Right after his work in one of the big shot buildings in Ayala Avenue, he drove straight to Glorietta where his mom, together with some long-time family friends, had been waiting. They were going to the Sacred Heart Shrine in Makati to hear mass.
Going to church was the least of his priorities. Jericho would rather hang around in the office and get bored out of his wits trying to imagine he’s actually doing something worth his life. But as Wednesday approached, he knew he had to accompany his mother and her three other amigas to another one of their phony pious activities. His mom calls it panata, while Jericho refers to it as “church-hopping”. Being the only son meant he was the designated family driver, much to his dismay.
“Hurry up, Jericho! Archbishop Ignacio Cansolas is celebrating mass. We can’t be late!”
“Can’t you see the traffic, Ma? Just be patient, we’ll get there.”
“You should have left earlier!”
To keep a constructive outlook, he decided to just think of it as another passing family obligation which has its rewards. His titas will surely treat him and his mom to a hearty buffet dinner after the excruciating religious ceremony. He thought, “Free food. Can’t complain”.
They arrived late for the seven-thirty evening mass. The Gloria had been sung and the Responsorial Psalms were already repeated. This was one of the few instances where Jericho praised traffic in his life. By then, he only needed to sit in that shrine for thirty minutes. He nearly slept through the archbishop’s sermon about repentance, acknowledging God as your savior, renouncing sin and Satan, and finally returning to the Lord. The old man told moving parables which nearly made Jericho cry out of boredom, and upon hearing the word “confession”. It’s the last thing he ever wants to do in his life. Not even his mother can cram him into that confessional box. It was just something he would never compromise.
"Remember, Man is dust, and unto dust you shall return," were the only things the archbishop said which made sense to him. Pondering on this further warranted his disposition. No one gets out of this life unscathed. Nothing remains pure. We’re all dirty human beings. There’s no point in confessing only to sin again. Nevertheless, this didn’t stop Jericho from falling in line to receive a cross of ash on his forehead.
“Turn away from sin and be faithful to the Gospel”, the archbishop proclaimed.
“It’s too late for that”, Jericho mumbled.
As the archbishop drew the cross on his forehead, Jericho looked straight into his eyes. Human to human. The old man examined his unyielding gaze, only to let it go. Somehow, Jericho knew the archbishop understood his severe stare. After this brief encounter, he slipped past the crowd and headed straight out of the shrine instead of returning to his seat. He preferred to wait outside the church door for his mom and his titas. The closing remarks were said and the recessional hymn was sung. Upon leaving, the old women started to problematize the next venue of their buffet frenzy.
As Jericho expected, they had a swanky dinner somewhere in Salcedo Village after the mass. Once done being the object of his titas’ musings and enjoying the sumptuous meal, he drove home with his mom. Although he was quite disturbed by the way that archbishop stared back into him at church that night, he easily forgot about it upon returning to his sleek office the following morning.
That Saturday, he went about his usual weekend routine. If his mom enjoys “church-hopping”, Jericho very much prefers “bar-hopping”. These bars all start with a capital G with establishments including Brix Nightclub, Che'lu, O Bar, Government and Divino. His sexual exploits consisted of two to three men on an ordinary weekend. One can only try to imagine how these escapades pan out during longer holidays.
On that particular evening, Jericho stood by the counter and ordered absinthe. Just as he was about to look for a cozy seat near two other men, an old gentleman from across the bar caught his eye. Jon, the bar tender, served his glass. “Your drink, sir. Compliments of Mr. Iñigo”, points to the old gentleman across the dim bar.
Jericho took his glass and went to greet Iñigo.
“Thanks, for the drink. I’m Jericho.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Jon said you’re Iñigo? Funny.”
“Why? What’s wrong with a hot name that means on fire?”
“No, your other name.”
“You remember...”
“Hello, Ignacio.” He fixes a quizzing stare. Ignacio smugly beams.
“So, where do you want to go?”
“To church.”
