These was all new to me so I listened with awe.

When it was my turn, I went on to talk too about how I enjoyed reading so much and my interest in poetry and writing. He gave me a box of pocketbooks to read the following day, “here, they are all yours.” he said.

Several months later, I had saved enough money for enrollment but not enough to buy my school materials. That was good enough for me though, the rest can be remedied, I was sure.

It was after several months that Olive came into our lives. Unlike Myrna, I liked Olive immediately. She treated me like Dave did. Her kindness was from the heart, because even when no one was around she treated me like a younger brother. I came to know that she worked as a nurse in the Base hospital.

I can see that Dave was happier with Olive than with Myrna. They were so in love. I was not surprised when they told me they were getting married that coming June. I was happy for them! They assured me, I can stay with them for as long as I wanted.

But that was not what happened. Fate had more surprises for me – the following June, Mount Pinatubo erupted. Tons of ashes rained and all US bases (Subic and Clark) were abandoned by fleeing US soldiers.

I was home helping my parents take shelter when the order for the evacuation of the US bases was given. I knew Dave would be looking for me. I braved the ashfall and rushed to Dave’s apartment… but he was gone. Olive was there, packing things in boxes.

“Nasaan siya?”(Where is he?) I asked her.

“Umalis na siya” (He’s gone), she said with tears in her eyes.

I can’t help but cry too. Dave was gone! I couldn’t believe it. I had thought we would be together for long.

“Will you be okay?” I asked her , knowing she was feeling the same way, even much more perhaps.

“He promised to keep in touch,” she assured me. “He left something for you.”
She gave me a camera and an envelope… the camera ?

“It is brand new,” Olive said when she saw the question on my face. ” He knew about the first camera. It was Myrna. ” she continued.

I opened the envelope. There was green money – enough for me to pursue my ambition of going back to school. I cried all the more, thinking how generous he was. You can always count on him – my Boss Dave – NO – my friend Dave!

One important lesson I have learned is that, no matter what race one belongs to, there will always be the bad and the good!
Photo 1 by echoforsberg
Photo 2 by Bob Jagendorf

By: Jena Isle

Left!

Right!

Left!

Right!

I commanded my bare feet to keep running.

My footsteps echoed ominously in the deserted, asphalted street. Rivulets of sweat were trickling down my grimy face; down my eyes, marring my vision.

Just one more corner and I’ll be safe. Please God, if you’re really out there, just this once, help me!

“Over here,” an angry voice startled me. I could hear their footsteps closing in, from the distance.

I made one, last turn and there it was – my sanctuary! I lifted the small window, wiggled my way through the small opening, and tumbled unceremoniously down the cold, damp floor below.

My sore muscles groaned as I rolled over to cushion the impact of my fall. I tried to catch my breath as I lay down there winded.

Just then, a voice above me thundered, “Where has he gone?”

“Go on, down the street, he might manage to escape.”

There was a shuffle.

“Wait, there’s an opened window here…”

I cringed as his voice came from the small opening where I had slipped in minutes ago.

” I can’t see a thing, do you have a light?’

“Here,” I heard the second man speak in a guttural voice.

I held my breath and waited for the moment of discovery.

There was a tiny flicker of light above me. My teeth were chattering so badly, I was afraid they could hear it.

“How am I supposed to see with a lighter?’ the first man was definitely irked.

“Hey, come on, he couldn’t possibly slip in there, it’s too dark and high. Can’t you hear the rats scampering? He would be screaming in pain and fright right now, if he did.”

I kept still with my head resting on the concrete, damp floor. I willed my body to stop trembling. The rats skittered around in confusion, disturbed by my intrusion.

“We have to be sure! These pesky snatchers should be given a lesson.”

The man attempted to bring the lighter farther down the window, but it was extinguished before he could do so.

The man cursed and stomped his feet in frustration. “If I see that wee shite – I’m going to waste him.”

“I don’t think he’s down there, c’mon,” the younger voice called out.

These men were out to grind me into tiny morsels of useless meat, ready to cook and be gobbled up for their party.

There was a grunt as the second man finally stood up, and I could hear the sound of their running footsteps fading away in the stillness of the night.

I slumped in relief and would have laughed out loud if I had the strength, but I was like a deflated balloon.

I remained supine for a few minutes and basked in the feeling of freedom.

