I never talked nor got close to him before but then again he never talked. He just stood there on the divider eying vehicles passing by, peering in the windscreen as if searching for something or someone. He never disturb anyone. He just stood there with his bicycle, with no expression in his eyes, everyday without fail. Sometimes an old man, an old carbon copy of himself would accompany him and on other days he would be by himself.
“Why is that boy standing there, aunty?” I asked my aunty when he came into view. My aunty was driving the car. ‘The boy’ as I called him was wearing a white T-shirt with blue stripes on the sleeves and Bermuda shorts. His hair was cut short and his spectacle was crooked on the left side.
“Don’t point, honey,” said my aunty nervously. She was always nervous whenever she was driving, which was weird since she had 20 years of experience.
“Why?” I asked innocently.
“Because it is rude, that’s why.”
“But aunty, he won’t feel anything. Mommy said that he doesn’t have any feelings and he doesn’t think but I shouldn’t get close to him because he might be dangerous,” I said with me eyes still looking at the boy through the rear view mirror. He was staring at our car. I waved at the mirror and almost expected the boy to wave back, but no, there he stood, motionless except for his head moving back and forth looking at the cars passing by.
“It’s rude.”
“But he’s not right in the head, is he aunty? Mommy says that he is pure, people like him don’t have any sins and have a special place in the sky for them.”
“Even so, you have to respect him and his space. Don’t you go near him, do you understand?” asked aunty sternly. I nodded my head, my ponytail bob up and down in unison.
“Why is he there?” I asked again.
“He’s waiting for his mommy.”
“Is she coming back?” I asked innocently. My aunty sighed, she was tired of my question.
“No honey, she’s ever coming back.”
“Why?” I asked. Aunty didn’t answer me, so I just lay back on my seat and looked again at the rear view mirror. He was already out of our view….
Time passed and through the years, I would still see the boy waiting on the divider with his trusty bicycle at his side. He grew from a teenage boy to a young man and then to an adult, loyally waiting on the divider. His father would accompany him. His father was the one who took care of him, making sure that he took his baths, he wore clean clothes and he had taken his food. I respected the father, to have the heavy responsibility of taking care of such a child when at that age it should be the child taking care of the father. Yet his devotion towards his son was moving as he stood by the son, accompanying him, shielding him from the rain with a worn out umbrella and he did it with compassion. Not a single trace of regret or embarrassment was on his face as some cars would blow their horns at the pair.
Some people would have questioned the father. Why encouraged the son? Why not seek help? Why burden his own self when he could just send his son to an asylum? Everyone could see that he was getting old and fragile, but the old man persisted.
I was 20 that year and I had gotten my drivers license. Dad had let me used his car to work. So I usually passed by the place where the duo would keep watch.
I was passing by one morning and I saw the old man leaning on his son. His right arm around his son’s shoulder tightly. I never saw him did that before. I couldn’t help looking at him through the rear view mirror and as I drove away, I somehow knew that was the last time I would see the old man. His last loving gesture towards his beloved son….
It was a week after that when the news broke that the old man had passed away.
‘What would happen to the son?’ I thought sadly. Nobody could give that answer and nobody had seen the son since the news came out.
I did however see him, not at his usual spot. He was wandering along the road near a school area. I was picking up some groceries for my aunty. I stopped at a T-junction and saw him. His hair had grown long with a patch of baldness on the top and his clothes were shabby. His short was full of dirt and stain. He had a beard and a moustache on his usual clean shaved face, showing of his age which was presumably approaching 30. He was pulling his old rusty bicycle, with its chain broken and dragged on the ground. Both the tires were flat. His eyes were void of emotions, yet when I looked at him there in front of me, looking left and right, tears weld in my eyes. He looked like a little lost boy with no sense of direction.
A car blew its horn at me and I drove away.
“Poor guy, poor helpless, senseless guy,” I muttered as I passed him…..
