The Light
The sky is grey, and the wind is blowing its unfriendly breeze, bringing me to a series of coughing. I braced into my pink cotton towel that has my mother's name embroidered at its folds and kept on walking. I climbed up the staircase of the filthy overpass, and as usual, the place reeks. I went down quickly, and passed by some rowdy teenagers in uniform. Heading to the main road, I crossed the highway through the pedestrian lane, and stopped by at the curb then hailed a tricycle.
A yellow tricy stopped by, the driver poked his head through the small entrance so I could see him and asked where'd I be going.
'To the hospital please.' I said at him.
He just motioned me to get in, I looked at the seat inside: there's a man wearing jacket and snapback cap, he's smoking; so I went to the drivers side, where he is also smoking.
'I thought people are not allowed to smoke in public utility vehicles?', I thought with crossed eyebrows as I try to muffle my coughs with the towel.
As I have seated, he drove us away. I just stared at the opposite side of the street where there were vehicles passing through the other lane, some students jaywalking, and a couple of men busy welding a window in front of their shop. He broke my icy gaze by asking,
'Who's in the hospital, your mum?'
'Nope, my grandfather.' I replied to him without looking, hoping that he would stop interrogating.
'What happened to him?' Guess what, he did not stop.
'Coma, he had stroke.' I'm still hoping he'd stop, knowing that it is serious.
'Ah, my father had stroke too.' We exchanged glances through his side mirror as he drive, then he continued his story.
'He was even confined in the ICU and the doctors has made us sign a waiver of which what ever happens to him, they held no obligation of it. Then we moved him to a private room.'
'This is his fourth time.' My eyes looked down, coming from the side mirror to the road.
'It was his fourth time too, but he recovered. His tears keeps on flowing when we moved him to the private room, but eventually his condition went well.
Ironic, and coincidental. I thought this ride will be a bad one. He gave me hope, a bit of it. I will hold on to it, tighter than how I grab this 'kabitan' on his tricycle.
The ride ended when the tricycle stopped by an old hospital, which is named after two Saints in heaven. I tried handing my fare to the driver but he refused, saying just go.
Thank you Manong driver, not just for the free ride. But for the hope.
I looked back to see his tricycle number at the back, and I saw nothing.
'Isn't it also illegal to not have a tricycle number at the back?'
Never mind, thank you still, manong driver.
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