Rush Hour

JM Ibanez

It was rush hour. Friday, five in the afternoon. Offices and businesses closed for the day. Workers ended their shifts, and took to their long commutes home. Students in their uniforms rushed out, in exultation. Another week has ended, everyone seemed to say. Workers were happy: it was Friday, and payday at that.

The MRT was packed with people, and there was barely enough room to breathe. The airconditioners were not working, and the mass of bodies warmed the air. Sweat and perfume mixed. The train's electric motors hummed, and the wheels clanged against the metal railings.

The train slowed down, brakes bringing the machine to a halt. Inertia threw people against each other. The train stood, doors opened, people squeezed their way out, and people jammed their way in. Those who stood near the doors pulled their limbs towards their bodies, in fear that they might get caught in the sliding doors.

A young woman clutched her bag in front of her tightly with her right hand, while her left clung on a nearby metal post. She was jostled by the people around her. An older man, with a faded brown polo shirt, was in front of her, and he jostled her as the train jolted forward. The woman clung the bag more tightly, covering her chest, watching his hands. She smiled darkly. "How ironic," she muttered.

The young woman let go of the pole momentarily to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, but several strands seemed to have a mind of their own. Her face was a round oval, and her eyes were chinky. She was thin, but not bony; slight, but not small. She wore a white peasant blouse, and a pair of faded jeans. She looked to be twenty-two; in truth, she wasn't close to eighteen yet.

The young woman stared at her feet, and waited for the train to reach her stop. The machine hummed into the next stop. Doors opened, people squeezed out, people jammed in. But the doors did not close.

Seconds passed. Then two minutes. Then five. The doors were still open. A young man glanced at his watch, then groaned irritatedly. A middle-aged woman in a brown blouse and skirt who sat near the door didn't care too much as she continued pecking her cellphone with her fingers.

"We're sorry for the delay. There's a problem at the next station. We should be going in a few minutes, just as soon as the problem clears," the train PA blared with the driver's voice.

A man cursed. "Dammit! It's friggin' hot in here! Now this! Gawd!" Someone chimed in agreement.

The young woman managed to smile.

Ten minutes passed. "We're really sorry for the inconvenience. There's been an emergency at the next station. May we request that all passengers exit the train. Again, we are sorry for the inconvenience and delay. You may refund your tickets at the ticketing office," the driver announced, apologetically, on the PA.

The young woman breathed a sigh of relief. She squeezed in with everyone else as they left the train. Then, there was a buzzing in her right pocket. Her cellphone was ringing, and she took it out and stared at the display. She looked resigned to a certain fate and disgusted at the same time as she read the name of the person calling her. She resisted the urge to drop the call, and answered it instead. "Hello?"

A pause, as she listened. "Sir, no, I'm still at Ortigas." Pause. "No, no, I, uh, took a bus. It's traffic, sir." She rolled her eyes. "Uh, yes sir. Yes. Okay. Bye."

She slung her bag on her shoulder, then crossed her arms. She looked as if she were about to cry. She breathed out.

"I have to do this... I have to do this," she told herself under her breath. "I need to do this."

She obviously looked disgusted. She closed her eyes, counted silently to ten, then opened them. She glanced at the station's clock. Five-twenty. Need to be there by six, she told herself. She glanced around and spotted a payphone. Taking coins from her pocket, she ran to it. She inserted the coins, and proceeded to dial. The phone on the other end rang.

"Hello?"

"Hello? Is Mikah home?," the woman asked.

"No, she's out. Steph?," the boy's voice on the other end asked.

"Yeah, it is. Tell her I called."

"Okay, I will. Bye."

She hung up. She bit her lip, and looked at the phone. Her forehead creased as she stood there in thought.

"Steph! Is that you?"

She was jolted back to reality by a young man's deep voice. She turned around. "Max! Hey, how are you?"

"Good. It's great to see you." The young man wore a dark grey polo, its sleeves rolled up, and a pair of black pants. His short hair was neatly gelled and combed. He had a black leather portfolio under his arm, and a small bag slung over his shoulder. "I thought you lived in Las Piñas?"

"Uh, I'm visiting an aunt. She's pretty sick," she said, the fingers of her left hand unconsciously crossed at her side.

"Ah, okay." Max glanced at his wrist watch. "Well, gotta go." She partly opened her lips, as if she were about to add something. "My girlfriend is waiting." She stopped, then shut her mouth.

"It's Kate, right?," she asked instead.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Well, it's nice meeting you again."

She watched as Max walked away. She glanced at the ground, and when she looked up, Max had already blended into the mass of people leaving the station. She checked the time once more. Five-thirty-three.

She exhaled in resignation. She walked with the crowd, half-accepting her ordeal.

Her phone rang once more. She glanced at the display. It was Mikah. "Hello?"

"Dear, are you alright? You sound frazzled."

"I am." She sighed, and she bit her lip as a tear escaped from the corner of her eye. She wiped it with the back of her hand. "Mikah, what should I do?"

"Stand up to him. I mean, tell the dean."