“Darn.” I cursed trying to wipe the mist from the window. It was raining heavily that morning. I could hardly see the road and the humidity in the car was misting up the windscreen. I cursed again as the air-condition was acting up again. The digital clock in the car was showing 6.00 a.m. I had decided to go to work earlier than usual to prepare some items for a presentation that morning.
“Come on car, don’t act up on me now,” I muttered one hand gripping the wheel while another, trying to wipe the windscreen to get a clearer vision of the road. I was driving at 60 km per hour in the heavy downpour. With the mist and the downpour of rain, I could only see within 50 meter radiance. I was too busy concentrating on both hands that I failed to see a figure crossing the road right in front of my car! I jolted and grabbed both hands on the steering wheel when the figure came into my view. We were so close that I doubted I could break in time. I stepped on the break and swerved the car to my left. The car screeched as it lost control, ramming into the railings at the side of the road and nose dived into a monsoon drain. As I swerved, I could see clearly the image of the pedestrian with his bushy beard, looking blankly as I lost control.
“Somebody help me!” I screamed, trying to open the door. It had been raining heavily since four in the morning and the drain was over flowing with water. The water inside the car was rising until my waist. I tried again the door but to no avail. I unbuckled my seatbelt and tried to roll down the windscreen. More water gushed into the car. I tried to climb out of the open windscreen when I felt a sharp pain on both of my legs. When the car dived into the drain, my body was flung forcefully in front. The seatbelts had cushion the impact on my upper body but my knees were swung upwards and my kneecaps hit below the dashboard with such force, I was sure that I had either broken or fractured my kneecaps from the sheer pain it cause from any movement to my legs. I tried again to push my body up only to slump back again in pain.
“Help me!” I screamed again. I blew the horn several times hoping that someone would hear me through the thunderous rain. The water was rising up to my chest.
I heard a splash and looked out of the open windscreen. My eyes grew wide as I saw who it was.
“Help me. I can’t open the door,” I shouted through the heaven rain. He peered inside the car looking at me with confused eyes.
“Mommy?” he said with an almost childlike voice.
“What? No. I need help. Please,” I cried not caring whether he understood me or not. He looked at me again and started to pull the door with both hands like a child pulling on his cradle railing hoping to get out. The door didn’t budge.
“Mommy, come out,” he said desperately. He grabbed me on both arms and started to pull me.
“Wait my legs!” I screamed as I felt the pain surging up my spine. He didn’t listen and continued to pull me from the windscreen. He grabbed hold of my back and pulled my out. I nearly collapse in the drain as I couldn’t stand. Without saying anything he carried me on his shoulders and proceeded to climb out of the monsoon drain. He laid me on the ground at the side of the road. I was trying to recover by breath and also my heartbeat when he grabbed me on the shoulder.
“Mommy, mommy,” he cried shaking me like a raggedy doll. The violent movement was causing the pain to emerge.
“I’m not your mother,” I said feeling more than a little afraid. He suddenly pulled me up and enveloped me in a strong bear hug.
“Aargh!” I screamed as the pressure that my body was giving my legs was unbearable. I begged for the man to let me go but he hugged me even harder. I was losing conscience when I heard loud angry shouting from around me. Some passer bys had seen me on the side of the road and had thought that the man was attacking me. They rush to us and roughly pulled him from me. Again I fell feverishly to the ground, unconscious….
“How are you, honey?” asked my aunt, the first face that I saw when I regained conscious. I looked around me a bit confused.
“You’re in the hospital,” said my aunty fiddling with the flower on the small table near my bed. I looked down my legs hoping that they were there. I had a weird dream that my legs were cut off. Both my legs were cemented.
I sighed, at least they weren’t amputated. I asked my aunt where my parents were and she told me that they had gone home for dinner. She also told me that I had been in the hospital for 2 days.
Wow, I was unconscious for two days.
“How is the car?” I asked.
“Pretty bad, the engine has to be replaced.”
I looked up at my aunty, she was still fiddling with the flower.
“How is the man?”
“He was chased away. I don’t know what happened to him. Thankfully he didn’t do anything bad to you. He was holding you so tight. Some of the man there shouted and he got scared and ran away.”
