only fools fall (for you) | elias/ibarra

chapter seven

Basilio de la Cruz lives for two things and two things only; God and his dead family.

His brother, who could have been named Crispin ("Papangalan ko siyang Crispin, kagaya ng lolo.") but never even lived long enough to open his eyes. He was born too soon, and died right after he was born.

His father, who should have been there for them. But he was drunk, and always sad- he blamed his mother for his child's death. He filled his veins with alcohol and hate, that he forgot about his other son.

His mother, his saint mother- who would have been 34 years old today. But just like life took away everything Basilio loves, his mother took her own life.

Basilio sits on the grass and lights up the candle on top of a little cupcake he bought from the local bakery. Together with the flowers he bought with the money from his own allowance, he places both on top of his mother's tombstone. He closes his eyes, mutters a small prayer, and blows the small wisp of fire on the candle. He smiles and moves his gaze from his mother's tombstone to his brother's... then to his father's.

Basilio's life is like that; full of could have, should have, and would have been. But he has come to terms that nothing in life is temporary- or fair. So he tries to adjust- and he's good at that.

But he never forgets.

Just like he never forgets that his mother's favourite item that she owned (not that they owned a lot ) was her wedding ring. An old, worn ring that his father inherited from his mother. It was a true testament of their once happy marriage, and Basilio wishes that his mother was still alive and his father still cared enough to rekindle it.

'Ma,' he whispers, throat tight. 'Naalala mo yung project ko sa Calc? Naka-A+ ako sa project ko ngayon, tapos nung nag-speech ako kanina sa Social Sciences, manghang-mangha sa akin yung prof ko." Basilio tries to smile. He looks down, and grips at the grass he's sitting on. 'Miss na miss na kita, Ma.'

He lets the tears fall, because there hasn't been a day when he doesn't mourn for them. ' It's not fair, ' he thinks childishly.

Basilio stays there until sunset, and after he says goodbye to his family, he wipes his tears, blows a kiss to their tombstone and prays to himself.

He goes back to the Ibarra's house, does the unwashed dishes, fixed his his things, and went to his small, quaint room to take a quick, power nap. He dreams about blood. An endless stream of it. He dreams of his mother's slitted neck; the way the flesh beneath her skin was exposed. He wakes up, sweaty but used to it. That's what his dreams contain nowadays. Blood. Flesh. Death.

When he wakes up, he was greeted by Crisostomo's father, Rafael. , Rafael.'Basilio anak, kumain ka muna.' He has a kind smile when he speaks, one that reaches up to his eyes. That smile is one of the many things he has grown accustomed to and find comfort in ever since he came here.

'Ah, okay lang po, kumain na po ako.' Basilio smiles back, grabs his backpack and rummages through it. Five years of living here and he still feels shy around the Ibarra's.

They saved his life. Without Mr. Ibarra's compassion and unending kindness, he never would have survived— even get a proper education. They were the reason he has a roof above his head, and food in his stomach. When his mother had died, and his father disappeared to the other side of the earth, Mr. Ibarra kept him like his own. It was not that hard to adjust; they were already close and dear to him anyway.

'Kamusta school?'

'Okay naman po,' Basilio paused before speaking, 'Nagpa-consult po ako ng grades kanina, pasado naman po lahat. Sabi po ng adviser ko malaki daw yung chance kong maging isa sa mga top.'