Bea Alonzo On Our Mind

      So we sat there mesmerized—six males: two on my right, three on my left, and me—opposite her. We were inside a passenger jeepney. She was, I thought, in her mid twenties, very pretty,  resembling Bea Alonzo a bit, nay, she was probably prettier than Bea. She’s got flawless milky white skin from head to toe, alluring figure that probably measured 36-24-36. She was dressed casually, a tank top and green Bermuda shorts.  The word head-turner would be amiss in describing her. Even the driver, I thought, was spellbound, as the vehicle would stall every now and then. Within two kilometers that she was inside the jeepney, I knew, the two young men on my right had fallen in love.

      Then, she reached for her purse, put out some coins and then, tried to hand it to the driver. “Mama, bayad po,” she said.

      And with that, a few hearts were smashed.

       Her voice sounded like, I don’t know, it sounded like the mixture of newscaster Mike Enriquez’s grating voice  (minus the clearing of the throat and the infamous “Ekskyus mi po!”), Gollum and Godzilla.

      And she was a (Holy Mackerel!) HE!

      “Alam mo, bakla,” said the visibly gay man who we didn’t notice was sitting beside her (or him), “perfect ka na sana, babaeng-babae ka na sana kundi lang diyan sa boses mo, e. Magpa-opera ka na kasi ng lalamunan!”

      “Mahal `yon, gaga!” she (or he) laughed with that ominously male voice, his Adam's apple quivering (which we just noticed)  before turning to the driver again. “Mama, para na po!”

      The vehicle stopped and the pair alighted, with obviously  masculine moves, while we remained seated there, stunned, flabbergasted, shocked, and staggered. The despair was palpable, the silence excruciating.  The vehicle’s engine started again, but it stalled again after a few meters, and it wouldn’t start again.  

      Even the vehicle was brokenhearted.