“But he saved my life,” I said feeling sorry for the guy.
“Maybe he did but we will never know what’s running in his head. These type of people are unpredictable, honey. They may save your life one day and they may attack or rape you the next,” said my aunty casually. I pulled myself to a sitting position.
“What actually happen to his mother?” I asked. My aunty looked at me and pulled a plastic chair to my bed.
“I heard from some people that his mother died in a car accident on the same stretch of road when he was five. His mother promised to buy him a toy car and went to the store. People said that he was waiting on that divider when he saw a lorry lost control and rammed into his mother’s small car. Her car had lost control and tipped over. She was trapped in the car. She died on the spot and they found the little boy tugging his mother’s hand trying to pull her out.”
“Huh.”
“What’s wrong?” my aunty asked looking at me.
“He called me ‘Mommy’,” I said quietly. My aunty didn’t say anything. The two of us sat there in silence….
I lay in bed that night unable to sleep. I couldn’t help thinking about the man. I felt sorry for him, being traumatized like that at such a young age. Yet he had responded when I was trapped in my car.
Had he been waiting all these years, traumatized by the feeling of guilt, unable to accept that she had died? Hoping and waiting for another chance to save her? He didn’t know who I was and he didn’t even acknowledge me. Probably in his mind, he saw his mother.
Whatever it was I was thankful that he saved me and no matter what people say…he was my hero.
I never saw him after that incident. He was no where to be found. I tried searching for him around the area where I first saw him wandering. Nobody had any clue where he was. There were rumors that he was hit by a car and died. I choose to ignore that rumor, for me, I would like to think that he had done what he had wanted to do a long time ago, to save his mother and to find peace. If he was gone, I hoped he was happy with his mother and father.
Funny to feel this way for someone that was misunderstood and feared. All through the years I had never bothered to know his name. Maybe I could do that…find his name. It would be nice to talk about him as a friend then a stranger.
Yeah, I think I’ll do that…
End
(The watcher does exist but unfortunately he passed away whether he met with an accident , got hit by a car , that one I'm not sure. It just that one day he wasn't at the divider and people just said he died. May he rest in peace)
“Why is that boy standing there, aunty?” I asked my aunty when he came into view. My aunty was driving the car. ‘The boy’ as I called him was wearing a white T-shirt with blue stripes on the sleeves and Bermuda shorts. His hair was cut short and his spectacle was crooked on the left side.
“Don’t point, honey,” said my aunty nervously. She was always nervous whenever she was driving, which was weird since she had 20 years of experience.
“Why?” I asked innocently.
“Because it is rude, that’s why.”
“But aunty, he won’t feel anything. Mommy said that he doesn’t have any feelings and he doesn’t think but I shouldn’t get close to him because he might be dangerous,” I said with me eyes still looking at the boy through the rear view mirror. He was staring at our car. I waved at the mirror and almost expected the boy to wave back, but no, there he stood, motionless except for his head moving back and forth looking at the cars passing by.
“It’s rude.”
“But he’s not right in the head, is he aunty? Mommy says that he is pure, people like him don’t have any sins and have a special place in the sky for them.”
“Even so, you have to respect him and his space. Don’t you go near him, do you understand?” asked aunty sternly. I nodded my head, my ponytail bob up and down in unison.
“Why is he there?” I asked again.
“He’s waiting for his mommy.”
“Is she coming back?” I asked innocently. My aunty sighed, she was tired of my question.
“No honey, she’s ever coming back.”
“Why?” I asked. Aunty didn’t answer me, so I just lay back on my seat and looked again at the rear view mirror. He was already out of our view….
Time passed and through the years, I would still see the boy waiting on the divider with his trusty bicycle at his side. He grew from a teenage boy to a young man and then to an adult, loyally waiting on the divider. His father would accompany him. His father was the one who took care of him, making sure that he took his baths, he wore clean clothes and he had taken his food. I respected the father, to have the heavy responsibility of taking care of such a child when at that age it should be the child taking care of the father. Yet his devotion towards his son was moving as he stood by the son, accompanying him, shielding him from the rain with a worn out umbrella and he did it with compassion. Not a single trace of regret or embarrassment was on his face as some cars would blow their horns at the pair.
