John Rey Dave Aquino

A Boy, Inarticulate

When Jeremy’s godmother and god brother arrived at the Rosaleses’ house on an unbearable summer afternoon in April, it was not only to say hi.

It was summer break, and Jeremy was up on a high branch of the mango tree in their backyard. He liked climbing there because of the cooler, fresher air. When the tricycle stopped in front of his house, he watched as a middle-aged woman stepped out of the sidecar, followed by a tall young man. He heard the guy’s voice first before seeing his face, which was partially hidden by a cap. “It’s hot here, Ma,” he complained, then unfastened the top two buttons of his polo. His mother nodded in agreement and asked him to take the valise down from the tricycle’s burning roof.

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