"But... but... my grades! Mikah, my grades! My parents will kill me if they found out I flunked!"

"Where are you anyway?"

Steph paused, then bit her lip harder. "I'm in Ortigas."

"You're where? Steph, don't go through with this! Stand up to him! Don't let him—"

"Mikah, I know. You don't understand—"

"—Understand what? Steph, I know you. Don't go through with this."

Steph sighed once again. "Look, meet me at the cafe, ten minutes," she heard her friend say to her. "Please, don't go through with this," Mikah pleaded.

There was a long pause. "Sige. I'll meet you."

An audible sigh of relief. "Thank you. In ten minutes. Bye."

"Bye."

Ten minutes later, Steph was in a small yet posh cafe in the center of Ortigas. She had bought herself a cup of coffee, and a pack of Marlboro Lights lay on her table, in front of her. Her bag was beside her, in another chair. She finished her coffee when her friend arrived.

The young lady wore a red tube with a gray cardigan. She had a black tote with her, which she put on the table, beside the cigarettes. Her hair hung in waves down her back. Her brows were knitted in concern. She sat beside her. "Steph?"

Steph managed to smile. "Don't worry about me. I'll handle this."

"Handle this?," her friend asked, exasperated. "You're about to sell out, and you're telling me you'll handle it?" She pulled out a pack of gum from her tote. "Steph, don't go through with this. Tell the asshole you were stuck in traffic or something. I don't know. Just don't go through with this."

"What are my alternatives? I flunked, Mikah. I flunked."

"Dammit, here we go again. You've been through worse."

"Of course not."

"Yes, you have," Mikah said forcefully, as she popped a stick of gum in her mouth. "Remember junior year, when you thought you were pregnant with Jason's kid?"

Steph stared at the empty cup in front of her, nodding weakly. She bit her lip. Her lips parted once more, then shut. She then took a lighter from her bag. She grabbed the pack of cigarettes and took one stick. Her hands shook slightly, as she lit up.

"Look, it's the same thing. Face the music. But don't stoop so low, that you have to..." Mikah grimaced in disgust.

Steph took a long drag, then exhaled. The smoke curled in lazy blue-grey circles around them.

"It's just grades, Steph. It's not the end of the world."

"I have a scholarship, remember? I can't afford to flunk."

"It wasn't your fault. Stand up to him. Go to the dean."

"Dammit, it's not that simple!" Steph bit her lip. She took another long drag, tears forming at the corner of her eyes. She slowly exhaled. Steph stared at the lighted cigarette between her fingers.

Mikah leaned in closer. "How can't it be simple?"

Steph took another drag on her cigarette, before crushing it against the table. Tears welled up on the corners of her eyes, but all the while she was biting her lip, trying to suppress what was inevitable. "You don't know what happened...," she whispered, as if it was difficult for her to speak.

"Shhh... It's going to be fine," Mikah reassured, her hand around her friend's shoulder.

"I... I just..." She sighed deeply, leaning her head on Mikah's shoulder. "I have to do this. I can't go to the dean."

"You aren't telling me something here," Mikah eyed her curiously, handing her a handkerchief.

"You're right. I'm not." She smiled weakly. "Just trust me on this."

"Oh, no. No way."

"Just trust me, please."

Mikah looked at her friend critically. "It seems you've already made up your mind."

"I just needed to talk to you, is all."

Mikah shook her head. "I never had a chance of changing your mind, am I right?," she asked, a note of frustration in her voice.

"No, you did. It's just... I have to go through with this." She held her friends hand. "But thanks. Thanks for the concern."

"Look, let me drive you there. At least, let me drive you to the bus stop. Maybe I still have a chance of changing your mind." They stood up.

Steph sighed. "Okay." She glanced at her watch. "I still have ten minutes to get there."

Mikah shook her head. "Right. Ortigas to Cubao in ten minutes."

They walked in silence to the parking lot. They boarded an old purple Beetle that Mikah owned. The car didn't have airconditioning, and so they were forced to open the windows. By the time they reached the intersection to EDSA, traffic was heavy and they were pinned down by an accident a few cars in front of theirs. Mikah threw her hands up in exasperation.

"I'll walk from here, Mikah."

"No, stay. Don't rush it. Please, for a friend. For me."

Steph slumped into her seat. A few tiny drops appeared on the car's windshield. Then more, and larger, until the rain started pouring. They rolled up their windows, leaving a small gap for air to circulate inside the cramped vehicle.

"Even the heavens are telling you not to go." Mikah smiled.

Steph glanced at her watch. Five-fifty-five. Then, as she glanced up, she saw her reflection on the window beside her. Beyond it was a woman, uniform plastered on to her skin, holding a baby. She looked to be about Steph's age. She stood there, cold and miserable, rain beating against her. She shivered slightly as she walked.

Steph's phone rang. She ignored it.

"Can we just crash your unit?," Steph asked.

"What changed your mind?"

Steph broke down in tears. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed. Mikah took the ringing phone, and switched it off.