Imaginary friends

It has been a year since I moved homes from a third floor unit surrounded by big trees and tall buildings, which reminded me somewhat of where I lived thousands of years ago as a student in Europe. Now I live on the 20th floor, so close to heaven, no neighbors. I can watch the moon wax and wane every month and I can look down on a fabulous view from San Juan to Roxas Boulevard. It is as beautiful in the morning as it is at night.

Every morning when I wake up I make myself a cup of coffee and sit on my porch enjoying the view. There are many low buildings close by and high buildings far away. On my left in a building much lower than mine, painted the most atrocious shades of yellow and green. I have found out since that it houses a public market on the lower floors.

On its highest floor I saw a scrawny tree. A tuft of leaves at the top and about a foot below two big bushes of leaves that look like angel wings. I would always go say, good morning, my friend. One morning I found myself saying “My Angel Tree.”  It became like a guardian angel to me. Then the typhoons came and I couldn’t find my Angel Tree anymore. She disappeared!

Look down my porch to the ground below.  Every morning you see an old man sitting shirtless on a stool on his terrace overlooking the street. He had a thick halo of very white hair and was shirtless most of the time, until last January when it turned cold. Occasionally he would wear a shirt. Every morning early until around 10 a.m. he would sit there looking at the street. I thought he was old and lonely, had no one to talk to. 

Once I saw him standing in the middle of the street. I am high up so I don’t see if he’s talking or not. But a few young friends say he asks them how they are as they park their cars. My driver says he curses at the drivers. But I like him and plan to talk to him one day.

I always stare down at him hoping he will look up and I will wave at him. But then what would I do if he showed up at my door? Would I let him in? Did I want to be his friend? Could we have a decent conversation? I did not know and didn’t really want to know. So I contented myself looking down at my old man every morning. I felt connected to him.

The holidays came. My children and grandchildren descended on me. Nevertheless, every morning I would look down and see my shirtless old man, my imaginary friend sitting on his stool, looking miserably down at the street.

Then one morning, I looked across and suddenly saw My Angel Tree, fatter and healthier. I was so pleased. Apparently that building has wooden panels it puts up and takes down; I don’t know why. Since she reappeared, every day  I say, “Good morning, Angel Tree.” I smile at her.

On that morning I looked down to look for my shirtless friend, he wasn’t there. Oh maybe he was feeling too cold. February is winter for us. It’s too cold to go outside the house without a shirt. Days passed and he still wasn’t out. One morning I looked out and saw maids feeding cats on their terrace, where my shirtless friend used to sit on his stool. His stool was gone! I didn’t see it anymore.

Later on my way to the supermarket I remembered to ask my  driver. Have you seen the old man who sits there on his porch every day?

“Oh, ma’am, he died on Feb. 4,” my driver said. They said he just didn’t wake up. My heart grew heavy and sad. My old shirtless friend died in his sleep before I could even say hello to him. I felt so sad.

The next morning I decided to review my journal. I keep a journal, a notebook I write in every day as soon as I wake up. There I saw My Angel Tree showed up on Feb. 4 as well, the very day my friend on the right side of my porch had moved on to the next life.

So I prayed to My Angel Tree, a prayer learned in childhood with a few adlibs. 

Angel of God, our guardian dear, to whom God’s love commits us here.  Starting today be by his side, to rule and guard, to light and guide his way to the next life.  Please make his journey easier for him.  Take care of him for me for just a little while please.

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And by the way, I’m starting new writing classes on Saturday, March 21, 9 a.m.  to 11ish. If interested let me know. Text 0917-8155570