Someone is not going home tonight

As our HMO provider's contract has expired, we are now in the process of selecting our next health card. Last Thursday would have been an ordinary presentation of the various contenders for our school, or so we thought. Amid the hohums and hrmphs we gave out as we listened to each presentors, we did not expect to be shocked for the unexpected ending.

The last presentor could have been ordinary except for a minor slur in his speech and the fact that he was sort of hurrying up his presentation did not help any. It could have been an Ilocano accent, I thought. However, just as he finished and handed the mike over to the emcee, he collapsed! I did not notice it. I just got to realize something was happening when I saw a colleague rushing out of the auditorium and the guy was being carried out. We looked on puzzled but stayed inside the auditorium for the closing prayer.

When I got out of the auditorium, I happened to pass by the clinic and curiosity got the better of me, went inside to check how the guy was doing. He was still unconscious. I just got a glimpse of the school doctor unwrapping that thing she uses to take my blood pressure. I heard her suggest that the guy be taken to the hospital immediately. Since I was there already, I helped carry the guy to the vehicle. That being way past the dismissal time, the ambulance that stays inside the campus has already gone.

He was very heavy. I thought it was a wrong move on my part to take the head part. I may not be able to sustain enough strength all the way to the van. Thank God, I did. As we loaded him to the vehicle, I noticed that he has already wetted his pants. That was not a good sign. I remember the time when I took an unconscious neighbor, to the hospital one morning in 2007. He had a heart attack and he did wet his pants. I remember the doctor saying that was not a good sign. My neighbor was pronounced dead after several attempts to revive him. So you can just imagine the horror I felt when I felt the guy had wetted his pants.

As my car is still out of commission, (now they tell me it's the piston rings that do not function well) I had to stay with my friend to whom I hitch a ride all the way to my place. It was raining hard and we decided a couple of beers could be handy. It was there when my principal called me up to tell me the guy has expired. God bless his soul.

I wish the circumstances were different but experiences like this one makes my creative juices flow and it triggered my poetic instincts anew. Here is one poem I dedicate to the man who shall forever be unnamed to me. May he rest in peace.

Someone is not going home tonight

I can imagine how your morning went.
You probably calculated how much toothpaste
you shall put on your toothbrush.
Parted your straight hair with your favorite comb,
favored your black shirt over the red one
and meticulously checked if your white pants
have been ironed out well before putting it on.

I bet you never knew
you were not going home tonight.

You must have sat down quietly on the table,
said grace before your meal. Spread butter over
your toast albeit mindlessly.
Your thoughts were on your work
and a thousand other things.
You probably gave out reminders
to your kids like not to stay
late for after all

you never knew
you were not going home tonight.

You shined your shoes and put them on.
You kissed your wife goodbye
and headed for the door.
With your hand holding on to your youngest,
laptop clutched on your other shoulder,
you stepped out of the gate, walked a few steps
and turned around to look back at your house.
You missed your wife’s wave of goodbye
for she was engaged with household chores.

If she only knew
you were not going home tonight.

I noticed the slur on your speech
how your tongue rolled out the syllables.
Maybe it was just an accent you had
or so I thought. Then, all of a sudden
you melted like a candle.
Never got up until you expired.
To me, you may be a stranger
who shall remain unnamed except
for the thought that

you were someone
who was not going home tonight.

rolly