“Bossing, can you two spare an old timer like me two pesos and fifty cents?”

beggar
dialectics, I gather, must’ve been influenced heavily by some obscure
Confucian philosophy nobody has ever heard of. I mean there must be an
old adage that says ‘he who asks for two pesos and fifty cents is bound to get three pesos’
What other way can you explain the two pesos and fifty cents thing?
Maybe he has five pesos and the jeepney fare to his home costs seven
pesos and fifty cents. But beggars like this one don’t have homes. Fuck, I don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine.

“My carburetor is hot.” I said. The drunk just stands there with a flabbergasted look on his face.

Very much like women,
when you’re being bothered by a beggar, especially a drunk one, always
say something totally unrelated to what they’re asking from you. Like
when they ask for food, you respond with something along the lines of
‘Dioxyribonucleic Acid is sour or I’m straight and I have syphilis.”
This will seriously throw them off balance and by the time they get
their bearings you’ve already entered the door or half a block away.

I
walk behind Jay through the door; the sound of Rage Against the Machine
suffused with the convulsive conversation of people well on their way
to the wonderful world of intoxication grew louder as we make our way
to the middle of the joint to an empty table.

Roland’s
is a local bar we frequent. We even played sets here during my rock
star glory days. It deviates from the typical bar layout though and
more like some criminal gang’s hideout. The place is a hole in the wall
with a makeshift bar that serves beer and hard liquor on one side. But
what’s up with the people watching television on one corner? The
goth-looking couple making out? The stray cat loitering around looking
for morsels of food?

They
have a Quezon City business permit and a liquor license. They also have one
of those San Miguel Beer sponsored neon signs but that’s as far as any
resemblance to a real bar would go.

It’s
going to be interesting to finally introduce Nisha to Jay whom I
consider in more ways than one to be my best friend. Jay may be an
alcoholic and acts like a total douche bag half of the time but if you
really want to know, it’s all a big image thing. Anybody who really
knows Jay would testify to the guy’s sharpness. He’s a very talented
musician too. I wonder what he’d think of Nixie.

I
didn’t tell Jay that Nixie is my girlfriend; because she’s not. But
Nixie doesn’t need to throw herself all over me for Jay to smell that
something is going on. His sensors will immediately pick up subtle
gestures and he’d skip to drawing up his own conclusions. He has been
very outspoken in the past when it comes to my girlfriends and if I
discount the fact that Jay’s the most promiscuous guy I know, I’d
probably say he’s gay.

He’s
right most of the time though. He hated my last two girlfriends with
intensity and I never could get him to say why. My last girlfriend for
instance, pressured to say what he didn’t like about her, he’d simply
say ‘I don’t know man, there’s just something wrong with her.’ And as
it turns out, he was absolutely correct. Of course it took me a while
to figure that out and the entire relationship turned out to be a big
clusterfuck.

Jay sits down
in front of a table somewhere in the back part of the bar. It is
decorated with empty beer bottles and a huge vase-like ashtray people
have dumped their butts and ashes onto from other tables.

“So what’s up with you and Angela?” I ask Jay.

“I realized
that it’s been quite a while since Angela did something I wanted to do
for a change. I mean look, she doesn’t even come drinking with us
anymore. She doesn’t want to see me play with Julius and the band too
and on the rare instances that she does, she whines and complains every
time and we end up having to leave after half an hour or so. Man it’s
fucked up. All she wants to do is hang out with her girl friends in
some swanky club in Makati. Talk about a one sided relationship.”

“Honestly, I mean I’m not trying to burst your bubble here, but it has always been
a one sided relationship. Angela was a drag even when she was still
hanging out with us. She didn’t mingle well with our friends and always
seemed to have a world of her own.” I say, chugging a huge gulp of Red
Horse.

“Or she always wanted to just stay at her place and have sex.” he replies lighting his fourth cigarette of the night.

“That sounds like fun. I mean if I had a piece of ass as fine as her, I would stay home and bang away all fucking night.” I’m an asshole like that, I know.

“Oh yeah fucker? Then maybe you should!” He puts out his cigarette and flicks it towards me in mock anger.

“Just kidding! Jesus!” I said dodging ashes and stray embers.

“You
know how it was, I gave up our band for her man!” He says putting a
fork-full of sisig into his mouth. “I gave up a lot and this is what I
get in return?” He said chewing and doing his best impression of cookie
monster.

“Our band sucked Jay.”

“What!? Why did our band suck?!” he asks a little bugged off.

“First
of all, I’m not Brandon Boyd and I won’t take off my shirt during gigs
like you ask me to. And second; two words; Vocalist Drummer.”

“Bullshit! Remember Paco Arespacochaga?”

“Where’re the Introvoys now?” I said tapping my fourth empty red horse bottle hard on the table top.

Jay’s
eyes suddenly squint towards the general direction of the door.
Instinctively, I start to turn around to see what he’s looking at but
he subtly holds a hand up to me motioning me not to.

“Pare, don’t look. Somebody evil from your past just walked in.”

“Huh? Who?”

Totoy Hilaw? The grade school bully who stole my Duke Gi Joe action figure? The girl who made me touch the innards of an electric socket? Our maid who molested me? Dammit! Who?!

“Camille.”

“Putang
ina.” Camille is one of my ex girlfriends. The one with delusions of
grandeur. The one whom I used to pick up and drop off in front of a
stately mansion inside an executive village only to find out later on
that the house wasn’t hers. She’ the sort of memory you put in a box,
seal with duct tape and file in an archive labeled ‘Psychopath – Never
open. EVAR’. And ironically, she’s in the same bar where you have
your best friend and, ahem, future girl friend.

I didn’t turn around. Instead, I run complex permutations and calculations in my brain.

Jay + Nisha + Camille = Clusterfuck.

“Don’t look but she’s with some guy.” Jay says.

“Dude,
check out if they have rings. The last time I talked to her, she told
me she was pregnant, she didn’t tell me she was getting married though.”

“Shit.
Are you crazy Mike? Anyone with half a brain wouldn’t marry Camille.”
he has a point. “I take that back, they DO have rings.” He adds tugging
my shirt like an excited kid.

Whew.
Hallelujah. I finally turned to look. I gave her a casual wave and my
infamous sarcastic grin. She smiles back uneasily and raises her hand
in some sort of wave back taking in what I looked like after all this
time and who I was with.

Yeah check me out why don’t you bitch. I lost sixty pounds since you last saw me. Who’s the tabachuychuy now huh? Bitch?

The guy she’s with is looking at me but hasn’t figured out who I am yet. He leans in closer to hear her whisper something.

That’s
right Mr. Camille’s husband. I’m that Mike guy you’ve been hearing
about. I’m just another average Joe like you and not the complete Jerk
she probably made me to look like. And yes she did have an abortion if you didn’t know that yet.

The
guy kind of gives me a polite nod and I sort of feel a mixture of pity
and empathy for him. I mean, I know what a total nutcase Camille is.
I’ve survived her delusions of grandeur her eternal PMSing and I’ve got
the purple hearts to show for it buddy boy. I seriously, and I’m going
to say it again for emphasis, seriously wish you luck my friend.