They Know The End

Matt

10:25 am

I used my shirt to wipe off the sweat on my brow. I noticed some dirt stains on my shirt and groaned. Now I regretted wearing white today. 

I stood outside Russell's house apparently. There was some talking, but I zoned out of the conversation. My gaze focused on the layered bricks slathered with concrete in between.

I kept looking back at the cards and that polaroid photo that sunk to the sludge beneath.

I didn't remember the exact circumstances that led to the photo being taken, but I knew that it was with a friend group at my school. We paid for a photographer with a polaroid and we took enough pictures for all of us to have one photo each.

Looking back, we weren't exactly close. But it still hurt me when I lost the photo.

"Matt? Matthew?" Russell waved his hand in front of me. "You there?"

I blinked back to existence and stared intently at his eyes. "Ah, y--yeah?"

"You didn't come in yet."

I remembered why we were here. "Right." Instinctively, I started taking off my shoes when he stopped me.

"You should keep those, or they might get stolen."

I remembered where we were. I nodded. "Right." I fixed my shoes before entering their dilapidated shack.

-

I had relatives from the province before. Their house was a simple two-storey place with a solid floor with barely any tiling, shelves with souvenirs that double as archways, and wobbly stairs that led to two rooms on the second floor, where everything is made of wood.

Russell's house was like this, except it was in a worse condition. Their house had no second floor, only two spaces joined together by the marriage of wood and concrete. They had no foam and instead, had a mat and flat pillows and blankets to lay on.

It was the complete opposite of where I lived in. It made me--my clean self and my clothes--look like I came from a distant, very different land.

Where there was usually greetings there was only stoic silence. His mother looked at me from head to toe. I reached for her hand to do the mano po. She obliged, but turned away afterwards.

The figure laying down shifted position, and was now staring at the ceiling.

She began cooking. I stood there awkwardly.

"So, unsaon man nato ang papa nimo kung wa siya'y tambal?" his mother asked. What should we do with your father if he has no medicine?

Russell didn't say anything.

She whirled to face him. "Na-unsa naman ka oi?! Sige ra ka'g tanga-tanga dira. Wa jud tay mabuhat--"

"I'm dying today."

"What?"

"Karon ko mamatay, ma," Russell said in the most serious tone I had heard from him so far.

"And how am I supposed to believe you?" She huffed in indifference. "I hear you saying that all the time."

"What?" I blurted out, but no one paid heed.

"But I'm serious this time!" Russell shouted at her. I could never do that to my mom, ever.

And the same applied for him, because she stared daggers at him. Her voice only became louder. "Well, I don't care! Your dad isn't feeling well and he doesn't have medicine! Asa man ang iyang tambal 'ron?!"

He paused for a while. "I lost it."

"What?! How did you lose it?!"

"I. . .just did!"

Then, she stopped her cooking and grabbed his arm. Wordlessly, she dragged him to the next room, amidst his screams.

She shut the door. "When will you learn, huh? Huh?!" The houe shook because of her screams of rage. It didn't try to hide his cries of fear.

I felt tmpted to bust down the door and save him from his mess, like a true protagonist in the novels I read. But I could only watch the door, frozen in place.

"Ingani jud ni sila," the dad said, his voice hoarse. They're always like this. He coughed.

I sat down on the mat. "Yeah I noticed." I took a deep breath, as if I had been holding my breath the entire time.

He sat up. "You know. . .pagsauna, we used to be like you."

"Ayaw lang sa pag-lingkod, tito," I said, a little bit worried. Don't sit yet.

"I'm fine." It sounded more like a reassurement than a response. He spoke in Cebuano as he continued the story. "Anyway, we--we would wear the same clothes you're wearing. We loved life the way you did.

"My wife was a very prestigious chef. She cooked for the fanciest hotels and restaurants all over the country. She even cooked to other places.

"But one day, we met and she became pregnant with Russell. She decided to settle down and focus on raising our son. It was a difficult transition. She was really famous. You could see her on the covers of magazies and such. So, as with every celebrity, there are many people who watched us secretly.

"Aside from that, she was criticized by her family, a long line of wealth and power. They urged her to continue working and let me raise the child instead. But she insisted and told her that she must be there for her son.

"Relcutantly, they agreed and we were left alone. It was the best years of my life. And it was also for her. But. . ."

I looked at him and watched his face transform as his voice turned bitter.

"She opened up to me about going back to work. She was being pressured by her family to earn some money. Their combined wealth was at an all-time low and they were barely getting by.

"So, I let her get back to work. But this time, she travelled abroad more often than before. But I didn't know about the lies that were about to surface."

"What happened?" I asked, invested into the story. I leaned forward.

"I didn't know at that time," he continued in Cebuano. "that her family hated me. She wasn't just pressured to go back to work. She was also forced to leave me and her son behind for someone they chose.

"He harassed her. And when she was vulnerable, he assaulted her. After she realized that her family was controlling her life now, she tried to escape. She did by disguising as a normal person and went right back to me.

"She cut off ties with her family and we left the house. We lived on our own, until we ran out of spare money. Luckily, we were offered a home here to stay."

The house became silent, save for the sobs on the other room.

"I'm sorry" was all I could say. And I felt guilty for not saying anything more.

He coughed and coughed even more.

"Sh--should I get you some medicine?" I offered.

"Ayaw lang." No need. He lay back down, heaving a heavy sigh as he did.

"Tabangi akong anak," he said, his smile resigned. "Help him love the world, because all we've done is live. It would be the best gift we could ever ask for. . ."