Jeepney Ride

Packed like sardines inside a jeepney*— Too full, with a jeepney strike going on. Rushing, mother and child ride along. Greasy, dirty, malnourished… The woman holds a can— a makeshift drum. Little boy hands out envelopes, he looks like he's 3 years old, he's most likely 6. Woman beats her drum, nobody listens chatter drowning out the rhythm… Invisible ears to go with invisible envelopes His head touches my legs, dissipating heat— an indicator of how long he's been under the sun and smog The thought chills me… He stares at my sister's shopping bags with searing eyes… Windows that I can’t bear to look into, afraid to see my reflection of clouded guilt and frustration I shake my head, no food to share but my hands reach out to his, to give him some money. My sister remembers a bottle of iced tea, and hands it to him. He has a hard time opening it, and asks for help from the school girls… Invisible again. I reach out and get the bottle from him Temporary refreshment for a body that is parched, for a soul who is thirsty for so much more. I cannot help but gulp in guilty air. He sits on the aisle, savoring the tea as his mother thumps on the can. The little boy retrieves envelopes, all empty— as hollow as the sound of the beating drum. What do you do, what can you do? The jeepney stops. They alight from it... The mother looks back and says, "Salamat.*" It goes straight to my heart. Her eyes move me most— one eye is cloudy, grayed out, perhaps a manifestation of the storms in her life? That single word seared through me, and I felt how much she meant it… Her thank you made me want to give so much more, to call out to her and give whatever I had at the moment but they are gone... Lost in a crowd of faceless people, and I myself want to get lost, hide my face in shame… What can you do? --For Debbie’s Tell Me a Story contest… *jeepney—is a public transportation vehicle here *Salamat is “Thank You”