I felt like I had plopped my head on my pillow for just a minute or so I when I heard my lolo singing. He was singing a rip-off of Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You" in the vernacular and it went on and on and on. Forcing one eye open, I grabbed my phone off my desk which was cluttered with papers and a highlighter. The phone display window said "Sniper calling." Yup, it was my grandfather all right...as if the wailing were not enough to indicate the caller's identity. I have a customized ringtone for my mother, father, sister and grandparents which features each of them singing a tune of their choice. That way, just hearing the phone ring would tell me who wants/needs to chit-chat with me.
"Hello Lo..." I said, trying to mask my sleepy voice. I could tell it was still dark outside so I craned my neck just a bit to steal a glance at the wall clock. 6:00 AM, Friday morning. I had been asleep for 3 hours and I could feel my brain begging "You need more."
"Hello, Butra? You still asleep?"
My eyes flew wide open almost immediately. There was nothing different about what he said - the trademark singsong voice he uses when he wants to be treated like a big baby, punctuated by wheezing; the monicker had given me as a newborn baby which only he uses...
But there was something about the way he sounded. He sounded so happy and cheery my half-dead brain conjured thoughts of blueberry cheescake and strawberry-and-cream at 6 AM with a half-full stomach.
I told him I slept at 3 AM, having had to pore through cases and textbooks. He then sounded apologetic and tried to end the call but I told him to go ahead. "What's up?"
He said he just woke up that morning feeling "great," "strong," "healthy," "happy," "relaxed" and all other adjectives related to "wonderful." I asked him where he was. He told me he was sitting in the back of his house in our hometown, absorbing a good amount of vitamin D. He mentioned he had gone for a walk that morning and checked out his trees and vegetables in his little garden near the kitchen. He was alone, he said, but his terrier-dachshund Sam was there to keep him company. "Your lola is still asleep," he told me.
He just sounded so pleasant I felt like the pall that had been hovering over me since the week started had been lifted all of a sudden. School was fine but some of my classmates were not. There seemed to be an extra helping of sadness and a little bit more worry during the week. It did not help that my lolo himself had been down with the flu recently which left him sounding nasal, tired and spent over the phone. But now he sounded like Hercules with a dandelion tucked in his ear.
I listened to him as he talked about this and that, about how my cousin CJ was going to celebrate her birthday later that day, about many other things most of which I cannot remember. Twenty years from now, if someone were to ask me the first thing I would remember about my 6 AM Friday conversation with my lolo, I'd say - "his hearty laugh." He has always had that hearty laugh but never before did it sound more significant and more meaningful than that morning.
The second thing I would remember would be this - it was the first time in a long time that, without him knowing it, my lolo made me cry.
"Hello Lo..." I said, trying to mask my sleepy voice. I could tell it was still dark outside so I craned my neck just a bit to steal a glance at the wall clock. 6:00 AM, Friday morning. I had been asleep for 3 hours and I could feel my brain begging "You need more."
"Hello, Butra? You still asleep?"
My eyes flew wide open almost immediately. There was nothing different about what he said - the trademark singsong voice he uses when he wants to be treated like a big baby, punctuated by wheezing; the monicker had given me as a newborn baby which only he uses...
But there was something about the way he sounded. He sounded so happy and cheery my half-dead brain conjured thoughts of blueberry cheescake and strawberry-and-cream at 6 AM with a half-full stomach.
I told him I slept at 3 AM, having had to pore through cases and textbooks. He then sounded apologetic and tried to end the call but I told him to go ahead. "What's up?"
He said he just woke up that morning feeling "great," "strong," "healthy," "happy," "relaxed" and all other adjectives related to "wonderful." I asked him where he was. He told me he was sitting in the back of his house in our hometown, absorbing a good amount of vitamin D. He mentioned he had gone for a walk that morning and checked out his trees and vegetables in his little garden near the kitchen. He was alone, he said, but his terrier-dachshund Sam was there to keep him company. "Your lola is still asleep," he told me.
He just sounded so pleasant I felt like the pall that had been hovering over me since the week started had been lifted all of a sudden. School was fine but some of my classmates were not. There seemed to be an extra helping of sadness and a little bit more worry during the week. It did not help that my lolo himself had been down with the flu recently which left him sounding nasal, tired and spent over the phone. But now he sounded like Hercules with a dandelion tucked in his ear.
I listened to him as he talked about this and that, about how my cousin CJ was going to celebrate her birthday later that day, about many other things most of which I cannot remember. Twenty years from now, if someone were to ask me the first thing I would remember about my 6 AM Friday conversation with my lolo, I'd say - "his hearty laugh." He has always had that hearty laugh but never before did it sound more significant and more meaningful than that morning.
The second thing I would remember would be this - it was the first time in a long time that, without him knowing it, my lolo made me cry.
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