Tonton sat on the wooden chair, slowly untying his shoelaces, then unbuttoned his white polo uniform. It still smelled like the sun-dried flowers from the fabric conditioner his mother had used. Despite doing physical activities all day, from practicing their marching routine to playing with his classmates, his uniform was still as white as a sampaguita with no stains to be seen. He got a perfect score on his science test, so he eagerly took his test paper out of his Spiderman bag, excited to share the good news with his mother.
Tonton glanced into the room and noticed she was not around. Nanay Ising usually got home by this time, but she’s probably still scrubbing other people’s clothes with roughened hands caused by the chemicals of soap in water. He breathed heavily with a dense feeling on his chest, his smile vanishing from his face. The sun had started to lower on the horizon, the yellow light slowly fading as dusk crept in. The boisterous laughter of drunk men could be heard from inside as their voices blended into a familiar, annoying noise.
Tonton peeked out the window. He saw his father outside, sitting slouched, holding a glass of beer and sharing mundane stories with his kumpares. That was Tatay Tonyo’s daily routine, drinking non-stop from early afternoon until night. He would only go home after consuming roughly two to three cases of Red Horse.
Tonton went to his room to lie down in his bed. He stared blankly at the ceiling as he couldn’t stop thinking about what Mrs. Reyes had announced earlier. The Boy Scout camping trip, the event he’d been preparing for since the start of the school year, would kick off next week. The chatter of students echoed throughout the entire room. Their excitement for the fancy drill competition was evident as they had to compete with Boy Scouts from across Davao City. He also heard his classmates boasting about the uniforms their parents had already bought them while Tonton was sitting quietly on the opposite side of the corner.
His teacher noticed.
“Tell your mom. I know she will do everything for you,” his teacher calmly assured after he explained they couldn’t afford the expenses.
Though he knew that it would be impossible for him to join in the activity, he still yearned for a glimmer of hope. His mom, whose fingers tired from handwashing other people’s clothes, could barely put enough rice on their table while his father did nothing but drink bottles of beer every night. At a young age, he was already aware of their financial struggles. He believed that the thought of wanting more would do no good because it meant that his mother would need to take extra work hours and go home late.
A sudden sound broke the silence and his train of thought. He didn’t notice that he’d been staring at the ceiling and lying in his bed for almost an hour. The door to their house creaked open, causing Tonton to rise from his bed and look outside his room.
Nanay Ising walked in, sweat dripping from her forehead to her neck and soaking her faded shirt. Her eyes were dull and weary, a mark of exhaustion she couldn’t hide. She was carrying two plastic bags, her hands trembling as she placed them on the table. Inside was pancit guisado, lechon manok, and a bag of cooked rice.
“Ma, whose birthday is it?” Tonton asked, astonished.
“No one’s,” Nanay answered. “I just think we need a break from eating sardinas and instant noodles.”
“I know you’re already hungry. Come on, let’s eat,” Nanay said gently to Tonton as she heard the slow grumble of her son’s stomach. “Where’s your father? Is he still drinking outside?” she asked with frustration, frowning as she shook her head. She didn’t wait for any reply—she already knew it.
Tonton hesitated for a moment before approaching his mother. “Ma…” He began, biting his lower lip as he squeezed his hands together. “Can I go to the camping trip next week?”
Her tired and dull eyes met his and, for a moment, they softened. “How much is it?” She asked.
“3,000 pesos for all the expenses,” his said in a small voice, feeling a little embarrassed already. “Plus the uniform.”
Silence filled the kitchen, followed by Nanay Ising’s deep sigh.
“Ma, it’s okay. I understand that we can’t afford it,” Tonton said, resigned.
She didn’t respond. However, later that night, he heard a loud voice of frustration, shouting from the other room. As usual, Tatay Tonyo was left speechless, just letting the words coming from Nanay Ising’s mouth go in one ear and out the other.
A few days later, the morning after Tonton had just finished preparing his things for school, Nanay Ising handed him a new folded khaki polo shirt, dark brown shorts, a belt and buckle, together with the white shirt and green neckerchief bearing the Boy Scout logo. His mother had bought him the uniform set that he needed.
“You will join that camping trip,” her mother declared cheerfully.
Tonton burst into tears of joy. However, he was confused where his mother got the money from when they were already struggling to eat three meals a day. However, he eventually dismissed the curiosity and didn’t ask any further.
At the Boy Scout camp, Tonton had the time of his life. He excelled in the drills where his small body moved in quick and precise steps. He was adored by the people around him. For him, the two-day camping trip was his temporary escape. There were no noisy drunk men, no fights, and no worries about food to eat. There was only the wide blue sky, the green open field, and the warmth in his chest.
When the trip finally concluded, the sky was going dark. The school bus dropped Tonton off at the main road near his home. He waved goodbye to his classmates, slung his bag over his shoulders, and began his little journey home.
Then, he saw the lights.
Flashes of red and blue painted the street. A loud siren engulfed the silence. He thought that their neighbors were just having a party. As he came closer, he felt something was wrong. He saw a crowd gathering by their house and heard their whispers and murmurs. Due to curiosity, he inserted his little body into the crowd, heart racing.
Then, he faltered.
Tonton saw a lifeless body on the ground—a woman, her face half-hidden by the shadows. But she looked familiar. Blood soaked her faded shirt, gunshot wounds all over.
It was his mother.
The indistinct chatter became clear. A booming voice from a huge man wearing a blue uniform said, “Nanlaban!” as if that explained it all.
Another voice followed, “We had no choice but to shoot her. She fought back!”
“Fought back?” Tonton asked. He stood there completely frozen while staring blankly at his mother. His father appeared from somewhere with wide, terrified eyes, pushing onlookers away. He immediately wrapped his arms around Tonton. He started crying and shaking, then helplessly fell to his knees.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” These were the only words Tatay Tonyo said.
The cold evening air had dampened Tonton’s skin. Reality finally sank in.
The boy started to sob loudly, an innocent cry of pain. He wanted to scream at the officers, but no such sound came from his throat. He wanted to explain that his mother did nothing wrong, that she didn’t fight. She only washed clothes for a living. She made sure they had food to eat. She bought him his new Boy Scout uniform.
The murmurs from the neighbors buzzed in Tonton’s ears like a swarm of bees. They were talking about his mother and the late nights she came home, the delicious meals she brought for dinner, the times when she avoided eye contact with Tonton when she gave him money, and the surprise gift of a Boy Scout uniform. It completed the puzzle he wished he had never seen.
Tonton came closer to his mother’s body. He knelt to the ground and gently held her hand, her fingers cold and unmoving in his grip. A few officers moved to pull him away, but they stopped, watching him in silence. He wanted to tell her about the Boy Scout camp, how much fun he had and how good he did in the drills. He wanted to thank her once again for letting him join and for buying him a new uniform.
He squeezed the neckerchief he was wearing and remembered the motto his troop leader always said: Laging handa. Always be prepared. But nothing—not the relay races, not the hours of practicing his marching drills, or his salute—had prepared him for this.
Tonton closed his eyes, wishing to wake up from this nightmare. He wished it was all a simulation, just another drill. But the busy street was quiet now, the onlookers starting to fade into the shadows. He felt like the last scout left, alone, afraid to face another day with no mother he would come home to.
Mark Lhoyd Del Mundo Tampad is currently pursuing a BA in English (Creative Writing) at the University of the Philippines Mindanao. His writing journey began as a campus writer, specializing in Features and Science and Technology categories for his school publications, The Viewpoint and The JMarian Perspective.
