(AUTHOR’S NOTE: I wrote as I went, but it’s as factual as it can get. It’s a long entry, but I was in tears by the time I reached home today that I couldn’t help but write about it as soon as I can.)
As people who know me can attest, I never take cabs if I can help it. I’d much prefer jeeps, however unbelievably rude the drivers can be, because – and this might seem as creepy as it sounds – I like watching people. (I’m not even going to justify that anymore. Heh.)
Anyway, today, because it started raining after I left the mall with a friend who treated me to How to Train Your Dragon 2, I decided to take a cab. Half an hour later, I finally chanced upon an empty one. Hastily, I pulled the door open, tried to make the chattering my teeth were making a little less audible than my voice, and told the driver where I wanted to be dropped off.
He nodded his assent, I scrambled to the backseat, and off we went.
I whipped out my phone to text my roommate the plate number (hint: I will never be able to) when I saw that sitting on the passenger’s seat was a Ken Follett hardbound and a couple other books whose titles I never got around to knowing. I asked him why he had the books and, with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, he told me that the books were good company when he was stuck in traffic or had nothing to do in the in-betweens: waiting in the taxi line, in the middle of a coffee break, et cetera.
We talked about Eye of the Needle and other things when he mentioned, in passing, that his favourite author was John Grisham. My eyes lit up, and then I said, “He’s one of the biggest reasons why I want to go into the law profession!” He chuckled then, and told me, “Have you read Pelican Brief?”
We exhausted the Grisham titles we had in mind then, alternating his works between us.
Already I was sucked into the conversation.
Then I asked him, “Are your children as well-read as you are?” “Yes, I guess,” he said, “my eldest daughter was in love with Nancy Drew, and my second was so smitten with Harry Potter, especially when it first got released. I remember that they would throw tantrums when the succeeding books would come out. Now both of them have the complete collection.” I remember smiling then — this sounded too much like me. In fact, he sounded too much like my dad, especially when my dad would start ranting about how I spend too much on books and not enough on food. In fact, I just got back from a 3-book haul at a bookstore the day before: 3 books for the considerably cheap price of 130 pesos.
I, of course, mentioned this to the cabbie as soon as it crossed my mind.
There’s no other way to go about with this, but he positively lit up hearing about it. He said that after he dropped me off, he would go straight to the bookstore and see if he can find anything interesting, both for him and his daughters.
I smiled.
As we were inching our way through the snail paced traffic of the metro, I glanced at him. “You must have really bright daughters, then.”
He smiled, “Can I brag for a bit?”
“Sure,” I said, hoping that he wouldn’t say anything obnoxious. I mean, it really was a refreshing conversation.
He pulled down the sun shade and offered three papers to me. Family achievements, he said. Curiously, I peered at the papers and was met by a nice surprise. The first two were a diploma/physicians’ board exam result photocopy, and the third was a copy of a congratulatory letter for having been able to attain a spot in the top ten of the Philippine Regulatory Board for Teachers.
Needless to say, I was in awe.
He then proceeded to tell me about his daughters, one of which was my sister’s batchmate (as it were) in med school, because they took their oaths at the same time. I was in the event that day, and, as it turned out, so was he. I was so proud of my sister then, but I have no doubt he was even prouder of his daughter. His second eldest went on to do a masters in education, but she had to stop because she was offered a job in a prestigious school in the city. She will, according to him, continue the masters this year.
I was astounded hearing all these. I mean, here I was — a blabbering mess, a future law student who’s uncertain of what may lay ahead — and there he was, a father gushing on about his daughters, proud about all their accomplishments. I had to interrupt him then. I told him, “These accomplishments are as much theirs as they are yours. I’m sure your daughters are prouder of you than you will ever be of them. I mean, if you didn’t instil in them your love for the printed word, then they may have been put off by the mere sight of textbooks by the time they decided they’d go on for further study.”
“Are you a reader?”
“Well, I am going into law school.”
We laughed at this.
Finally, the cab was slowing down to a halt. “This was a good conversation,” I remarked.
He gave his assent, and then he told me, “You’ll do well, future attorney.”
I reminded him again of the booksale. And then, before he bid goodbye, he turned around and gave me a huge, toothed smile. Then he was off, hopefully to go buy more books.
—
Like I said earlier, I was never able to get the cab’s plate number (the first time I actually wasn’t able to, weirdly enough), but I did get a surname: Patigas.
Mr. Patigas, wherever you are, whether you’re in a gas station right now, with your family, or busy perusing a new book in the confines of your ’98 Toyota, I’d just like to say how fortunate I was to have been your passenger for a while. And though I have a few other questions I’d like to ask you, I don’t mind if I won’t have to anymore. That conversation was enough reminder for me to see that people become much, much more if you talk to them. If I didn’t inquire about that Follett book, I probably wouldn’t have known how much of a hero you are, or how much of a gushing dad you can be given the chance.
Also, thanks for reminding me that good conversations come from good books.
Most of all, however, thanks for making me remember that everywhere I go, people have stories. And while many of them can be depressing, a whole lot more are uplifting, and funny, and eye-opening. That I, too, have a story — am a story in the making. That the best stories are not those about faraway lands involving witches and warlocks and dragons (although those are pretty good stories too), but about personal heroism, of realized dreams, and of mundane, ordinary things — like cab rides.
Thank you, and I wish you much, much, much more in life.
Of perpetual finds 