Embarrassed

t was one hot Friday afternoon long time ago. I was absorbed checking the essay part of a midterm exam in my political science class at Agusan Colleges. All of a sudden the siren of the sawmill near our house in Golden Ribbon blasted the hour of the day: 5 pm. I was rattled. I remembered that I had a date at 5:30 that afternoon with Ms C. B., a pretty MSUan who was teaching at Agusan National High School. I rushed for a shower, changed my clothes, run to the street and hailed a motor-cab. The cab driver happened to be a boyhood friend and was just too willing to speed his rickety vehicle to the rendezvous place. He did not pick up additional passengers along the way when he knew of my predicament. He also refused payment for the special trip. I was so greatly grateful for the riding privilege.

I was only late for some 10 minutes. It was easy for me to spot my date in the newly opened restaurant in the heart of Butuan City. Ms C. B. was wearing her school uniform and was with an equally beautiful colleague also in uniform. They were all smile when I approached them. Introductions were made and I noticed immediately that Ms C. B. set up the date for me to meet her close friend.

The establishment was famous for its delicious siopao and halo-halo. We decided on that fare with a cola. The social chat that followed covered a lot of grounds – funny and challenging teaching experiences, the lingering talk on Marcos imposing martial law, student activism, the MSU students’ PAL hijack to communist China, the travails of writing, and the philosophical novels of Ayn Rand. My new lady friend impressed me with her grasp of the issues of the day. She talked with conviction but admitted she could not walk her talk because of family pressure. That would mean I could not invite her to political teach-ins and rallies. No deal.

It was almost 7 pm when we decided to call it a day. My new friend excused to go to the CR when I called the waiter for our chit. I reached for my wallet at the back pocket of my pants when the bill was handed to me. I froze with terror. It was not there. I was seized by extreme nausea and I supposed I turned pale as a result. Ms. C.B. was quick to notice it.

“Anything wrong?” She asked with deep concern.

“My wallet is in my other pants,” I said flatly.

She examined the bill and declared she had not enough money for it. But she reached for my right hand, squeezed it and told me not to worry. She walked towards the Cashier and returned in a short while to our table smiling.

“The Cashier is a sister of another close friend,” she explained. I told her I left my purse inside my office table and would pay our bill tomorrow.”

“Do you have fare money?” she inquired.

“Actually, none. I thought earlier that these keys in my pockets were coins.”

She chuckled and inserted something into the pocket of my polo shirt just before her co-teacher had returned to our table.