I should thank my “rat friends”. They were as unruly as ever. They never bit me though; perhaps they recognized me by my smell. We share the same stink I believe, there was no water to be able to take a daily bath.

But I have an advantage over them; I took long luxurious baths in Armando’s bath tub, whenever I came up with a “find” (our code word for stolen goods), while they wallowed in this dilapidated room, day in and day out.

Armando was our big boss. We all reported to him whenever we had a “find”.

“Use your eyes, ” he would goad us. “There are many out there. Be sure you won’t get caught!”

Sometimes, when one of us got unlucky, Armando would be in the police precinct in a jiffy. They called him “cap” in that police station and saluted him. I wonder why they did as he had never worn a police uniform.

Almost always they released whoever was caught; after Armando had a drinking spree with them.

My friends and I were scared of Armando because he was enormous and had an ugly, angry scar on his right cheek. The oldest of our group was 12, but he never challenged Armando. We all knew he was our savior! He provided us a roof over our heads and food when we didn’t have any “find.” I was the youngest of the lot at 9 and I was also the skinniest but the most voracious.

I don’t know why my small stomach needed so much food, I was always hungry. Whenever I asked an additional piece of bread from Armando he would snap at me; “Sell more plastic bags and get your “find”. When you do, you can eat up to your heart’s content.”

I chose my clients very well. Those overly-dressed people who scorned at me and cursed me; “Get away from me you stinking rat,” and I was just asking for some spare change to buy food.

I had sold only five plastic bags today and what I earned, could only buy me a piece of candy. I and my friends would sniff “rugby” to forget our hunger pangs. People used rugby as a glue but we utilized it as a drug. We would pour small portions of it in a plastic bag and inhale it until we felt numb and no longer feel our stomachs growling.

It was during times like these, that mother’s memories assailed me: “Always remember the Golden Rule,” she had said and although I was skeptical of it, I tried hard to observe this tenet. It was harder to believe in it when mother passed away.

The pain of my loss had grown hazy now, just a dull gnawing stab of nostalgia whenever I recall my moments with her.

Mother died when a speeding truck hit her in the middle of the road. The heartless driver did not even bother to stop. Father died a month later, some helpful neighbors had helped me out with his burial.

The owner of the shack we were renting had asked me to vacate the place, right after I came from the cemetery. I pleaded with him to feed me and provide lodging and I would be his humble and loyal servant but, “I don’t trust you a bit, go find somewhere else to stay,” he snarled at me.

My neighbors were in the same miserable, indigent state as I was, so there was no help for food and lodging from that corner. Their shanties were not enough to house their own big families – much more to feed them.

So I sold whatever belongings were left and came up with a small amount to buy food for several days until it was gone, pffft…nada… and I was forced to join the street children.

Now my body has grown warmer. I would have to stay for the night here. Those men would still be scouring the streets.

I moved to the farthest corner of the room where I cannot be seen from the window and rested my head on a box.

Slowly I opened my hand to reveal the gleaming bracelet. It was an 18 carat gold! Armando would be proud of me!

Tomorrow, I will have a luxurious, warm bath in his tub and will be clean shaven.

Buying a new pair of slippers is a wonderful idea too, and clothes to match.

I’m certain no one would recognize me in my spanking new haircut, grease-free face, and respectable appearance.

I really look forward to tomorrow!

And by the way, my name is Miguelito!

Photo 1 by René Ehrhardt

This is reposted from an article published last January.
( I am thinking of expanding it to a novelette).

By Jena Isle

“Will you marry me?” he asked breathlessly. Her smile was like the sun breaking through the darkened sky.

“Yes,“ she said, and their hungry lips met to seal their undying love for each other.

What a wonderful love story!

I closed the book and stared dreamily at its cover. There were two figures blissfully entwined in a tight embrace.

Alas! I sighed. Real life stories usually do not have “happily-ever-after” endings. Broken families around me were enough proof of that. I would rather fantasize about my “knight –in shining armor” through the novels that I read than be part of the drama in real life.

July 01, 2000:

Life is one big irony; however, for on this day, I said goodbye to being single. I understood then what lovers meant when they said that “Smoke gets in your eyes” or that “Love is blind.” Indeed, I was so madly and deeply in love with Jayson, that I opted to be “blind” to the uncertainties of the future and was willing to “cross the seven seas” for him. So on this glorious day, we exchanged marriage vows and it was the start of a new life for me.

