Memories

The Dried Falls

Burning LeavesIt was all a bright morning in one of those normal Grade Five days when we were told to clean the areas alloted to Mrs. Castillo’s class down at the left wing of the intermediate building. Girls would take brooms and dust pans and started sweeping dried leaves and would create a molehill of trashy dried falls. Boys being boys were seen running and would not start the chore until being reminded. I saw Ped Victoriano started putting fire on one of those gathered leaves, and fresh grass were thrown over the fire that it created a billow of smoke overhead. While seeing the white vapor gracefully ascending and somehow suspended for the wind was nowhere to be felt, I was so  mesmerized even the scene was almost a daily occurence back in our own homeyards, I grabbed a lonesome paper landed on the side and hastily created a fiery rod to start another smokey molehill.

Nakita ako ni Ped nga ga-suga it papel, abo nag-bulig man tana, ging kumos nana it pahaba kag nag sindi idto sa kalayo nga ging sugaan nakon, owa pa ako katindog bitbit nana ang papel nga ga-dabdab kag maayan gani imaw itdo sa isyang surug-anan, hay sa ano tana nga pagkatabo nataktak tana ang isyang parte it anang suga sa akong tu-o nga butkon, “aruy…” imaw gin ang akong singgit, napaso takon it papel, dali-dali man nana it ging buol ang kalayo, pero tu tana nag-pal-ak lagi akong panit, gumuwa ang puti. Daw matangis ko kato pero ging pug-ngan ko lang, karahuya bay, Grade V ron takon no. Natapos ang among panglimpiyo ngato nga may bugkos nga panyo ang akong butkon.

We went back to our classroom and I made an appeal to Ped not to tell Manong Awe (my big brother) and it would be a good two slaps on the butt if ever Papa would know about it. You already suffered the pain of the burns, you will still have a stripe or two of red on your behind. Weeks, months came to pass and the wound was totally healed. Today I still brandish the scar left by that morning chore and seeing it reminds me of my happy childhood years as I trip down the memory lane.

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