LITERARY: "Bowing to the Inevitable" by: Erica G. Ildefonso

"Bowing to the Inevitable"

by: Erica G. Ildefonso

Evenings in her apartment could be tremendously sweltering, given the confined space that limited the airflow. The defective fan, which she still used despite the hum of blades jarring on her ears, seemed to be the only source of breeze flooding the room. Though it was telling on her nerves, she thanked the strident noise for it kept her sane: each turn a subtle reminder that she had tons of work to accomplish for tomorrow.

Sigh.

As she was busy making a PowerPoint presentation, a message popped up on the screen of her phone. She was hesitant because it was almost midnight. Thinking it was some student badgering her with nonsensical inquiries, she ignored the text. Tap. Tap. Tap. The clattering of the keyboard duetted with the fan like some sort of instrumental background until three consecutive messenger notifications disturbed the harmony. Ready to chide whoever failed to adhere to her no-calls-or-text-will-be-entertained-after-10-pm policy, she picked up the phone and opened the message.

It read: “mam pwde p ba pa-extnd ng deadline ng proj”

Another sigh.

She could've chosen to discard it or let herself fly into a temper and send a hostile reply. She gave the instruction two weeks ago: what possible explanation could be posed rather than slacking off? Without thinking it over, she composed a message declining the request. She was about to hit the send button when she caught a glimpse of the sender's name: Emanuel Santos. That rang a bell. With almost three hundred students under her subject, it was hard to be acquainted with everyone on the list, but this one, she was sure it was the same boy whom the other teachers described as a nuisance.

However, she knew he wasn't ㅡ well, at least, he didn’t choose to be one.

After some pondering, she sent a like button instead and received a thank you message after.

Her consideration on this appeal was not acquiescence for sure. It was more leaning toward her empathy. She remembered the news broke five months ago when the young lad lost his father, leaving the responsibility on him alone as the eldest child. Although she was not quite sure about the exact nature of his passing – given the solitary living of the family – some suppositions arose that it was the virus. Having been crippled financially, he eventually lost the fight to his malady.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The clicking of keys echoed in the room again, not failing to stay congruous with the fan. The noise, however, was not enough to drown the din of memories in her head, especially now that her eyes landed on the picture frame beside her laptop - a black and white photograph of a couple smiling with a young girl in the middle.

Just like Emanuel, she also lost a loved one to the pandemic.  

She couldn't stop herself from falling into a state of melancholy. She longed for someone who she wished was there to hold and kiss her and to somehow abate her misery. Before a tear could even escape her eyes, a frail hand landed on her mousepad.

“Mama.” The girl was rubbing her half-closed eyes, fighting the urge to yawn.

Suddenly, she had come back to her senses. She remembered promising that she would sleep beside her daughter tonight, but the demands of school work made that impossible. As if to hide her compunction, she patted the little girl’s head and carried her back to their bed. She tucked her in and planted small kisses on her forehead.

“Will you sleep beside me after you're done?” There was a hint of desperation in the girl’s tone, almost imperceptibly, as if careful not to burden her. It did not escape her sense, however. To relieve her daughter, she nodded and hugged her little body. It was warm – the kind of warmth that always effaced her exhaustion.

After she broke the embrace, her daughter beamed at her, the grin appeared to be painted in her mouth permanently. 

"I'm proud of you, mama."

Those four words seemed to allay her long-day fatigue. That smile escorted her to the office when she left, ready to face her work once more. Only now, her heart was brimmed with gleaming hope to try again.