Short term address
I parked the car in the same corner where I always see my brother. The two carts with sleeping people were already there. Each one in various contortions seeking the most comfortable position to be afforded by the unfolded box-cartons as confined by their makeshift beds. I too deigned to seek a comfortable position on my staked claim on the ten-inch-high gutter, albeit with a none too dignified a manner.
I’d dared say that I feel a certain detachment from if not an abhorrence to my now familiar neighbors. Wanting but with no need to protest to passersby that there is not the least bit desire in me to share space with these people; that now, I really just need to be at this particular spot, to await the sibling that might perchance claim to his stake on this lot tonight. That, now, my solemn mission makes me want to drive the others from what is soon to be a desecrated altar.
This night I have the very difficult task of telling my brother the news of our father’s passing and the none less difficult nor less alarming fact that I am in all actuality his brother and not his friend as I have purported myself to be. In my silent reverie, there is, aside from fast passing cars, none other to look at than the box and cart sleeping people. In silence, I looked at them contemplating on what act of God had “placed” them on such a miserable state. Their grease covered skins made to look matte by the clinging dusts, their curly hairs and flat noses, signatures of their aboriginal descent.
I look at them as I hold the letter that I had prepared. The letter, a safety net should my courage falter, and from time to time I fan myself with it. Presently, the female occupant of a cart roused from beside her male bunkmate and proceeded briskly scratching herself from her nape to shoulder to the bottom of her spine and back to her nape again. Looking at her too is their canine companion, a small affair of an animal, bone thin, ragged and with a black patchwork of color on the left side of its face making it look rather silly. The dog had very short fur but surprisingly not mangy, yet, it too had been scratching far longer than its human female companion.
I did not yet have a chance to ponder upon the source of these creatures’ itchings when the woman, wearing a thin dress that has long ago been white, sprang up on one foot and landed on the other, then alternately, and irritably exclaiming ants, damned ants repeatedly. This dark slightly plump woman then wakes her husband, if indeed they are wed, but wakes him in vain as it is plain that he is not about to resign either their cart position nor his peaceful repose. What can he do, he asks by a mixture of frown and grin together with a shrug. What can one like them do in a time such as this? This place is the only one where they are welcome. This place is their chosen home and no ants are going to evict them just by their mere bites. As the woman decidedly continues her commotion I looked upon her with pity, annoyance and amazement all at the same time. It was obvious that she intends to wake the rest of the neighborhood with her raucous slandering of the legion of six legs having failed to solicit the help of her husband.
As the minutes have been passing in increments of tens and thirtys worry, fear and hopelessness started to come upon me. At half past one, a patrol car entrenched itself in a corner. Two uniformed men put up a saw horse in the middle of the street while two others planted themselves diagonally on the other two corners of the intersection. Heavily tinted cars and motorcycles with two riders were flagged down one after the other. Soon people were milling about as unauthorized police-siren car horns were discovered in private cars and the vehicles' owners accosted. It was already a long night. Mournful and again near tears I kept my resolve on tonight’s vigil.
One by one, those apprehended are either being released or being escorted to the precinct. The very young ones rescued by friends and family with bills and change running in the thousands. The patrols leave when the vehicle traffic started to thin down to a car or two per minute. Again, I am left with my immediate neighbors. The lady once again rises up from her position and makes way for the plant box across the street. Checking left and right she then pulls up her dress and squats, right away relieving her bladder of its long agony. Inspite of her present activity and position she has up to now kept hold of both her urine and modesty. There were far too many people before to be her audience. That or the policeman that was positioned infront of her chosen box looked too confrontational. Plus, no other plant boxes were available within a five hundred meter radius. Done with her deed and herself having been relieved enough for the night somehow, she found again a new peaceful repose.
As i stood up, sat down, stood up and sat down again waiting for the brother that may never come, I then realize that everything here is the way that it is. That everything here now is where they should be. That here, now, it is only I who am lost. That it is I who truly do not belong.