August 23, 2004:

God had blessed us with two bubbly kids: a boy and a girl. They had their father’s chinky eyes, thick eyebrows, obstinate nose; each complemented all the other facial features to almost perfection. I was thankful they got nothing from my plain looks.

As I had forseen, married life was a bed of roses – with countless thorns. It entailed lots of sacrifices: I was expected to do all the countless household chores even if I had an 8 to 5 daytime job: in the office –piles of paperwork , screaming deadlines, tumultuous meetings; then when I went home – smelly diapers, baby tantrums, sleepless nights and many more. There were also times that I would have to tolerate my husband’s behavior. When he came home from a drinking spree with his comrades in uniform, I would patiently sponge his body with lukewarm water. These were all the sprinkles of salt that had made my married life more meaningful. I had no complaints because I knew these were all part of the package.

June 03, 2006:

Life though had so much more in store for me, for on this fateful day, I sat staring dazedly at the phone. I tried to control the spasms of sobs that rose to my throat. We had three kids by then and they were joyously romping with their father in the backyard. I thought my Calvary was over when Jayson was acquitted from a “robbery case” and was eventually reinstated in the military service a year before, but how wrong I was! Here was another tempest about to wreak havoc in my family.

“Jayson told me that we’ll be together soon,” she had purred into the phone. “A few more years perhaps, until your youngest is of an age to understand.”

I believed her then, for she had known a secret which I had always thought, only I and Jayson knew about.

I did not have enough courage to confront Jayson. What I knew was that I still loved him with the same intensity, after all the years that had passed. Did he still love me? I wanted to ask him then but whenever I started to do so, my eyes would brim with tears and a lump in my throat would choke my words. So, whenever he caught me teary-eyed, I made plausible excuses.

“We are on red alert. I won’t be coming home tonight, please go to sleep early,” he would say, during the nights he was not able to come home.
I convinced myself that he was telling the truth, but now and then I would catch a whiff of a woman’s perfume on his shirt.

The kids were unaware of my Calvary, however. They adored their father and he loved them in return, that I wallowed alone in my misery. I consoled myself by reading the Holy Bible. “Love beareth all things…”

September 18, 2006:

During the past two years, my heart became numb with pain from the constant calls of his mistress. I suffered in silence, ignoring his late –nights out, his missing shirts, and the indications of his infidelity. My love for him and our children was greater than my pain. You may call me a fool, but the happiness of my children was foremost in my mind.

But that day, the woman called, “We will be starting a business, do you want to be our guest?”

A nerve snapped in my head and that did it! I had had enough of this BS!

When he came home that night, I confronted him and had hoped to high heavens, that he would deny my accusations, but all I got was the silence of acceptance. I pounced at him when he attempted to take me in his arms and snarled vicious words at him in my anger.

That night after the kids slept, I slept in a different room for the first time. I prayed so hard for divine guidance. God help me to be strong!
When morning came, Jayson acted as if nothing happened and I joined his charade in front of the children.

December 24, 2007:

My husband urged our youngest son to light the Christmas candle. We all cheered when it exploded into a kaleidoscope of colors.

“Happy new year!” Jayson kissed and hugged me tightly.

Our children trooped to kiss and hug us both.

I gazed happily at the family that I had fought tooth and nails to keep whole. I thank my lucky stars my love for them was great enough to weather the storms that had crossed our path. I thank God for making me realize that the painful events that occurred were just some of the crosses I have to carry stoically, for they will all come to pass.

It was difficult at first to forgive Jayson when he had pleaded for forgiveness. He realized that he had to choose between his family and his mistress and that he could not have both.

We had moved to another town to start anew , and it was all worth it. The woman attempted to call Jayson several times through his cell phone, but he ignored it. He decided to change his number when it was evident, she would not stop. She was an ardent pursuer –that woman! Any man could fall into her claws just because of her persistence. I thank God, we were able to evade her venomous reach.

Happily- ever- after endings do happen in real life. It takes TRUE LOVE, understanding, and forgiveness to be able to achieve it.

I’m happily snuggled up with my husband right now, as I write the draft of this story. He’s contentedly watching our children opening their gifts.

Indeed true love was meant to last FOREVER!

I would like to acknowledge the efforts of Jean Knill of Jean’s Musings for this story. Thanks Jean.
Photo 1 by victoriapeckham
Photo 2 by Peter Giger
Photo 3 by notsogoodphotography