Mendez'

“Fishes know when to blink, but scales alone can never swim. Birds know when to smile but feathers alone can never fly. Always, always thank the heavens for being a synecdoche.”

“What’s he talking about?”, little Jen whispered to Anton.

“I don’t know, either”, little Anton whispered back to Jen, albeit airier.

Mr. Aurora Bernard bowed and left the podium. Applause slowly filled the small hall. As enthused the children have become during Recognition Day, nothing else is more exciting than eating again at their favorite restaurants in the city. Fourth-graders Jen and Anton couldn’t be any happier: the famous Mendez’ had opened a new branch only a few blocks away from their school. They used to travel miles to have those steaming delicious meals, and now it’s just a convenient three-minute walk.

“One minute if the kids run,” says Rian, Anton’s mother. The two parents chuckled. She and Lou, Jen’s father, sat ten rows behind their polite munchkins. Who would not be proud of their son for receiving an Excellence Award, or of their daughter for accepting a certificate for Best in Conduct anyway? There’s no doubt, however, that chatter is a fun task for passing the time left for out-of-tune songs, solemn prayers, and exit formalities.

As Lou and Jen arrived at Mendez’s entrance, a lost child extended his feeble arm outward. Anyone can tell from his dusty forehead and his torn clothing that he hasn’t had a bath for at least ten months.

“Dad, can we bring him inside to eat with us?”

“Sure, sweetie pie.”

“Yay!” Jen grabbed the child’s arm. “Let’s go eat!”

“I’m sorry, it’s not allowed to let him go inside,” the guard stated politely, as he halted the filthy child with his large palm.

“Dad, why not?”

“Let’s just bring him some food when we get out.”

Rian held Anton’s hand as they cautiously paced the pedestrian lane. At the entrance of Mendez', a child leaning on the wall window looked straight on the horizon. He looked as underweight as he was tired. Beside him was a small wheelbarrow filled with junk items.

“Here, give him these coins.” Anton ran and gave the kid all the coins, then he went back to his mom and asked, “Can’t we bring him inside to eat?”

“Okay, pal. Go get him.” Anton asked the kid to stand up and walk with him. "Thanks, mom!"

“I’m sorry, miss, but you can’t bring him inside,” the guard said calmly, as he halted the dirty child with his large palm.

“Why can’t we bring him in?”, said Anton, while looking up at the guard.

“It’s against the rules.”

“I don’t understand. Why not?”

“Anton, it’s fine. Let’s go eat.” Anton was still eyeing the guard and the pitiful child while waiting in line at the counter.

Lou brought Jen to a pair of curved seats beside the wall window.

“Dad?”

“What is it, honey?”

 “Is that a dead cat?”, inquired Jen, pointing at the concrete road.

“Okay, let’s move to a different table.” Lou can never allow his daughter to see more of that bloody mess of orange fur and white whiskers and besides, the new seats he found on the second floor were literally soft.

Rian brought Anton to a pair of curved seats beside the wall window. Anton, disillusioned for quite the moment, soon stopped his quick glances and kept his mouth shut about that confusing crimson depiction of flesh, tail, and bone.

Oh, how tasty the meals were! Served with two cups of white rice, Anton had his favorite plate of sisig: finely chopped pig ears and pork belly, sautéed with minced onions, minced ginger, soy sauce, garlic powder, chili flakes, mayonnaise, and egg, sprinkled with salt and pepper, and this time, served with calamansi. The boy’s nose wafted through such a delightful smell. His tongue twitched at the spicy scent. Jen, as always, had a chicksilog dish: a piece of deep-fried chicken drumstick, served with a slice of tomato, a sunny-side-up egg, and buttery rice fried with ground pork, minced carrots, green peas, and spring onions. Her eyes glinted at the arrival of her request. Out of excitement, her first mouthful made her gums prickle so much, she had to exhale off the heat and chew strategically quick. Her father grinned silly at the sight of her. Spoons and forks hitting plates echoed inside Mendez', and the concentration of every single munching soul was unbreakable. A satisfied smile followed every morsel. Aside from negotiations between the counter, the only people heard conversing were the eager servers and the bloated customers.

“Dad, do fishes blink?”, chewed Jen. Lou, after gathering the countable bits of rice on the sides, set his clean plate aside and gulped half a glass of iced tea.

“No, they don’t.”

“Then what was Mr. Aurora talking about?”

Lou thought for a while. “Oh… oh no. I’m sorry. What did he look like?”

“Gray hair, yellow tie?” Jen imitated his demeanor, and they both chuckled.

“Maybe I wasn’t listening to him. But yes, fish don’t have eyelids.”

“What about the cat outside? Is it really dead?”

Hesitant to answer at first, Lou worked his way out. “Yes… unfortunately, he’s gone. It was simply his time, I guess.”

“…but why did he look like that?”

“Well, it’s… it’s, you know… there are cars outside, right?”

“Oh, so it got squished!” Jen giggled, and her eyes sparkled. “Like, krrrrsshh, and it all got turned to pieces!”