Some people would have questioned the father. Why encouraged the son? Why not seek help? Why burden his own self when he could just send his son to an asylum? Everyone could see that he was getting old and fragile, but the old man persisted.
I was 20 that year and I had gotten my drivers license. Dad had let me used his car to work. So I usually passed by the place where the duo would keep watch.
I was passing by one morning and I saw the old man leaning on his son. His right arm around his son’s shoulder tightly. I never saw him did that before. I couldn’t help looking at him through the rear view mirror and as I drove away, I somehow knew that was the last time I would see the old man. His last loving gesture towards his beloved son….
It was a week after that when the news broke that the old man had passed away.
‘What would happen to the son?’ I thought sadly. Nobody could give that answer and nobody had seen the son since the news came out.
I did however see him, not at his usual spot. He was wandering along the road near a school area. I was picking up some groceries for my aunty. I stopped at a T-junction and saw him. His hair had grown long with a patch of baldness on the top and his clothes were shabby. His short was full of dirt and stain. He had a beard and a moustache on his usual clean shaved face, showing of his age which was presumably approaching 30. He was pulling his old rusty bicycle, with its chain broken and dragged on the ground. Both the tires were flat. His eyes were void of emotions, yet when I looked at him there in front of me, looking left and right, tears weld in my eyes. He looked like a little lost boy with no sense of direction.
A car blew its horn at me and I drove away.
“Poor guy, poor helpless, senseless guy,” I muttered as I passed him…..
“Darn.” I cursed trying to wipe the mist from the window. It was raining heavily that morning. I could hardly see the road and the humidity in the car was misting up the windscreen. I cursed again as the air-condition was acting up again. The digital clock in the car was showing 6.00 a.m. I had decided to go to work earlier than usual to prepare some items for a presentation that morning.
“Come on car, don’t act up on me now,” I muttered one hand gripping the wheel while another, trying to wipe the windscreen to get a clearer vision of the road. I was driving at 60 km per hour in the heavy downpour. With the mist and the downpour of rain, I could only see within 50 meter radiance. I was too busy concentrating on both hands that I failed to see a figure crossing the road right in front of my car! I jolted and grabbed both hands on the steering wheel when the figure came into my view. We were so close that I doubted I could break in time. I stepped on the break and swerved the car to my left. The car screeched as it lost control, ramming into the railings at the side of the road and nose dived into a monsoon drain. As I swerved, I could see clearly the image of the pedestrian with his bushy beard, looking blankly as I lost control.
“Somebody help me!” I screamed, trying to open the door. It had been raining heavily since four in the morning and the drain was over flowing with water. The water inside the car was rising until my waist. I tried again the door but to no avail. I unbuckled my seatbelt and tried to roll down the windscreen. More water gushed into the car. I tried to climb out of the open windscreen when I felt a sharp pain on both of my legs. When the car dived into the drain, my body was flung forcefully in front. The seatbelts had cushion the impact on my upper body but my knees were swung upwards and my kneecaps hit below the dashboard with such force, I was sure that I had either broken or fractured my kneecaps from the sheer pain it cause from any movement to my legs. I tried again to push my body up only to slump back again in pain.
“Help me!” I screamed again. I blew the horn several times hoping that someone would hear me through the thunderous rain. The water was rising up to my chest.
I heard a splash and looked out of the open windscreen. My eyes grew wide as I saw who it was.
“Help me. I can’t open the door,” I shouted through the heaven rain. He peered inside the car looking at me with confused eyes.
“Mommy?” he said with an almost childlike voice.
“What? No. I need help. Please,” I cried not caring whether he understood me or not. He looked at me again and started to pull the door with both hands like a child pulling on his cradle railing hoping to get out. The door didn’t budge.
“Mommy, come out,” he said desperately. He grabbed me on both arms and started to pull me.
