part 1 of 3 of the sense of humor series
historical fiction
May 7, 2022
Joseph rose with a start. According to his phone, it was only 6:31 AM, but random voices amplified by megaphones already boomed against the morning air outside. Not a typical way to start a day.
He walked his way to his room’s window. “Ganito ka-aga?”
From about a block away, volunteers in pink shirts moved large steel objects from one place to another—barricades and the floorings of the upcoming rally’s stage. Men and women in groups and scattered droves assembled themselves loosely, talking and walking around. They seemed to be in happy spirits. They shouldn’t be in happy spirits.
Adjacent to that street, another collection of people—people in red—did the same things. The two groups were set to merge in the intersection of Ayala Avenue and Paseo de Roxas, two large and busy streets in the middle of a large and busy city. The intersection wouldn’t be big enough for both groups. The city isn’t big enough for both groups. He wondered if the country was.
The door behind him flung open. “You’re up?” someone said, inappropriately energetic. “That’s new.”
“Yeah.” Joseph turned. His brother, Anthony, walked beside him. “Kita mo to?”
Anthony smiled. Like the people below them, Anthony had a pink shirt on too. “What can you expect? Early birds!”
“Yeah, sila rin oh.” Joseph pointed to the other crowd across the block.
Anthony chuckled. “They wouldn’t be nearly as much as us.”
“You think?” Joseph scratched his head.
“They aren’t nearly as dedicated.”
“They don’t have to be.”
Anthony shot Joseph a cold sharp look, the face he’d make whenever Joseph would bother him while he did his homework—a common occurrence.
Anthony was always the most studious of the three brothers. He’d spend hours on end listening to lectures, writing down notes and rewriting them. Joseph would play a video game then go to sleep; he didn’t care nearly as much as his brother about grades and school.
College was a circus, where students passed or failed by the whip of their professors’ whims. It was a dated system. The whole education system was so archaic that any sort of change would corrode the gears that made it tick. Assuming it still ticked. Joseph was glad he was done with it.
But for some reason, he had always averaged higher scores than Anthony. Always. He chalked it up to being the older brother, the wiser brother. Anthony was the middle child, always with something to prove. As for the youngest…
Nathan let out a room-resounding snore that echoed throughout the condominium unit. Joseph guessed his brother wouldn’t wake up until 12:00 NN, earliest.
Anthony tapped on the windowpane. “He’s drooling again, bet.”
“Parang may pake naman siya.” Joseph tucked his bed sheets in and fluffed his pillows. “Aalis ka na ba?”
“Breakfast muna,” he nodded, making his way out of the room. “You?”
Joseph shook his head, praying his brother wouldn’t berate him again. His prayer failed.
“Still apolitical?” Anthony had one foot out of the door.
Joseph couldn’t help but smile. “You, of all people, would know that I am the farthest from apolitical. Kung ano man antonym ng apolitical, malamang yun ako.”
“But still.” Anthony’s fingers hung on the doorknob loosely. “Two days before the elections, you still haven’t made up your mind?”
“Four days before submission, and you still haven’t finished your thesis?” Joseph smirked.
“Bahala ka diyan.” Anthony closed the door. A few seconds later, the sound of utensils on plates rang through the hallway, immediately followed by the smell of newly cooked rice and hotdogs.
Joseph peered out his window again. He forgot how similar pink and red were from so high up.
***
Nathan’s alarm clock died. The ringing sound it made withered like a busted animatronic. He grabbed it, scraped its batteries off, and threw them to the trash bin.
He had set the timer for 10:00 AM for his make-up class. It was now 3:30 PM. He missed his class entirely, along with breakfast, lunch, and all the bathroom breaks in between. His stomach pressed against itself. It wanted to let something out—something dirty, unpleasant, and brown.
He rushed to the bathroom and did his business, not forgetting to flush the toilet. Anthony always nagged him about that. Why couldn’t he just flush the toilet himself if it made him so mad?
The condominium unit was empty. Empty of people, not of things; of things there were plenty. Pink and green cartolina littered the floor, all the way from the sofa to the kitchen. Remnants of illustration boards missed the trash can by a good meter. Anthony could never shoot the basketball even if his life had depended on it.
