At two in the morning dad would arrive home from work - or from some other affair I do not wish to know. He would park his red Toyota FX along the driveway, in front of the house where it could be easily spotted in case someone decides to take down its side mirrors. He would then walk up the stairs and into the master's bedroom where he would retire for the night and would not be available until the next morning.
Leaving all things clear for a sneak out, I would tiptoe my way down the stairs a few minutes later and head towards the door where the vehicle is parked outside. Sometimes, with the driver's blessing he would give me the keys to the car. I would cautiously slip into the driver's seat, shut the door close and wait for signs hoping that nobody noticed me entering my dad's Toyota FX.
I would turn on the engines, rev it up a little by stepping my foot on the gas pedal and wait for a few more minutes until the coast is clear. Holding the gear stick and shifting it to reverse, the vehicle would jolt slightly. Slowly, it would move backwards squeezing itself into the narrow driveway that leads to the main road. The neighbors of course, know my daring late-night tryst with the road. They would just keep a mum about it to prevent any ill-feelings in case I find out who the squealer is.
And the car is out of the driveway. I would lower down the windows to give an impression that I am a pro. I would take the car for a spin around Sampaloc and Quezon City avoiding the main roads where the police squad might be patrolling. The danger lies not with the risk of running over someone or crashing my dad's beloved vehicle to another car. In those days, his powerful position gave this impression that he can pull me out of trouble in case I get into one. The biggest danger lies with the act itself - for my only experience in driving comes from racing cars in game arcades when friends invite me for a spin.
The worst part is, I drove my dad's vehicle without a license.
Those daring early-morning escapades lasted for months and it paved the way for me to learn how to drive a real vehicle. Had it not for a slight miscalculation where I scratched a neighbor's van and its paint peeled off during a separate incident, I would still be driving right now. The trauma I got from my mom's reprimands was enough to scare me from holding a gear stick for life.
It was the age of the Black Sun - the time when I learned how to sneak out, become daring and return home without getting noticed. On some nights when I feel too restless to settle down, I look back and remember those 2 am's when I would sit on the driver's seat, step on the gas pedal until the car's speed reaches 80 on a four-lane road, lower down the windows to let the cold October wind blows on my face while a Semisonic song plays on NU-107.
I drove around in hopes that my experience would allow me to bring the FX to the hills of Antipolo. With a trusted companion beside me, it was my wish to chill in Kelly Heights by gazing at the blinking lights of Manila until daybreak arrives while reaffirming a bond that would last for life.
The wish never came true.
But somewhere along the lines that separate the past from the present, the memory of the Black Sun returns and when it does, I become a risk taker with little regard for things that may happen after the deed is finally done.
Leaving all things clear for a sneak out, I would tiptoe my way down the stairs a few minutes later and head towards the door where the vehicle is parked outside. Sometimes, with the driver's blessing he would give me the keys to the car. I would cautiously slip into the driver's seat, shut the door close and wait for signs hoping that nobody noticed me entering my dad's Toyota FX.
I would turn on the engines, rev it up a little by stepping my foot on the gas pedal and wait for a few more minutes until the coast is clear. Holding the gear stick and shifting it to reverse, the vehicle would jolt slightly. Slowly, it would move backwards squeezing itself into the narrow driveway that leads to the main road. The neighbors of course, know my daring late-night tryst with the road. They would just keep a mum about it to prevent any ill-feelings in case I find out who the squealer is.
And the car is out of the driveway. I would lower down the windows to give an impression that I am a pro. I would take the car for a spin around Sampaloc and Quezon City avoiding the main roads where the police squad might be patrolling. The danger lies not with the risk of running over someone or crashing my dad's beloved vehicle to another car. In those days, his powerful position gave this impression that he can pull me out of trouble in case I get into one. The biggest danger lies with the act itself - for my only experience in driving comes from racing cars in game arcades when friends invite me for a spin.
The worst part is, I drove my dad's vehicle without a license.
Those daring early-morning escapades lasted for months and it paved the way for me to learn how to drive a real vehicle. Had it not for a slight miscalculation where I scratched a neighbor's van and its paint peeled off during a separate incident, I would still be driving right now. The trauma I got from my mom's reprimands was enough to scare me from holding a gear stick for life.
It was the age of the Black Sun - the time when I learned how to sneak out, become daring and return home without getting noticed. On some nights when I feel too restless to settle down, I look back and remember those 2 am's when I would sit on the driver's seat, step on the gas pedal until the car's speed reaches 80 on a four-lane road, lower down the windows to let the cold October wind blows on my face while a Semisonic song plays on NU-107.
I drove around in hopes that my experience would allow me to bring the FX to the hills of Antipolo. With a trusted companion beside me, it was my wish to chill in Kelly Heights by gazing at the blinking lights of Manila until daybreak arrives while reaffirming a bond that would last for life.
The wish never came true.
But somewhere along the lines that separate the past from the present, the memory of the Black Sun returns and when it does, I become a risk taker with little regard for things that may happen after the deed is finally done.
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