"Anak…'nak? Get up.”
Roben feels an incessant tapping on his shoulder. The crow of the neighborhood rooster tells him it is just four in the morning. How could his tatay wake him up in such early hour? Slowly, he goes back to sleep.
“'Ben, sige na. You must bathe,” his father prods. Roben lets out a yawn. He finally gives in. Stares into space. Sighs. Pushing himself to a sitting position, he deliberates how to start the day half-awake.
Downstairs, his tatay is a busy bee. On his one hand he holds a shirt he has ironed the night before, on the other a keypad phone pressed to his ear. Roben opens his mouth to ask who he is calling; the voice on the other line gives it away. The loudspeaker blasts on. Hammers his eardrum. Hammering his heart.
“I told you Roberto, I can’t go.”
“Please, Ermita. Today’s graduation day. You can’t miss it.”
“Sorry, I can’t. Shake Roben’s hand for me. He did a right thing for once.”
Tatay puts down the phone. He puts down the shirt. He stares at him. He stares hard. His eyes follow poor Tatay; he brushes a teardrop cascading to his wrinkled cheek. He smiles. A smile of pity. He shoos Roben to polish off a breakfast of pancit canton and poached eggs. And smiles again.
In the school grounds, all is rowdy. All but Roben. He looks around. He observes the crowd. Girls with heavy make-up; the emcee spouting words with spit. He looks at his companion. It has been the two of them all those years─his tatay and he. How could he stay sulking from this man? Roben smoothens the toga’s creases. Tatay heaves a long sigh.
“Don’t worry 'nak."
His voice is hoarse.
“I won’t soil it, so it shall be as good as new when you wear this next year.”
Roben playfully slaps his arm. “Save it for the parents’ tribute, Tay.”
They then hold hands. With soaring hearts, they walk towards the aisle of budding dreams. The march plays.
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