He Came to Us in a Dream. . .
. . .And he wore the same shirt with floral prints, like the one he wore when we saw him last. He might as well be saying how come we don’t try to make contact with him, why don’t we write about his arse.
He was our third cousin, and we were classmates in grade school. He belonged to the attractive side of our gene pool. He was full of mischief, as far as cousins go, one time suggesting to us to bathe and just leave the soap lather on, so we could have a nice skin. Whoa, what a joke it was.
The moment he was through with Grade VI, he transplanted himself to Manila and landed a gig as a house help for a well-to-do family. And because he was good-looking, one of the daughters fell for him and they married. He already had a growing family and a flourishing grocery business when at last we met. He entertained us, bringing us to a cabaret in Pasay City, where he had his kabit girls. Still full of mischief–our cousin.
In more ways than one, his being moneyed changed him. His other cousins found him unapproachable and aloof. More so that they had issues with inherited land. One time his younger brother got slain, and it was as if the world fell on itself. He took the loss to his innermost core–and drowning himself in drunken stupor was his way of coping. Eventually, his body’s defenses gave way, and he died a broken man.
That was Arturo Lobrigo, our good looking and playboy cuz.