THE BONUS There was a bonus to opening an exhibition in Spain. Seven old classmates came from the United States and the Philippines to attend and show their support. It was also a break from their daily grandfather, business, and marital existences to be reunited. We have known each other for close to 50 years when we were pimply, and obnoxious, mischievous and silly, studious and barely passed, and certainly the most cutest and most sought after boys in town. And we all had a sense of humor, laughing at everything and anything, often thoughtlessly, but more often laughing as a declaration of the carefree lives we had. Through the years, our class had several premature deaths but many more would get the starting jobs after college and were on to engagements and the first of many class reunions earmarked with howls, hoots, and roars. We busied ourselves and for those who were very close to one another, made sure we’d seek them out. Like Gerry who managed to find me in the canyons of New York or out in the Redwoods forest of California. Or Tommy who’d be a Boston neighbor and make me his best man in his wedding there. There was Dave who’s rise in business were from reports but whose acquaintance I now renewed coming back to the country. There was Arnie who had become a devoted grandfather and it made sense since he was the guy who’d bring us together or made sure the birthdays were remembered. There was Celso who we all looked up to as the honors man yet was no geek but a mesmerizing class leader. Chito was the funny man, with mischief written in his eyes. And Manny, though we weren’t close then, has taken on my love for antiquarian photographs. Things are different these days. At the breakfast room, I no longer was annoyed with the ersatz Beatles songs played on classical guitar. In fact, I hummed them. There was the initial savoring of every scrumptious dish on the breakfast buffet with the accompanying confessionals about the girth and the promises to lose it. But not that day. Most everyone had their meds to gulp, the psyllium to share and the ibuprofen for aches. Tommy brought us all the gloves and the thermals and the headwarmers which came in handy for more vulnerable bodies. Forgetting the reading glasses in the room posed a drag for those no longer 20-20. Names were forgotten and eventually one of us would blurt them out, several hours later. Adding and dividing the bill seemed so much more a chore and we were math whizzes once. We didn’t skirt the ailments which we were unmindful in youth. Instead, health issues were listened to with solidarity, hugs, and vows of being there for one another. On the streets of Madrid, there was no longer a spring on the gait as I remembered then. Now, it was a leisurely amble. A long stroll through Retiro Park – Jose Rizal’s favorite – with fall colors and leaves, refusing to die, still clinging to their branches, was tonic for us, for me, despite the slight pains on the knees. We were white and peppered haired gentlemen taking in the crisp cool air, giving broad smiles to each other, secretly thankful we still had this moment to share. I think of the photograph I once took in the ‘70’s of Mon and Gerry at the Jeepney Bar in the Intercon . Two have gone and I have only Gerry now. I sidled up to him, gave a slight hug and pointed, as distraction, to a peaceful lake with rowers. At Rizal’s favorite restaurant, Viva Madrid, I espy my robust classmates; we toast each other, the feasting begins, and the laughter continues from many many years ago. It is the laughter of boys refusing to take life too seriously. A laughter to show one’s love for each other’s company. This hearty, cackling, chortle, giggling of a laughter has sustained me all these years. It was hard to see them board their cabs headed for the airports. I still had some work in Madrid. I shed tears now at a drop of a hat. It may be related to an upcoming incontinence for elderly people. They weren’t necessarily tears of sadness. More of the good fortune that I am still around, ambulatory, with still enough memory, not turned crusty. Rather, am immersed in the esteem my classmates gave me for this meaningful event. The tears were those of joy, hearing the laughter of our youth once again. And in our conscious finite lives, that’s a bonus.
Posted on: Wed, 03 Dec 2014 10:42:01 +0000
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