Homecoming

MADGE GENELE RESURRECCION

Jojo wandered around the neighborhood he grew up in the same way he did at the age of fourteen.

But this time was different.

The strong wind pushed his feet to take a step towards his home. He felt like his ankles were shackled, slowly pulling him towards the direction he feared. There was a whisper carried by the wind, tickling his ear, urging him to move. Jojo was now thirty years old and knew that recklessness came with a price. He remembered being in the bathroom, the heavy weight on his chest, the world spinning in his sight, and the light getting smaller and smaller before he closed his eyes. When he opened them, there was a sense of lightness in his body and a nagging feeling in his heart. It took him moments to realize what happened before allowing his feet to take him where he should’ve gone a long time ago.

Jojo was pulled back to the present. The wind whistling in Jojo’s ear was firm and unfazed by his reluctance. He swallowed a lump in his throat and stared at the rusty white gate, the empty garage, and the door painted in yellow before getting inside. Jojo would have never admitted it aloud, but fear kept him from coming back. Was it fear of rejection or disappointment? Jojo didn’t allow himself to ponder on it then, and he didn’t have a chance to do it now. He stood by the door, realizing how much time has passed as he stared at the yellow paint on it peeling off. It had been fourteen years since he last saw his mother.

Jojo’s gaze shifted to the side of the door where a rusty red bike stood. The tire was flat, and the seat was covered in dust. He reached out to hold it but could not grasp it in his hand. Reality struck him and he let his arm fall to his side, his hand clenching. The memories buried in the depth of Jojo’s heart hit him at once, and finally, he allowed himself to remember.

It was his grade school graduation, young Jojo was fidgeting in his seat as he looked around the auditorium, scanning the faces of the women sitting at the back. A bead of sweat on his temple threatened to spill over as he fiddled with his fingers. His mother promised she would attend his graduation ceremony. She promised she would leave work early to see him go up on the stage and receive his diploma. Jojo heard their class adviser asking them to line up already, but his mother was still nowhere to be found. Then, an excited shout was clearly heard in the crowd.

“Jojo! Jojo!” It was a woman’s voice with a soothing and melodic ring to it. Jojo scanned the crowd for a moment before his gaze finally landed on her. He felt his face breaking into a smile as she gave him two thumbs-up and clapped her hands excitedly, motioning

for him to follow his classmates in line. Jojo gave her a thumbs-up back as he ran up to his classmates.

When the ceremony ended, Jojo met his mother in the school parking lot and was caught in her embrace before getting his face peppered with kisses as she explained she was late because she had to pick something up. She laid out her palm for him to take, Jojo smiled and took it in silence as he looked up at her. The sun was shining on her long black hair. Her smile almost reached her ears and her eyes disappeared as she threw her head back, laughing.

Opening the trunk of her car with one hand, she looked down and met Jojo’s eyes before leading his gaze to the inside of the trunk. Jojo paused, his eyes widening and his mouth slightly opening before he turned to look at his mother who had tears in her eyes as she whispered, “congratulations” to him. It was the shiny red bike he was saving up for.

“But isn’t this quite expensive?” Jojo, at a young age, worried about money more than other kids. He never felt like he lacked anything but saw the mails from credit card companies piling up in their mailbox. He knew his mother was trying to make ends meet.

“You don’t have to worry about it!” She assured him, promising to teach him how to ride a bike during his summer vacation. She did keep her promise but brought someone along with her, Robert.

When his mother got remarried seven years after his father’s death, he tried to accept it—really, he did. He was thirteen and only trusted his mother to take care of him. Robert was seven years younger than his mother and worked as a businessman. He was short, only standing a few inches taller than the young Jojo. His face reminded Jojo of a dead fish with a protruding mouth moments before it got drowned in frying oil. He seemed nice at first then showed his true color after moving in with Jojo and his mother. Once, Jojo was sneaking out through the back door in the kitchen. By chance, Robert walked in to get a glass of water. Before Jojo knew it, a hard fist landed on his right cheek, the force sending him flying to the ground as his hands desperately clutched his cheek as if it would soothe the pain. His stepfather berated him then for hours while his mother only watched everything unfold, her arms crossed as she stood by the doorway.

“It’s a good thing your father is here to discipline you, Jo.” she said, her voice tinged with a mix of disappointment and hopelessness.

She was young then, but the faint lines at the side of her eyes said otherwise. When she smiled, the dimple at the right side of her mouth peeked through, making her look younger. This was how Jojo remembered her. Now, he wondered how much she aged.

Jojo felt a heavy weight pressing down on his chest as he mustered up the courage to see his mother in the place he once called home. He found comfort outside that home, with new friends who gave him his first taste of alcohol, cigarettes, and drugs. At first, he choked on it, then he could not live without it anymore. Robert eventually caught sachets of it hidden under his mattress. Jojo watched his clothes get thrown out of the white gate. Grabbing Jojo by the collar, Robert pushed him out of the house, his face red with anger. His mother tried to stop Robert. Jojo’s eyes shifted to his mother and then he froze. There, on her face, a look of silent plea was painted. She was begging him to apologize to appease Robert. Jojo’s head hung low, his face burning as he felt the neighbors’ curious eyes watching them. He clenched his fist, held his head up, straightened his back, and turned around, never looking back as his mother cried his name out.

Jojo knew he and Robert could not live under the same roof. At sixteen, he left home and went to live with his paternal grandparents who then forbade his mother from seeing him. “She failed as a mother,” they said. Life went on even when his mother constantly tried to call and see him. But Jojo never came back, and his mother never saw him again. Five years after he left, he heard that his mother kicked Robert out of their home after finding another woman on their bed.

Pride stopped Jojo from coming home then, fear was stopping him now. Comforted by the soft blowing of the wind that brushed against his cheek, he let a moment pass before walking into his mother’s room. There, he found her lying on the bed, her gray hair standing out in contrast to the black pillowcase. In her arms, a picture frame was held in embrace; it was a photo of young Jojo and her. When he was sixteen, his mother gave birth to a little girl. His heart burned as he watched his mother lying down on the hospital bed, embracing the newborn whose eyes remained closed. Robert was leaning over them, gazing at the baby like it was the most precious thing he had ever seen. They looked like a picture of the perfect family, and Jojo believed he was out of that picture.

Jojo looked at the faint lines on his mother’s forehead. Leaning over her, he placed a kiss on her forehead the same way she did when she tucked him in at night. She never got to say goodbye to her son who was found unconscious on the bathroom floor with drugs in his system, and Jojo never got to say goodbye to her, not when he was sixteen, running away from home, and not even when he was thirty, steering his thoughts away from home. “If I knew, if only I knew...” Jojo thought as he closed his eyes and tried to dig his nails into the mattress only for his hand to pass through it. He reached out to squeeze her hand but was only met with air. The nagging feeling slowly turned into something else that stabbed into his chest. He rubbed his chest, wishing he could feel the warmth of her embrace again.

Jojo refused to see his mother before, but tomorrow, she would wake up early to bring his cold body back home.