Alternate Endings: Flag Ceremony

Coffee. Thermos. One gulp. Maybe two.

Pan de Sal. Take two. Stuff a third in mouth. Chew as you descend steps.

Check bag. Papers, record book, lesson plan. Check, check, check.

Hail jeep.

Every god damned day, it's like this. And not just when I started working. As early as fourth year high school, I've already gotten used to eating breakfast on the road, studying inside a jeepney, and doing homework minutes before the teacher comes in for first period. College was pretty much the same, regardless of what time my classes started.

Popping the last of the bread into my mouth, I pat the crumbs off my slacks and start digging into my pocket for fare. Chewing, I count the coins. Swallowing, I pass the money forward.

Unconsciously, my hand strokes my face, feeling the rough stubble on my chin and cheeks. I angle my head to check my reflection on the driver's rearview mirror. Decided it can still pass for decent.

The fifteen minutes of travel pass by with me staring at the space between me and the passenger opposite me, suspending myself in a state of zen, drinking in all the positivity, before facing the hell of my classroom.

Before the jeep could even fully stop, I have already disembarked. Patting down more crumbs off my blazer's collars, I walk towards the school's gates briskly. I don't like to run, not even when I was already late.

A pungent odor stops me on my tracks. Turning around, I see a homeless man ambling behind me. Dirty, drunk, depressing. The security better make sure this man doesn't get in the campus.

Glance at my watch. Huh, five minutes before flag ceremony. Good. I stop by the nearest bathroom to check myself. As I exited, I notice the homeless man has already gotten past the school gate and is now limping around the parking lot. Jesus. I walk over to the guard's outpost and knock. When the guard emerged, I point out the hobo. The man in uniform sighs, probably disappointed that his day is going to start with driving a tramp out of campus.

Finally, the bell signals the start of the flag ceremony. I don't have an advisory class, which is a blessing, because those who do are now screaming at the top of their lungs, trying to herd their students into a straight, height-organized line. I simply stand with the administrators and fellow non-advisers, and pretend not to notice the fruitless shepherding.

The high school band is all set up now, and the student official in charge of conducting the national anthem is standing in front. She sings the first few syllables, making sure we remember how it's supposed to sound like, and we all break into song.

After the second line, muscle memory takes over and I sing without having to worry about the lyrics, allowing my attention to wander. My second year students are about their usual, subtle mischief. Nothing seems wrong at first glance, but if you look at their adviser, she's getting redder and redder in the face. My fourth years' concentration is spent elsewhere. None of their lips move with the national anthem's words; most of them are looking towards the quadrangle entrance. Curious, I follow their gaze.

Holy shit.

It is that homeless man again, with his drunken walk, and filthy appearance. How in Hell did he get past the guard? Oh, my God, is he bleeding? I didn't notice that before. Fingers are being pointed now, drawing the rest of the academia's attention to the vagrant. There are laughs, gasps, and expressions of disgust.

The Principal has descended from the stage, flanked by the PE teacher and the ROTC Commandant. Strangely enough, I think of a gender-bent Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape trio. Two security guards from the other outposts are already crossing the quadrangle to apprehend the trespasser. A big man and an old one: Hagrid and Filch.