Their Days of Nights

02 : Night

Benjamin

My mom picks up the plates and brings them to the kitchen. We just had dinner. Well, the rest of my family did. It's breakfast on my part.

She offered once to prepare a different set of meals for me, but I told her she didn't have to. I also brought it up before, about me living on my own, so I won't bother them much, especially with my work schedule. But they're in consensus that it's nonsense and impractical since we're only less than thirty minutes away from my office. So, I'm still here.

My younger sister, Althea, stands up and goes upstairs. My dad leaves the table as well. I stay behind, with my first cup of coffee for the night, or day. Whichever, I need caffeine to start my routine.

I glance up at the clock on the wall next to the sliding doors leading outside to the narrow backdoor area of the house. Seven-fifteen. I finish my drink and surrender the mug to my mom. I reach over the cupboard and take out the two tumblers that I bring to work: one for water, one for coffee. Then I go upstairs to my room.

I open the backpack resting on my chair, place the tumblers inside, and check if I have all my stuff there. Then I grab the towel hanging on the back of my door and head out for the bathroom to take a shower. 

*

I see Althea in front of the TV as I go down the stairs. It's Friday, and she's free to stay up late. Not that there are strict rules around here, she just sets them for herself. She acts a lot like an adult that sometimes it's hard to believe she's just about to turn thirteen. My older sister, Jessy, is out of town again on a work trip.

"I'm heading out now," I tell my parents, who are in the kitchen, quietly laughing about something.

"Careful on your way," dad says with a nod.

"See you back in the morning," mom says as I open the side door going out to the garage.

It started as a joke because I leave for work at night and go back home in the morning. Then it became her send-off greeting.

I take out the iPod from the front of my bag and place it in the pocket of my jeans. I walk out of our driveway and to the gate of the compound. I stop and wait for the guard to open it and let me out. I give him a nod, and I put my earphones on.

I keep my eyes down on the sidewalk as I leave the street. The music is internalizing in my head, but I can still hear the noises from the streets. Cars, jeeps, people. They look alive, and they sound full of life as well.

From the jeep that took me to the Metro Train Line 3 south station to the train where I'm at right now, people are the same. Some look tired, and who wouldn't if they're just heading home from work? Some are smiling and carrying shopping bags from a round of spending money at the malls. Others are like me—creatures of the night—who are only about to start their days. They look fresh and groomed. Most of them even show signs of a hopeful feeling, probably from anticipating when they check their balance later at an ATM.

I stand up from the bench and wait for the train to stop at the CBD station. The doors open, I go out, bump with one or two shoulders of those hurrying their way through, tap my card, and walk toward the exit. I take the stairs going down to the walkway that connects to Main Avenue. I could take the Loop, those air-conditioned jeepneys going around the streets of the CBD, but I'd rather walk.

I keep my eyes level now as I drag my feet, to the beat of the song in my ears, along the sidewalk of Main Avenue. I also pay attention to the people passing by on my sides. It's a habit that started earlier this year, out of a juvenile notion of a serendipitous what-if.