Skies Over Galente (First Part)

The shrill of the air raid siren was heard around the house.

It was three in the morning. Less than two hours after finally getting some sleep, I was rudely awakened by my mother's text message. She said someone opened the door. Thinking it was the unseen guest who left her door ajar, I decided to get out of bed to dispel her alarm. It turned out, her door was shut tight but the lights downstairs were switched on. Probably it was the utol having difficulty getting some sleep. I entered the master's bedroom to check on my mom. I wanted to tell her there's nothing to worry about. But before I was able to deliver the words of assurance, we heard some shouting coming from the kitchen. It was the maid and the driver having an argument. The last time a spat erupted between the two, it lead to an all-female fist fight. Of course, it was the maid who was beaten and she cried the whole day. Because the affairs of the home was disrupted for several days, we learned we could not afford hosting such brawl again.

Unless it would get uploaded on YouTube.

So I went down to attempt an intervention. The maid was spewing expletives while the driver sobbed somewhere inside their small room. Asking what the fuss was all about, I received not a single reply. The verbal tussle went on while the loud banging of the cabinet hints someone will leave the house before day break arrives. I returned to the master's bedroom to deliver the news. With a blank face, I told mother about the commotion. She was visibly distraught but I tried to downplay the situation. My plan was to sleep through the tense minutes and let the conflict resolve by itself. Mother warned me that if I would not make a move, she would be forced to talk to the helpers herself. It means getting out of bed and limping all the way down to pacify the ladies.

The effort would strain her already frail body.

Choosing between her discomfort and my reluctance to be the peacemaker, I resolved to take matters into my own hands.

But before leaving her room, I carelessly left a remark which would become our bone of contention before the night was over.

"Bakit ako na lang lagi..."



I returned to ground zero to find the driver searching for something. Drawers were overturned - their contents spread across the dining table. She was on all fours, looking under the chairs. Muted sobs reveal her state of agony. The maid was standing from a distance. Her dagger-like eyes fixed on the slurry driver still barging from one room to the next. Her patience wears thin - like most of us who were interrupted from our sleep - but the driver was inconsolable. Unless she finds what's missing, she will never rest.

Learning what happened, the maid said the driver sneaked out for a drink before midnight. Returning home intoxicated, the lesbian thought she could get away with the crime. Accounting her personal belongings before going to bed, she was astonished to find out her wallet was missing. That's what triggered the witch hunt. Though there were no direct reference to stealing, she insisted of bringing home the wallet. As to why the wallet was so important to her, the driver would never tell. Her savings was kept somewhere and the license could have a replacement in days.

I tried to calm her down to no avail. Her thoughts was so focused to finding what's missing. Instead of wasting my time with the drunken bastard, I instructed the maid to chill out and ignore her companion. "Nobody argues with a drunk person" I explained. "If you continue to fight over this, someone upstairs might get a heart attack."

My warning apparently calmed her fury.





The conflict downstairs was slowly losing steam, but the words I left before becoming the peacemaker had struck a chord with my mother.




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