The swim suit of Kuya Leonie

By Al S. Mendoza

FIRST, he sends me a text message from Los Angeles, California.

“I am arriving tomorrow on board a Korean Air jet,” he says. “Hope to see you immediately upon my arrival.”

“C yah when I C yah!”

Next day, he calls.

“I have just landed,” says he. “Am here at the airport. Where can I see you?”

“Now? Today?”

“Yeah,” says he. “You want a swim suit, right?”

“Ah, you are here for the summer, ha?”

“Well, not really,” he says. “I have a swim suit for you, anyway. Where can I see you?”

“Name the place.”

“OK, I’ll look for a place where we can meet,” he says. “I’ll call you again. Bye.”

About 45 minutes later, he’s on the phone again.

“I am now here in front of Muñoz Market,” he says. “Couldn’t find a place in Makati. All shops are closed. Travel time has become faster than I expected. Suddenly, I am in this place beside a gasoline station in Edsa. Why, what happened to Manila’s horrible traffic?”

“Oh, man, oh, man, it’s Good Friday,” I say. “People are all out of the city!”

“Uh-oh,” says he. “It’s like I just landed in Ghost Town.”

“So, where are you?” I ask.

“Am here in, wait Chowking,” says he. “Yes, Chowking. This is now Balintawak, I guess.”

“That’s quite far from where I am now,” I say.

“Shit!”

“That’s all right,” I say. “We can meet when you are settled down. Relax.”

“But I want to see you now,” says he. “People I care for, people I  love, special people, I want to see them immediately.”

He’s been away nearly 20 years.

“So, can I see you today, now?”

“I’m quite far from you,” I say. “I’ll visit you when you get home.”

Silence. Deafening.

“OK,” he says. “I’ll see you then.”

Sadness grips me.

I call him.

“Hi, buddy,” I say. “Ya still there?”

“Yeah!”

I visualize a pair of eyes a-twinkling.

“OK, am boarding my car in five minutes,” I say. “Give me 30 minutes.”

“Take it easy,” says he. “Drive at your   leisure. I’ll be here waiting. If it takes forever, then so be it.”

Kuya Leonie (Galvez) hasn’t changed one bit.

Wearing a long-sleeved, blue denim shirt and a pair of khaki pants, Kuya Leonie looked resplendent. He was all smiles.

“Thanks  for coming,” he says.

His trademark moustache hasn’t turned white despite the years. His bushy, salt-and-pepper hair hasn’t thinned one bit, either. Still trim and fit. No tummy. Unbent. Sexy.

“How old are you now?”

“’Ty-five,” says he.

“So, what brought you home?”

“I bought a mango farm,” says he. “People ask me, ‘Why buy a mango farm?’ I tell them, ‘I’ll sell mangoes in Divisoria the next time I come home.’”

All these years, Kuya Leonie hasn’t lost his sense of humor.

“What I lost in America were my sins of humor,” says he. “Sins as in S-I-N-S, sins.”

He laughs heartily.

Eighteen years he has been away.

“Am having breakfast with Ermin (Garcia Jr.) tomorrow at Star Plaza Hotel where I am staying,” he says. “Why don’t you join us?

“Would love to but I have a prior commitment,” I say. “Why don’t you invite  Jun (Velasco)?  Thank you, anyway.”

He gives me a Sports Illustrated magazine.

“Here’s your swim suit,” he says. Laughs.

Why, it’s the  SI swim suit edition, one of the most  awaited   issues yearly  of the world’s   most  popular sports weekly magazine.

“Hope you like it,” says he.

“Of course,” I say. “But more than the magazine, it’s the thought. Thanks.”

Time and distance – they don’t matter at all when we talk of friendship.

That’s what Leonie Galvez has just galvanized once again.

Swim suit or no swim suit.

(Readers may reach columnist at also147@yahoo.com. For past columns, click http://sundaypunch.prepys.com/archives/category/opinion/general-admission/ For reactions to this column, click “Send MESSAGES, OPINIONS, COMMENTS” on default page.)

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