Untitled story

JM Ibanez

I got off the bus at Baclaran. It was midafternoon, around 3 PM. The sky was an ominous gray, filled with patches of dark clouds that blotted out the sun and hinted rain. Everything looked somber, every color muted. There was a man standing beside me, and his loud checkered shirt looked dull in the overcast light.

The smell of rain was in the air, an earthy smell that brought back memories of storms and class suspensions. Mingled with that earthy smell was the sharp odor of sweat and dust. People crowded under the pedestrian overpass, waiting for a jeep or a bus going in their direction.

I stood there, jostled and pushed around, wanting to get home early. The first drops of rain surprised me. I cursed my luck; I had forgotten to bring an umbrella.

The man who stood beside me, the man with the checkered shirt, tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to face him, and I almost recoiled in horror. He only had one eye; the space where his right eye should have been was covered with skin.

"Brod, do you have the time?"

I glanced at my wristwatch. "3:12."

The man sighed in relief. "I still have time for that pasalubong," I heard him mutter to himself.

I studied him. He looked to be a middle-aged man, late 40s to early 50s. His hair was still black, but there were already streaks of gray and white in it. His moustache was thick and was already mostly white; he had stubble on his long chin. His face was round and pudgy, almost like that of a boy. Under his right arm were several manila envelopes, the edges slightly torn and waterstained. The shirt he wore, the checkered shirt, looked new; his jeans, on the other hand, were faded and dull and mud-spattered. His shoes were also mud-spattered, its brown leather dulled by the months of neglect on it.

He looked lost in thought, yet his eyes continually searched the people around him, as though he were looking for someone he knew. A bus headed for Alabang was aproaching, and people hailed it. I boarded the bus; so did the man.

It was cramped inside the bus. The aircon was on full-blast, but the body heat of everyone beside me where I stood made me sweat. The smell irritated me, I had a long day. I cursed my luck once more. Every bus seat was taken, and the aisle was filled by half a dozen people or more.

The rain intesified its attack on the metropolis. It beat angrily on the windshield and the windows, and it sounded like a thousand fingers drumming. It looked like I wouldn't get home dry.

The seat to my right was occupied by a young lady, a teenager. Her hair was tied in a ponytail that flowed down her shoulder. She wore thick black oval frames. Her shirt was black, tight-fitting and printed on it was the word "Got milk?" The shirt failed to hide her ample chest. Around her waist was a red jacket.

She was busy with her cellphone. Her thumb pecked at the small keypad (it was an 8210) like a small bird. Once in a while, it would beep quietly.

The conductor shook the coins he held in his hand. He moved around, collecting bus fares. He turned to me and I fumbled for my wallet.

"How much is it until SM?," I asked.

"Twenty pesos." I pulled out two ten-peso bills from my wallet, and he gave me my bus ticket. I folded the four scraps of paper and tucked it in my pocket.

The bus ride lasted only twenty minutes. Traffic was surprisingly light. It was still raining hard, and I consoled myself with the fact that my house was only a three-minute walk away.

I noticed that the girl was beautiful. She had chinky eyes and a cute button nose, a nose that I would normally resent but gave her face a certain charm and grace. Her lips were full and had a touch of lip gloss.

I got off at my stop, and I noticed the young woman and the one-eyed man get off with me. As I ran home, I heard the man mutter "I still can get that pasalubong." At the corner of my eye, I saw him heading towards the girl.

I got home, drenched and bedraggled. I took a quick bath; afterwards, I treated myself to a hot dinner. I worked on some of my projects, before turning in at 9.

Four days later, a news item caught my eye.

"Coed found dead at SM

The body of a seventeen-year old female college student was found yesterday at the SM Southmall parking lot. The victim was found naked and tied, and was identified as a Justine C. Fajardo of De La Salle University. Police supsect the victim was raped. The body was already decomposing, and authorities estimate that she was killed three to four days ago."

The article went on to say that the police was following up a witness to the crime. Beside the article was the picture of the girl from the bus. The next day, another article caught my eye.

"Suspect of SM killing found dead

The primary suspect of the SM Southmall rape-slay was found dead yesterday. Joaquin Alberto, formerly a clerk of PinoyViews.Com, was found with his wrists slashed at his rented room. Alberto was identified by an eyewitness to be the last person seen with the victim, a college student of the DLSU. The suspect was identified by the witness because Alberto had only one eye. Medical records show that his right eye was lost to disease only a year ago. Alberto was fired from PinoyViews.Com, an Internet web design firm, due to incompetence. The body was discovered by his daughter."