“Wait my legs!” I screamed as I felt the pain surging up my spine. He didn’t listen and continued to pull me from the windscreen. He grabbed hold of my back and pulled my out. I nearly collapse in the drain as I couldn’t stand. Without saying anything he carried me on his shoulders and proceeded to climb out of the monsoon drain. He laid me on the ground at the side of the road. I was trying to recover by breath and also my heartbeat when he grabbed me on the shoulder.
“Mommy, mommy,” he cried shaking me like a raggedy doll. The violent movement was causing the pain to emerge.
“I’m not your mother,” I said feeling more than a little afraid. He suddenly pulled me up and enveloped me in a strong bear hug.
“Aargh!” I screamed as the pressure that my body was giving my legs was unbearable. I begged for the man to let me go but he hugged me even harder. I was losing conscience when I heard loud angry shouting from around me. Some passer bys had seen me on the side of the road and had thought that the man was attacking me. They rush to us and roughly pulled him from me. Again I fell feverishly to the ground, unconscious….
“How are you, honey?” asked my aunt, the first face that I saw when I regained conscious. I looked around me a bit confused.
“You’re in the hospital,” said my aunty fiddling with the flower on the small table near my bed. I looked down my legs hoping that they were there. I had a weird dream that my legs were cut off. Both my legs were cemented.
I sighed, at least they weren’t amputated. I asked my aunt where my parents were and she told me that they had gone home for dinner. She also told me that I had been in the hospital for 2 days.
Wow, I was unconscious for two days.
“How is the car?” I asked.
“Pretty bad, the engine has to be replaced.”
I looked up at my aunty, she was still fiddling with the flower.
“How is the man?”
“He was chased away. I don’t know what happened to him. Thankfully he didn’t do anything bad to you. He was holding you so tight. Some of the man there shouted and he got scared and ran away.”
“But he saved my life,” I said feeling sorry for the guy.
“Maybe he did but we will never know what’s running in his head. These type of people are unpredictable, honey. They may save your life one day and they may attack or rape you the next,” said my aunty casually. I pulled myself to a sitting position.
“What actually happen to his mother?” I asked. My aunty looked at me and pulled a plastic chair to my bed.
“I heard from some people that his mother died in a car accident on the same stretch of road when he was five. His mother promised to buy him a toy car and went to the store. People said that he was waiting on that divider when he saw a lorry lost control and rammed into his mother’s small car. Her car had lost control and tipped over. She was trapped in the car. She died on the spot and they found the little boy tugging his mother’s hand trying to pull her out.”
“Huh.”
“What’s wrong?” my aunty asked looking at me.
“He called me ‘Mommy’,” I said quietly. My aunty didn’t say anything. The two of us sat there in silence….
I lay in bed that night unable to sleep. I couldn’t help thinking about the man. I felt sorry for him, being traumatized like that at such a young age. Yet he had responded when I was trapped in my car.
Had he been waiting all these years, traumatized by the feeling of guilt, unable to accept that she had died? Hoping and waiting for another chance to save her? He didn’t know who I was and he didn’t even acknowledge me. Probably in his mind, he saw his mother.
Whatever it was I was thankful that he saved me and no matter what people say…he was my hero.
I never saw him after that incident. He was no where to be found. I tried searching for him around the area where I first saw him wandering. Nobody had any clue where he was. There were rumors that he was hit by a car and died. I choose to ignore that rumor, for me, I would like to think that he had done what he had wanted to do a long time ago, to save his mother and to find peace. If he was gone, I hoped he was happy with his mother and father.
Funny to feel this way for someone that was misunderstood and feared. All through the years I had never bothered to know his name. Maybe I could do that…find his name. It would be nice to talk about him as a friend then a stranger.
Yeah, I think I’ll do that…
End
(The watcher does exist but unfortunately he passed away whether he met with an accident , got hit by a car , that one I'm not sure. It just that one day he wasn't at the divider and people just said he died. May he rest in peace)
No comments:
Post a Comment