Nathan grabbed a plastic bag from one of their kitchen drawers and began picking up the trash. Mom always wanted to keep the condominium clean.
He was careful not to throw the leftover cut outs to the actual trash bin because Anthony might rage at him, as he had many times before. When he was done, a door creaked open behind him.
“Sa wakas.” Joseph stepped out of his room. “Kain ka na diyan, may leftovers pa.”
“Sige.” He bent down and picked up his plastic bag full of paper scraps. “San ko to lalagay?”
“Iwan mo lang diyan,” Joseph said. “Si Anthony na bahala mamaya haha. Late ka na.”
“Nauna na ba si kuya dun?”
“Mhm.” Joseph walked back inside his room. “Lika.”
Nathan set the plastic bag down by the side of the sofa then followed Joseph in. His room was clean and dark. The lights weren’t on. They were never on, he realized. Joseph drew the curtains open, and Nathan understood why his brother never had his lights on. He never needed them. Sunlight poured in from the outside.
Joseph opened a window and the cheers and shouts of hundreds of thousands of people swarmed into the condo unit. The air carried their energy.
Below them, the crowds had gathered—both pink and red. Nathan felt a tingle run down his spine, unsure if it was of excitement or anxiety. “Kailangan ko na ata umalis.”
Joseph nudged his head. “Go.”
Nathan nodded as he dashed outside the condominium unit, quickly realizing that he hasn’t even bathed, dressed, or eaten yet. He made his way back inside. The first one he can forego, but he had to do the latter two.
He took two hotdogs from the dining table and smacked them in between bread slices. He had to eat them while on the go; he wanted to have a nice spot when the candidates came.
He ran back down to his room, saying bye to Joseph along the way and grabbed the only red shirt he had from his cabinet.
***
Anthony shouted again. Every chant had to be proclaimed to the skies and back down. They had to hear our voices. They had to hear it now.
Because he knew in a few minutes, his voice would give. 7:54 PM. He’s been in the crowd for more than 12 hours. To both his sides were people he didn’t know. Not that he minded. Everyone was a friend here in this sea of pink.
The hours he’d been in the streets sped by so fast. He was sweaty, sticky, and probably incredibly smelly, but Anthony never felt more powerful than he did now. Eight-hundred-and-fifty thousand strong and counting.
Nathan, Anthony could understand. His younger brother was never the brightest or sharpest among them. But Joseph? How could Joseph be so blind. Could he not see their numbers and recognize this devotion as strength? As being in the right side of history?
Another artist went up the stage. The host said the candidates will speak soon. The main two candidates anyway; the others had given their speeches earlier in the day. Good, at least Anthony could get a bite to eat before the actual show started. He hasn’t eaten since… breakfast? He couldn’t be sure.
He wormed his way through a thicket of sweaty supporters, colliding with the occasional sticky forearm. To the sides of the street, vendors gave out food for free. Anthony made his way to the hotdog stand.
The girl behind the counter smiled at him and gave him a hotdog on a stick. The girl reconsidered, then gave him two. He must’ve looked that hungry. He chowed the hotdogs down and threw the sticks in the trash.
“Pace yourself.” She had such a soft voice, Anthony thought it was a miracle he heard it through the shouting, the music, and all the other noises people made. The girl smirked. She leaned over. “Gusto mo ng water?”
Anthony choked on what must have been some bits of hotdog. He hadn’t paced himself after all. Then his phone vibrated. Anthony put a finger up to the girl’s face as if to say, wait a moment! In reality, he wanted to say I’m sorry that this piece of hotdog is making its way out of my left nostril!
He brought out his phone from his pocket. It was a text from Joseph. ”Ano nangyayare diyan? Trouble?”
Anthony veered his head around. Could he see me? Probably not. He typed in his reply. “What do you mean?”
Joseph must have been dogged on his phone. “By the statue of—whoever that is. Parang may gulo. Mag-ingat kayo. Alalahanin mo kapatid mo.”
Anthony didn’t know what Joseph meant, but he was close enough to the Ninoy Aquino statue to look. The statue itself stood at the intersection between the two main roads —the de facto separation point between the two rallies. Anthony stepped on the sidewalk. From there, he had a clearer view of the other side.