“Y… yes, right!” Lou nervously joined in and chuckled with the little girl, who then spilled her glass of pineapple after wavering her hands to act out a speedy car crush. “Whoa, you okay?”

“I’m alright, Dad.”

Rian had scooped her chocolate sundae cup bare when she saw Anton daydreaming, his eyes floating over the customers’ heads.

“Everything okay, Anthony?”

“Yeah.” The mother gave a concerned look.

“...Mom?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Can birds smile?”

Rian snickered. “What do you mean?”

“Are there birds that smile like us?”

“They have beaks. Of course, they can’t.” Jen put the plastic spoon back in the paper cup.

“…but Sir Aurora said birds know when to smile.”

“He said that? When?”

“During that final speech. Didn’t you hear it?”

“Oh… maybe not... don’t worry about it too much. I’m sure that whatever he said, he meant well. He inspired you all. You felt inspired, weren’t you?”

“I think I did, yeah.” Anton emptied his glass of water.

In retrospect, Mr. Aurora was not even meant to speak for the final speech. Two weeks ago, Mrs. Lia had already written a transcript of her own and had practiced multiple times on certain dry runs with the students. She was the principal, anyway. It was only unfortunate that her mother had died on Recognition Day, so she sent her husband to the event to read her speech. However, five minutes before Mr. Aurora’s turn to speak, he remembered that he had left his wife’s transcript at the dining table. He also had to relieve himself in the toilet so, in essence, he had three minutes left to create something special to say to the kids. A man of many words, his speech was just too profound for a younger audience, but it never stopped him from stopping by the new Mendez’ to both mourn his mother-in-law’s death and celebrate his 54^th birthday. As he entered, he avoided any eye contact with the lonely, filthy child outside. He was waiting in line when Anton saw him.

“Mom, look! It’s Mr. Aurora! Can I go to him? Can I go talk to him? Please…”

“Okay sweetie, just be careful not to bump into people, alright?”

Lou and Jen had just come down from the second floor when they saw Anton running towards the queue.

“Hey, Dad! That’s Anton, right? That’s Anton!”, Jen said, pulling on her father’s shirt.

“Is that Rian’s son?”

“Yeah! Can I go with him? Please, can I?”

“Alright, you go on then,” Lou said as he rubbed the girl’s head and let her run through. He found Rian and sat opposite her. “Kids, huh?”, Rian joked. Lou smiled.

“Good morning, Mr. Aurora!”

“Why hello, young man.”

“Hey, Anton!”

Mr. Aurora looked towards the cute voice.

“Whoa, hey Jen! I didn’t know you were here!”

“Whoa, good morning, Mr. Aurora!”

“A pleasant morning to you too, pretty girl.” It seemed that these two children know each other, Mr. Aurora thought.

“…so, what brings you two here with me in Mendez’?”

“I was just curious if fishes can blink...”

“…and I was wondering if birds can smile…”

“…and… what was that word, Anton? Sriracha shrimp?”

“Oh yeah, the last word. It starts with an ‘S’. Serenity?” The youngsters chortled.

“Synecdoche,” Mr. Aurora stated.

“What does it all mean, Mr. Aurora?”, asked Anton while looking up.

“Indeed, Sir Aurora, what was it about?”, inquired Jen while also looking up.

“It means that we are limited to what we can do as individuals, but we can achieve a lot when we cooperate with each other.” The two children agreed and nodded.

“Let me take my order first, and then I’ll talk more, okay?”

“Okay,” the two children said in unison. They were met with blank stares by grumpy customers waiting in line while they waited for the old man. After having received his food, Mr. Aurora brought Jen and Anton near the corner where a tall air conditioning unit is humming.

“Synecdoche is actually a figure of speech about using a part to represent the whole, or vice versa. In this case, we emerge from society, and society emerges from us. Company makes us feel complete. Eventually, we will realize that we needed everything we had or became a part of. We are pipes, and water flows through all of us. We are the abundant trees, sprouting from ourselves; we are the healthy soil, growing ourselves. We twinkle like stars; we conquer like night. We are the road and the wheel, the storm and the ship. We are forever ephemeral. That last one is actually an oxymoron, but you get the point.”

Anton whispered to Jen, “Oxy-what?”

Jen whispered back to Anton, “Who’s the moron?”

“I have to go. It was calming, talking to you two. See you next time!” Mr. Aurora waved at the confounded pair and thanked the guard for opening the door as he left. The guard nodded and smiled back.

“Now, I understand even less,” Anton told Jen.

“Did he even answer our questions?” Jen replied, scratching her head.

Something strange happened as Jen and Anton stood in silence while viewing Mr. Aurora outside Mendez’. The gray-haired, yellow-tied, confusing gentleman sat on the gray pavement beside the lonely child, with his legs stretched out, and he leaned his back on the wall window. He opened the brown paper bag and gave the sickly child a white meal box. Together, they dined while viewing the busy road.