I believe that all of us had (or will have) at least one day in our life when we became the meanest creature on earth. Bringing Adolf Hitler back to life, supporting child porn with a religious fervor, or murdering someone using a fork, aren’t really that necessary if we talk about being mean. Yes, those are horrible stuff but there’s infinitesimally little chance that a typical 16-year old can have committed any of the three examples mentioned. I’ll never forget the day assigned to me by fate. It happened on a really, really, sunny day. The sun was boasting its scorching heat and its inevitable rays.
I loathed my neighbor during that time. She always sang “O Tukso Layuan Mo Ako”, followed by “Aray”, ending the day with “Isang Linggong Pag-ibig”. I noticed that a few days before her birthday, she always mixed the lyrics either intentionally, taking into account that she had very rotten ideas for a joke, or not-so-intentionally, considering that euphoria sometimes causes that mishap. She also used to nag at me and my sister for petty reasons (i.e., walking in front of her while she was in a bad mood which meant every other day or if we were unluckier, every day).
On her special day, my family was invited to a little gathering that she and her husband (yeah, she’s married) prepared. The setting was close to being decent. There was the new wall décor which to me was simply an eyesore, the gleaming floor where at least 25% of the visitors tripped over, and half a dozen electric fans that were humming so loudly the guests felt afraid of a possible sudden explosion. On the table was the typical Filipino food plan. I’m not so sure of the things prepared but I think there were spaghetti, leche flan, gelatin, a few insects that were gate-crashing and ants that were patrolling around the area waiting for their chance to strike. The only great thing on this party was this mysterious cake. I was sure it was delicious for this selfish neighbor never put her cake on the table. She kept it to herself. I spotted her every night every day eating the cake alone in her veranda. Cakes were compulsory on birthdays in our small barangay, no matter how old the celebrant was. I felt confident she had one.
During the night, I got the chance to sneak near the kitchen where the refrigerator was located while everyone was busy in the sala drinking imported wines and gossiping. I found the cake inside the refrigerator. My heart was a boxer and my ribs, the punching bag. It was either because of excitement or because of fear. I forgot the exact feeling. I told myself that I should not miss that chance. I took in as much oxygen as would fit inside my lungs, exhaled, then spit on the cake. I spit on it a lot of times. Then I closed the ref, looked around, and breathed a sigh of relief.
It was time to go. We were her last visitors. As we were nearing the gate, she called us to a halt. She hurried inside her house and when she came back, the cake was balanced in her arms. My thoughts went wild. “Was I discovered? What will my mother do to me? Worse, what will she do to me?” But I noticed something strange; so strange it could have topped the “World Records of Strangest Things”. She was smiling when she talked to my mother. I can’t remember the exact dialogue but the ‘thought’ of her words will forever be imprinted on my mind.
“This is for you and your family. I never really shared my cake to anyone. It’s a special recipe that my daughter invented before she died. But I’ll make an exception today, just for my favorite neighbors. Here.”
I didn’t know how to react. I was young.
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