Dead, Alive

I died five months ago. Flashes of cheap gunshots still stir my ears. Ghosts from that dreadful day of February 22 still haunt me. Every night, I dream in serene normal scenes, but I get shot in the finale. I can’t remove the blood on my hands.

                                                                                                                                 

Blood on my shirt...

Stern monster-faced man...

Hot sweat on my forehead...

A stranger’s bag on my shoulder...

                                                                                                                                    

Vivid pictures of a terrible incident changed the way I think about life. I got spared again. How many lives do I possess? Nine? I don’t know. I wrote something about cell phones several months ago - (Saying Goodbye To Dying NOKIAs). I didn’t say goodbye to that precious Nokia. It was absurd. I was predicting my fate. Something has to happen before I realize what I was scribbling.

                                                                                                                                  

It was four in the afternoon in Tomas Claudio Street in Baclaran. Everything happened in split seconds. While commuting on an FX car, I heard a suspicious guy declare a hold-up. With blurred recognition, he was about five feet four, medium built, bald, in his forties and has grumpy face. I opened my eyes and a 38mm was in front of me. He was looking at me in the eyes. He demands that I give my phone quickly. My first instinct was to fight. I was still groggy from droning that time. Instantly, I took my phone in the pocket. I threw it up front in the driver. “BOG!” I just heard the gadget hit the front mirror. I extended my left leg, moved my foot and all I could remember was I was thumping on his face. He goes out of the car. I just heard two relentless fires.

                                                                                                                        

BANG! BANG!

                                                                                                                                    

There were four people at the backseat, including the perpetrator. The holdupper fled after the gunshots, unsuccessful of his intentions. The plump guy in front of me was blank. My seatmate was covering his two knees. Four passengers next to us were stammering if they got shot. I check on myself, I was ok. I took my seatmate’s hand. It was covered in blood. I was in panic. I shouted “nearest hospital!” to the driver. With all passengers in shock, I was comforting the guy next to me. His eyes were on tears. I was telling him to just hold on. I was helpless. I opt to call Ryan. But my phone’s still missing. I yelled at the driver to hand me over the phone. He was frantically looking for it then gave it to me. Before I could make a call, we were at the San Juan De Dios Hospital along Edsa Extension. All I could hear, see and feel was tension.

                                                                                                                                

After the nerve wracking scenes, I was calmed. A tall female nurse told me that the doctor wants to talk to me. I then realized that the victim’s knapsack was on my shoulder, and his sleepers were in my hands. I handed it over to the nurse. I also asked her where I could wash my hands coated in blood. Watching blood flowing on the sink made me nauseous. Hurriedly, I composed myself. I was nearly approaching the emergency room. The patient was conscious. He handed me over his wallet and phone. “Please don’t leave me till my relative comes,” he pleaded. I assured him.

                                                                                                                         

From the personal things that were surrendered to me, I opened his wallet and checked on his IDs. I felt shivers when I got to know the details about my human shield, my accidental “angel.” The stray bullets were specifically meant for me. He caught it for me – on his two knees. The guy’s name was Nick. He is 27 years old, married with two kids, and works for a Chinese restaurant in Binondo. He told me to call his employer and not her wife. She might get shocked. Later on, I was taking to a Chinoy on his cell phone. The voice in crooked Tagalog told me that two men are coming to take care of things.

                                                                                                                                 

Nick was already calmed. He was thanking me for being there. I’m still in guilt and still speechless. He said that I should have given the phone to that scum. When Ryan came, he reprimanded me that he could buy a dozen of phones but not a single life. But still, Nick didn’t blame me for his fate. He didn't know that he saved me. Later on, his co-workers arrived. I gave them almost all my money in my pocket because I could see that Nick’s wallet only contained a hundred. Mixed emotions loaded my head that day. I still died. Some part of me was lost. I’m still hanging over with guilt and “What ifs.”

                                                                                                                                 

1.     What if I gave my cell phone? Would he still fire that gun? I was crying over the guy who was attacked in Paranaque two months ago and got shot in the head. It could have been me.

2.     What if Nick helped me during the struggle? Might he have survived?

3.     What if I never knew that the other passengers inside the car were co-perpetrators? Ryan told me to stop communicating with Nick because he’s still a stranger. Nobody knows if he’s with the criminal. Uncertain of his persona, I should stay away from him. Someday, I’ll find him and express my deep gratitude.

                                                                                                                                     

Several questions still shadow my mind. Those questions make me uncertain of my second chance, third, fourth. Another chance was given to me. I’m getting older tomorrow. It’s my birthday! Probably, it would be different. I never had been so thankful that I’m alive. I still don’t know what’s in store for me. Guess I’ll be celebrating a new Rei. I am certain, something’s coming over.