Their rally wasn’t nearly as loud or as energetic. Anthony saw people in red near the street’s epicenter standing idly in waiting, gaping at the stage. He couldn’t quite make out who was giving a speech, but it couldn’t have been someone important.
Some people on the red side even peered on over to the pink side, watching—observing… enjoying?
It was clear that there were more pink shirts than red, but they had a lot of people too, more than what Anthony expected. Both streets overflowed in a fiesta of the two colors, and by the intersection where the statue stood, only a thin line of caution tape held the two sides back.
Below the statue, two groups from both rallies shouted at each other. Anthony couldn’t hear much, but he caught the usual blaring of “lugaw!”, “lutang!”, and, most ferociously, “magnanakaw!”.
When the pushing started, Anthony knew he had to intervene. He barreled through hostile arms and stepped firmly between the quarrelling groups. He held the caution tape in place with one hand, the people in red looked on with uncertainty.
“What’s happening here?”
Someone chuckled. “Wow! Wow! ‘what’s happening here’ daw. Grabe naman, English?”
Anthony wished he could have taken the hotdog stand girl’s offer for a drink, instead of choking on food. He didn’t have time for this. He faced the pink group, hoping for a more helpful answer.
“Sila kasi!” a young boy pointed, clearly not old enough to vote. “They pushed us!”
“Eh kayo unang nanulak diyan! Patalon-talon pa kayo!” Someone nudged Anthony’s back, making him shuffle his feet. Who it was, he couldn’t tell, but his patience was running thin. His legs grunted with soreness, and his neck was starting to stiffen. He didn’t have time for this. He wondered where the bouncers or the security teams were.
A rogue fist cracked him on the cheek.
The world swirled. He would have fallen, but good thing someone caught him beneath the shoulders. He couldn’t find his legs to stand.
“Oh yan! Pa-english english ka pa ah!”
Anthony’s vision darkened. The next thing he knew, he was charging straight through the caution tape. A few people tried to stop him, but they didn’t really have the strength or the commitment to do so. Everyone else just watched.
Ripping through the tape, he found himself in the frontlines of enemy territory. Grossly outnumbered. About five, no… six red shirts stared at him, ready to lunge.
Another fist came for him, but Anthony was quick. He grabbed the attacker’s hand and retaliated with a jab to his temple. Another one came for him, but Anthony’s fist connected with the guy’s skull, making him stop in his tracks. But that was all he could do.
A knee came out from under him and blew all the air out of his stomach. Then an elbow pounded his back. A flame of pain surged on his right arm. Someone must have hit him there too.
He fell to a knee, then to both knees. Fists and kicks continued to come. Anthony guarded himself with his hands. He felt his sides sting.
A man larger than him, larger than the others, swept the crowd and struck Anthony square on the jaw. His knuckle bones would be imprinted on Anthony’s cheek the next day, that much was obvious. His head snapped sideways. He tasted something metallic. Blood? The large man geared up for another punch, but then he stopped.
“Tama na yan!” a voice bellowed. A familiar voice, thought Anthony. Someone in a red shirt dashed to his side and lifted him. The man in a red shirt placed Anthony’s arm over his shoulders for support.
Anthony forgot how to stand. He could barely see.
“Okay ka lang ba?” asked the familiar voice.
“Nathan?”
Nathan gave an uncomfortable smile. “Tara, alis na tayo dito.”
As his brother dragged him from the crowd, Anthony looked back. The impaired vision didn’t help treat the pulsing headache he now had. Sections of his skull throbbed like a drum. People from both sides looked on over them, their faces shocked. Some of them grinned. Some just stared blankly.
Everyone was tired and ragged. Their shirts were darkened, damp with sweat. Anthony couldn’t recognize who was from which side.
He didn’t know where the blood came from, but when it trickled from his chin and down to his shirt, he felt a sense of dread he hasn’t experienced since years ago. “Mom?”
“Huh?” His arm slacked on Nathan’s shoulders, as they limped going back home. Tired and pained, Anthony drifted to sleep.
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