The Jeepney Driver

She is a Woman Without Love

All she had to do was walk away. 

This would've been the easiest solution to a potentially explosive morning with one of the six. She liked to call them "the six," as if to distance herself, her whole being from the very souls that should have been her connection to a life that should have been filled with love. Instead, she lived a life filled with should-have-beens.

"Put that pencil down," she growled like a woman possessed by an evil force. "Or I will take it from you and you will never get to use that hand, ever again." She did not have to take the volume of her voice a notch higher. The force of it compelled Koji, the third of "the six," to drop the pencil from his grip allowing Meiji, the second of the six, to run toward her sister, Leila, the first. The fourth and the fifth, were nowhere to be found. And though it was a Saturday, a day when families should be rejoicing and frolicking and eating somewhere, Yolly just wanted to be away. Away from the six. Not particularly dead, just numb. Numb and away were two very desirable states to be in at 7:15 in the morning, with just a teaspoon of coffee left in the jar, three shriveled pan de sals, and a troubling situation for lunch. The troubling part being that there might be none.

Leila watched as her mother walks out of the kitchen and out the house. She would be gone for an hour, Leila thought. Leila thought some more and she began to get a headache. Suddenly, a loud piercing scream that would last for several minutes took her out of herself.

A Slight Delay Before a Detour

It was too late to pretend not to see them. They got on board, one in the front and the other in the passenger.

"Hey ...!" Buda went.

The guy in front grumbled and stared ahead, which was only sensible since there was another passenger between them. Buda took a sneak peek from his mirror at the other guy in the passenger and assessed his chances. In a matter of seconds, he knew he had none except to drive and wait when he would be addressed. It would only be a matter of minutes because all the paying passengers were getting off at the same stop. His heart was beating fast.

The sun was out and yet the air was still just a little cool. The start of a promising good day was before Buda. But he was not going to get any of it.

His three passengers all got off at the stop. The guy in front mumbled without looking at Buda, "Drive."

He passed by a mall. He saw several people waiting as was the case every single day. He drove by the grimy fire station and saw no one. He was about to drive past an intersection when the mumbling man beside him roared, "Turn left." He turned left from the middle lane subsequently almost hitting a private car, which furiously honked its horn in protest. 

Normally, Buda would've responded with loud profanities. But today, he barely even heard the mad horn.

Buda turned into a narrow road lined with houses closely built to each other. The houses alternated with small shops of various kinds. Residents stood around, hurried away to somewhere, or worked on something right on the street. He drove in silent anticipation that something very bad was going to happen to him. The anticipation grew even graver when he kept driving for 10 more minutes in wonderfully flowing traffic, without a single word from his two passenger thugs.

"Turn here," said his front passenger. Buda followed hastily and turned into an empty dusty space. He almost did not want to stop the engine, "Keep the engine running," said the man. The other guy in the back did not say anything but Buda saw the thug move closer to him. The guy never made any threatening move beyond that. The man beside Buda turned to look at him finally. Buda kept his hands on the wheel. And for the next two minutes, he paid attention liked he'd never paid attention before.

"It's 7:30. You have until 8 tonight to get us our money or you won't be able to see tomorrow. At 6 pm, you're gonna get another visit on your route. You need to give them 50% of what you've taken for the day. If they don't get that 50%, we will pay your family a visit ...."

"Which one is that again?" the guy in the back interrupted naturally. The guy beside Buda thought for a moment and said, "The one with the six kids."

The Wife

Yolly did not know where she was or what she was going to do. She didn't recognize the street she was walking on. The people seemed alien to her; the noise they made discouraged any form of interaction. So she went on walking. With each step she took she felt lighter, almost weightless. The concept that she no longer took up space among the living made her feel indescribably joyful. Maybe this is what it felt like to take a hit of meth. One of her neighbors used to coax her into trying it. She would have dabbled in the neighborhood hobby had it not been for the company she'd be in. In spite of her seeming incapability to make the right decisions, Yolly sometimes knew when a situation would turn out as badly as it played out in her mind and she would make actually make a sensible decision. And locking herself up in a small room with three ugly sweaty men, one fat lesbian and her female neighbor who bore resemblance to someone who used to be attractive—she saw bad scenes play out in her mind. So she very kindly declined saying she had a heart condition. But the idea of achieving absolute joy, never mind if it were chemically manufactured, kept circling her mind. 

It bothered her that she'd felt joy only once in her life. And that didn't really produce what she thought it would.

She met him in her second year in high school. He was the uncle of a classmate. He'd come to the school to pick-up Roy, the classmate. Roy had been courting her with very little success. Maybe it was because he kept calling her Yolanda, which she hated. She preferred Yol. Yolly came after her twins came. At 15, Yolanda, Yol, and Yolly felt her entire being gravitating toward the older man. His name was Peter. He was a smooth talker. He'd immediately remarked how pretty she was and that he'd never seen anyone as pretty as she. 

Flattery, for most women, was a narcotic. For a young woman about to embark on self-discovery, it was a reason. 

It didn't take long to convince her to come to a motel that rented out rooms reeking of mold. Professing his undying love for her and promising eternal worship, Peter mounted her on the edge of the bed. In a moment he was finished. He held her close and smothered her with kisses. She felt wanted. She felt joy. He'd taught her how to be in the remaining hours they were locked together and she eagerly obeyed. The days after that, he failed to show himself. Failed to call her home. He failed to leave word with Roy, who began to keep his distance from her. Weeks after that, she threw up in the mornings and realized her period had not come.

Now she was trapped. Trapped in a role she never wanted in the first place. 

Of course, she could have stopped when the fourth kid was born. But then Buda came along, and she foolishly thought he would be the one. She knew she'd made a mistake the moment he came inside her. He made that face. That face she would have to stare at as she lay on her back wondering why she was allowing herself to do this.

"Are you lost?" a voice asked her.