everything will fall into place

IN THE BREEZY sala with the old rectangular narra table, the usual suspects are there. Tita Beth has brought her famous binagoongan, and her husband Tito Boy also has his Lucky Strike to curb his equally famous smoking habit. Their son, my cousin Anton, is there, with his red eyes and awfully quiet demeanor. Yaya Rose is in her usual spot in the kitchen. Lola sits at one end of the table, where Lolo used to sit. My sister Liza is now old enough to sit with the grown-ups, and is now sitting in my Lola’s old seat, beside her.

But there’s still one unoccupied chair, and save for my our hands to pray. The seat at the opposite end was Kuya Marcus’— always the ideal kuya, who usually led the same prayer during our family dinners since we were young enough to remember these things, and without him, we were lost on what to do. It was Lolo who taught us how to pray before each meal.

Our usual prayers felt mechanical and sounded the same, because they were. But Kuya Marcus took these family dinner prayers seriously. After much prodding, Liza begrudgingly prays, her eyes locked on Dad’s lips, mouthing the whole thing. It was the same usual prayer except for one sentence.

Please spare us from harm and danger. Except for those who hurt Kuya. We ask all of this in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior. Amen.

The conversation after dinner feels empty. Tito Boy leaves for the veranda more often than normal to smoke. No one is laughing. Lola and Mom don’t even touch their food. My father sala.

I am about to return to my room when I hear an all too familiar, hushed, but still piercing cry coming from my parents’ room. I take a look inside and see my mother clutching Marcus’ college graduation picture, the light from outside the Parang awa ng Diyos, umuwi ka na, anak Liza and I weren’t allowed to see the body when it happened. But we both saw it when a local news station showed the CCTV I look at my computer screen and blink. The screen blinks back.