Bye, Mike, but no real goodbye

By Al S. Mendoza

 

MIKE S. Ramos was my friend for decades.

We were circumcised on the same day, one summer when the angels were still asleep.

At the break of dawn, we dipped our bodies from waist down in the river that flows not as serenely as before anymore.

It was a ritual every kid in town must go through right after Grade 6.

The queue was that long at the Dr. Lopez Clinic.

But since our house was just across from Dr. Lopez’s clinic, and Dr. Lopez (bless his soul) has been the family doctor for the longest time, I ended up first.

So close was our family to Dr. Lopez, whom we all called Tio Felicing (Felicisimo), that he never charged us a cent.

His son, the forever handsome Dr. Fernando Lopez, is now our family doctor.

When Tio Felicing called me up front, I said to him, “Pero Tio Felicing, panun si Mike ey?  Walad kutit.”

(“But Uncle Felicing, how about Mike?  He’s bringing up the rear.”)

He knew we were the best of buddies.

“Mike, galadya iho,” Dr. Lopez said to Mike.  “Abayan mo’y amigom Al.  Singa natatakot.”

(“Mike, come forward.  Stay close to Al.  He looks scared.”)

That’s the story of our hop to manhood.

Our houses are sandwiched by two houses on General Luna St. in Mangatarem.

There wasn’t one school day that Mike and I didn’t go to the same elementary school together.

It was snapped when Mike’s parents decided to transfer their kids to schools in Manila.

Tio Doming, Mike’s father, worked at Philippine National Railways in Manila.

Mike and I parted ways when I got to Grade 4, he Grade 5.

We’d renew ties every summer, though, when school was off.

That’s when he’d tell stories of FPJ movies he’d seen in Manila.

Mike was now the Manila boy.  Big shot.  Idol.

Us wide-eyed provincianos, hungry for big screen stuff from the Big City, were eternally mesmerized by his blow-by-blow account of FPJ films.

Complete with action and dramatization.

Sound effects of FPJ’s machinegun punches rained on either Max Alvarado and Paquito Diaz were graphically dished out by Mike.

Then in third year high, Mike got kicked out of Ramon Magsaysay High School along Espana, Manila.  Juvenile infraction or something.

After a one-year furlough in Mangatarem, he was enrolled in my hometown alma mater.

Finally, we were classmates in fourth year.

A fighter of the raging bull type, Mike loved challenges.

We had this every Monday quiz of 100 questions on current events and social studies.

For the entire school year, he’d challenge me to a bet on who’d get the better score between the two of us.

Giniling sandwich and coke at the carinderia was the prize.

Because he was stubborn as a bull, alas, he’d always lose.

For the entire school year, my recess snack had been for free.

Thank you, Mike.

He loved me that much that he made me ninong to both his sons, Bacoy and Jessie Boy

Mike left us six days after his birthday on May 8.

“He died peacefully,” Jessie Boy said to me.  “He was calling out his Dad and friends, with you, Ninong, as last in his list, before he breathed his last.”

Enjoy your vacation, dear Mike.

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