(Author’s note: My articles, for some time now, have been nothing short of sporadic. And yet I am indebted to the readers of this column, who still keep sending me letters about hope, love and guidance. So this one’s for you, my dears. Rest assured I shall try my best to be as prolific as I once was. Hare Krishna.)
As a child, Ricky Mora’s parents always reminded him of three things: Study hard, get a decent job, and make sure to pick the right girl to marry. In between pushing him at the swing sets in the park, his father would often pause to point at “Mom,” who was buying them ice cream, and say, “now if you can find a woman as nice and supportive and dedicated to you as that, you’ve got it made, Son. Understand?” Ricky, still too young to think about such things, would impatiently look up at his dad and just nod in agreement.
When Rick entered high school, his values towards growing up mirrored his folks’ lectures even more. While he would ace his subjects and befriend many, his attitude towards the opposite sex was an enigma of sorts. He would have dates, naturally, but it wasn’t until his third year in college that he finally engaged himself in a serious relationship. The fact that it ended bitterly — a third-party tale — did nothing to dissuade him from the holy grail of finding the perfect mate.
After graduation, Rick found work as a high-financed buyer at Javier, Liwag & Reyes; a lucrative profession where, among others, he occasionally bumped into several of his alumni chums; most of whom, by the way, were already “happily” married at that point. Rick himself dreamed about the time when a party invitation would read “To Mr. & Mrs. Ricky Mora.” But as the years went by without a steady girl, and younger and younger friends and acquaintances got hitched, the dream faded.
Some guys, aware of their limitations, find solace in other things — sex, drugs or alcohol. It is, without question, quite difficult to conduct an active sex life on your own without a partner. And while he did have the money to pay for it, his dad’s warnings about prostitutes got the better of him. Drugs? Rick didn’t even smoke, although he allowed himself the occasional cigar, but only on birthdays and wedding receptions. As for the alcohol, he couldn’t drink two beers without feeling sick in the morning — thanks to an ulcer he developed at work.
“I-I’m in l-love! I really am, Matt…” Rick cried in glee as he signaled the bartender for two glasses of bubbly. “I s-so am r-right now!”
“No, you’re not,” I said with such nonchalance through his habitual stuttering that I thought he’d change the subject in an instant. “You just think you are.”
“Hah! T-t-that’s why you’ll never have s-someone to share y-y-your life with. H-how long has it b-been for you now? T-t-two years without a girl? You’re too p-p-p-p-pe…”
“Pessimistic?” For some reason I didn’t want to point out that he was actually 10 years older than me.
“Y-yeah. You’re too p-p-p-…”
“Well, alam mo naman pala, pare, eh. So stop bustin’ my chops, yes?” There was a long pause as we clicked our mugs together and downed that sweet, golden liquid down our throats. Rick gasped after gulping his, and as he grabbed his stomach in pain I knew that drink would’ve been his first and last. “So who is she, anyway? Another middling date from hell? Do tell me…”
“I d-d-don’t have to,” he said as he glanced towards the bar’s entrance. “Sh-she’s already here! R-r-r-right there by the door…”
I was rather shocked by this sudden turn and quickly glanced around the opposite side of the table, only to see a long-haired, long-legged woman walk in. She had on a pink halter-top suit and a white pasha draped around her neck, and I immediately understood what Rick was talking about all along. She must have been about five foot six , with a slender waist attached to an upper body honed in an aerobics class and no doubt perfected on meals of vegetables and alkaline water.
“M-Matt, I’d like you t-t-to meet Ember,” Rick said without taking his eyes off hers. “Ember, M-M-Matthew.”
I smiled politely as I shook her hand, which lasted about two seconds as Rick pulled us apart and half-jokingly cried not to take my “sweet time touching her.” I cringed, but apart from the heavy makeup and obvious boob job, Ember was pretty much the kind of girl you would love to meet in a pub — all seamless, sexy and giddy.
Now, I no longer recall much about our conversation that night, partly because Mr. Mora spent most of the time staring at Ember in a way that should be reserved for one of Jenna Jameson’s porn flicks. He was thinking with his penis, I thought, something that I felt should have been severed at that moment. I made a hasty exit, and was only too glad to escape with my nuts still intact.
Apart from the quickie wedding, which took place a month later (followed by a lavish honeymoon in Hawaii), I can’t pretend that I saw a lot of the happy couple during their first six months of marriage. I was even beginning to feel guilty about having judged the poor girl’s intentions, heaven forbid. It was only when Rick called me almost a year later to complain about Ember’s demands during her pregnancy that I finally concluded what she was after all along.
“Money!” I cried, rubbing my thumbs with my middle and forefingers for good measure.
“Yes… B-b-but then again I’m not t-t-that r-rich!”
“Neither am I. And yet I’m surprised ladies like Ember aren’t lining up on my doorstep right now! Shocker.”
“Okay, okay. I g-g-get the p-point!”
I really prayed he did. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I realized Rick had finally left it too late. Before he knew it, Ember had swallowed him whole — moving out while taking most of his assets and fortunes without so much as a whimper. It pained me to see a friend sulk and give away his belongings just like that, but I felt the decision was his; and his alone. He began to lose weight, and his coveted dark locks started to turn prematurely gray. He became more and more depressed as the legal throttles dragged on, which, naturally, did a number on his character.
Over a lunch, not eaten, his attorneys and I tired valiantly to convince Rick to fight back. But he wouldn’t hear any of it. Instead he buried his face in his hands and shook his head long and hard, not even bothering to look up when the check arrived. I suggested he should talk with his dad, whom he always had a high regard for. He thought about it then decided it wasn’t such a good idea to burden him with disappointment.
“Especially n-now that m-m-mom’s no longer around,” he said. “H-he’ll b-b-be crushed to learn that m-m-my marriage is over!”
“Ahh, okay lang yun, dude. I’m sure he’ll be glad to help you out. And besides, you still gotta tell him sooner or later, right?”
Rick let this sink in for a minute, then smiled for the first time that day. He patted me on the back as if to say “thanks” and swore he’d get right to it. It was two weeks later when he finally summoned up the courage to visit the elder Mr. Mora.
He found him sleeping on the couch when he came over and decided not to wake him. Rick grinned sheepishly as he walked to the closet to hang his coat. He saw several letters sitting on his dad’s drawer and curiously looked at one of them. It appeared to be a clipped entry from a journal. It didn’t say much about him but said a lot more about his parents; their hatred for one another and how they were forced to stay together because of their son. How his dad “rejoiced” at his mom’s passing and how she had moved out with his properties during the last few years of her life.
Rick’s jaw dropped open. His dad’s marriage was a thin facade; a sham. He furiously scuttled the drawer for more evidence when the commotion finally woke his father up. He tried to cover his tracks but seeing his dad’s surprised and angry stare gave him away. Is it true? How could you keep this from me? What about the perfect mate?
He gazed at his father. It looked dreadfully as if he was staring into the mirror, and in his eyes he saw something that he had never seen before… a horrible sinking feeling, like falling in a dream.
* * *
Happy birthday to Dra. Teresita Estabillo, my mum! This greeting’s a couple of weeks late but I do hope it suffices. You do see your full name anyway, don’t you? Love you.
* * *
E-mail estabillo_rt@yahoo.com.