Last One on the Table

She was a sickly child of seven when her mother told her about the importance of eating fruits and vegetables. It was a way to encourage her to become stronger. Not that feeding her kangkong or sitaw was a problem. Angela ate anything her mother served on that table whether she liked the taste and texture or not. The child practically ate anything, she swept her plate clean. However, she never got to finish lunch or dinner without everyone leaving her on that dining table. Angela’s dad and brother would go and watch TV or play baril-barilan right after eating. She was always left alone to finish a meal, always the last to go. And she didn’t seem to mind.        

On that particular night, Angela’s mom wanted her to eat faster. Her mom found it a bit annoying that she always had to wait so long just to clear up the table. She got used to collecting the other plates, utensils, and glasses to wash them in the kitchen sink, only to come back and find Angela still poking at her food.

To instill a sense of urgency on the child, Angela’s mother decided to tell her what her lola and titas used to tell her about women who always get left behind on the dining table.

“Angela, hurry up! Do you know what happens to girls kapag napagliligpitan?” She seemed passive, but her mom knew she was listening. She didn’t talk much. Her mom sat beside her and turned toward her with a pensive stare.

“Masamang napagliligpitan sa hapag kainan. Sige ka, hindi ka makapag-aasawa.” Angela’s mom, realizing she’s too young to give thought to what she said, suddenly felt careless. The child just gave her a dumb stare like that of a delicate cartoon deer.

The next night, her mom decided not to force Angela to eat any faster. Just when she was about to stand up and clear the dishes, Angela’s brother began poking fun at his sister’s slow eating habits.

“Hey, slow-mo! Hurry up! Sige ka, ‘di ka makakapag asawa.” Angela’s mom was shocked. Gino, Angela’s older brother, must have overheard her little talk. Gino would pester Angela with this almost every dinner time. She hoped Angela would forget it but it didn’t seem like she would quickly dismiss her brother’s insensitive banters. From then on, her daughter would sit through dinner fumbling hastily on her food for years to come. She stood when everyone was done with their meal.

Years later, her memory would be too fragmented to remember that part of her childhood. A grown up Angela would come to enjoy fine dinners with some of her friends. The restaurant got used to their group’s Saturday dinners that they always reserved a spot for them, one with a good long table.

“Who’s up for dessert? Trish, Mike? Kayo, Angela?”, asked Paula.

“Ryan and I want some! Hmm, let me see”, said Angela, now with her boyfriend, Ryan.

“Order some more cocktails! Kulang pa ‘to!”, a tipsy Camille insisted.

Ryan wasn’t particularly demonstrative, but he cared a lot for Angela. He was already her 6^th boyfriend after a series of bad, not so bad, and terrible break-ups. They’ve known each other a while but have been on and off their relationship. On that night, nonetheless, Ryan wanted to ask Angela a very important question.

“Hey, drink up! Wala munang uuwi!”, it was very much like Camille to assert her fondness for friends and good stiff drinks. Ryan saw this as an apt opportunity to pop the question to Angela. All her close friends were there. He thought it was about time they settled down. So, ask he did. And the drinking just went on and on.

Hours after the plates have been cleared, the last order of Mojito came from the bar. Most of Angela’s friends have left, and so did Ryan. Here now, she thinks of how to go home, “There must be a cab somewhere at this hour.”