I
remember having a friend who was the picture of cool in all situations. Catch
him in a lie, run him into a serial killer, accuse him of sleeping with your
mom, and he’d just sit there with the same bleary smirk that could always be
interpreted in a couple million ways.

I believe
there’s a word for that—Imperturbable.

I got the
call around 1:00am; and when you’re trying to make the most out of your
recent emancipation from corporate slavery like I was, you tend not to
appreciate calls at this ungodly hour. I was squinting, my eyes trying to
adjust to the incredibly bright screen of my phone:

 – Villar, Ryan –

It was my
17 year old brother. And he has always been the harbinger of bad news for as
long as I can remember. I held the phone to my ear.

“Kuya, shit…” He said, sounding like he’s
about to break down into a sob anytime.

“What did
you manage to get yourself into this time you stupid fuck?” I said preempting
him.

“I swear
I didn’t do anything, Rocky got into a fight with this frat boy and Chester and
I were just trying to get them to stop but the cops brought us in too. I’m in Precinct
5 near Fairview wet market; kuya
please come now, they’re threatening to throw us in the can! I don’t want to
get thrown in that shit hole!” he said finally letting out a small sob.

“Motherfuck-baby
sheep-lord” I said in the rough English translation and I apologize to you
readers for that. You see, at times when I’m under duress, pressure or in this
case, extremely surprised; stupid flakey cusses have a tendency to fly out of
my mouth at breakneck speeds. I probably should keep a list because they can
really be hilarious. I remember a time when I stubbed my toe really hard on a
door frame and “Mother-shit-big-mouse-pussy-burger” was the first expletive to
come out. I don’t have the slightest idea as to what that means but at that
time I’m sure it translated to “Holy fuck that hurts like hell!”

So I guess I’m not ‘imperturbable’ like my friend. Au contraire, the weird indescribable
look on my face could probably be interpreted in three different ways, all of which
would be absolutely correct: How many people did you end up murdering? How many
Kilos of heroine were caught on you? Shit you have to get mad at him or
something! Wipe that stupid look on your face Mike and calm the fuck down.

“Jesus.
Okay, I’m on my way. Ask the station commander or whoever is in charge right
now not to throw you in the cell yet. Tell him, it’s your right to wait for
your relatives or legal counsel before they can do that.” Of course I just made
that up as my knowledge of law is laughable at best.

“Don’t
tell Mama and Papa, they might get
mad at me.” My brother pleaded. He’s an idiot, don’t tell me.

“Oh I’m
sure they’re going to love you more than ever now and probably even buy you a
new bike or something. I mean what an achievement! Seventeen fucking years old
and you’re going to do time already! Give yourself a pat on the back brother!”
I probably shouldn’t have said that but I just woke up and my blood wasn’t
circulating properly. I hung up.

I took a
minute to collect my thoughts. I probably should tell at least my Dad given my
utter ignorance of Philippine law. Besides he might know people who could fast
track this entire thing and get my brother out before he gets acquainted with
an inmate’s dick.

I can’t
believe the urgency of the situation hasn’t prevented me from trying to look
good. The hair wax goes in, with my hands trying to shape my hair into
chaotically organized spikes; sexy. The facial cleanser goes on. I brush my
teeth and gargle with Listerine and it’s a mad dash to the closet. I have lots
of clothes. I didn’t realize it until recently but it looks like I could go on
for three months without doing laundry.It’s almost gay for a guy to have this many clothes.

I grab a
pair of jeans, a navy blue shirt and a red, hooded cardigan. I stand in front
of the mirror and hold the articles of clothing up to me then went on swinging
and turning girlishly like I’m checking out an evening gown. “You’re so sexy.
You go get them girl!” I said in mock gayness. I should probably stop doing
this too because people are starting to doubt my sexual orientation when they
see me doing these crazy things.

I grabbed
my Adidas sneaks from the shoe rack. I spritzed some cologne on myself which is
weird because I’m not able to smell this thing since I bought it last week so I
don’t see the point in putting it on. What’s up with that? I try to alternate
colognes and still can’t smell any of them. At most, I’m able to pick up the
scent for a few minutes after I put them on. I gather your nose starts to think
that the cologne is part of your own odor after it gets used to it and ignores
it. My odor, after all, is ignorable.

I look at
myself in the mirror and I’m proud to see the reflection of someone who looks
like he’s Kuya Germs’ lapdog.

Then I
realize I’m not going to a party.

I’m going
to a jail where there are hardened criminals who would be more than willing to sodomize
me given the chance.

I change
my clothes.