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The bus halted at the bend of Mendoza Road and only a wizened old man got inside. He donned a crisp white polo shirt and a slightly wrinkled black slacks. His silver Rolex watch, a gift from a friend, hung loosely on his wrist, and his black leather shoes were untidy and soiled. Indeed, he was the simplest and most unremarkable man one might see.
With a little difficulty, he trod his way to the end of the right side of the aisle, ignoring the scrutinizing glares of his fellow passengers. He kept his silence and settled himself on the seat beside the window. The man looked around, then took out a rosary from his pocket.
"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven..." Fr. Ruben Graciano murmured as he briskly rubbed his callused fingers against the plastic rosary beads. Droplets of sweat formed on his narrow forehead and on the tip of his nose but the priest wiped them away with a clean handkerchief.
It was already two o' clock in the afternoon and the sun, up against the infinite Cerulean sky, stretched its warm rays as far as it could, reaching through the windows of the bus. Humid air filled the bus that the windows had to be opened, much to everyone's dismay.
"My skin will be burned," said one.
Another complained, "Ahh, it's so hot!"
"The air-conditioner is broken," the driver only said.
With impatience gnawing at the back of his mind, the priest opened his mouth to join in the ruckus, but refrained himself from doing so.
What kind of bus is this? He found himself wanting to ask the driver.
Instead, he shifted his attention to the scenery from outside his window. The sun continued to shine ever so brightly, as if wanting to scorch every single thing it came across. Tall, lush coconut trees stood on the rich brown earth. And then he remembered her eyes that were the same color as the good earth - brown. Her nose was well-sculpted and her lashes were perfectly long. Her hair was that of the night sky, dark and lustrous, and it fell up to her waist like a cascade of waterfalls. She was a marvel to behold, that Zenaida, truly she was.
"You're a father now, Ben."
"Yes, I'm Fr. Ben."
"No, Ben, I'm pregnant. You're a father now..."
He shook his head. They had kept up their affair for years. How could they fail now? Seven years, and now this... This mistake? He must make sure that there had been no mistake, that nobody had made a mistake but Zenaida. How he wished she was wrong all along.
"I was him," Ruben thought. The boy gave him a long look, as if waiting for something, and held on the railing to keep himself form losing his balance. The priest stared back. Finally, the childe spoke, "Can you move a little so Lacy can sit down?" Ruben looked around for a kid or a pet, but found no one but the young boy and nameless passengers.
The wheel of the bus made a screeching sound and Ruben's forehead hi the seat in front of him. A boy who looked to be around seven years old headed towards Ruben's direction. He wore an off-white collared shirt and navy blue shorts, white socks and a pair of black leather shoes.
Ruben looked around for a kid named Lacey but found no one but the boy.
He just shrugged and obliged. The boy then sat down beside him.
It has been a long time ever since he last caught a glimpse of the place, he thought, San Antonio was home to a lot of memories... And to a lot of pain too.
Ruben looked out of the window.
But Zenaida was here, so everything was worth it, he decided.
Suddenly, he felt the boy's head nestled against his arm. The kid had fallen asleep, and the boy was beautiful. He almost wished he truly had a son, but reality caught up with him and he realized why it cannot be possible.
