Touch the Billionaire

“Manang Rosetta, I can’t find my white polo uniform! Have you washed it? Where is it?” Fifteen-year-old Russel asked his older sister—called Manang in their Visayan dialect—while rummaging the plastic cabinet in the small bedroom. The clothes were scattered on the lower part of the double-decked bed, while his twelve-year-old younger brother was still in bed, lying on the upper deck. The latter sat up, rubbed his sleepy eyes and looked on while his older brother—Manong—kept throwing clothes on the lower bed. “Manong Russel, what are you doing? You’re making a huge mess!” The younger boy pouted. “Have you seen my white polo, Rohan?” Russel demanded. “Manang!” Rohan shouted for his older sister. The bed creaked when he moved to climb down. “What? I’m cooking breakfast!” Rosetta, wearing a pair of shabby blue shirt and shorts, came running from the kitchen, holding a slotted spatula turner. “My white polo, Manang, where is it?” His Visayan dialect was fast to leave his mouth. Rosetta’s chocolate brown eyes went round when she saw the small room’s state like a typhoon just passed by and left the huge mess in its wake. “I’ve just arranged your clothes the other night, Russel! How could you do this?” she shouted at her brother. “And your uniform is outside!” she added, pointing the spatula turner to the right. “I hanged it to dry after washing it last night! You’re already old enough and you still dependent on me to wash your clothes? What am I? Your maid?” Her eyes became mere slits, glaring at her brother. She caught and pinched his ear that Russel winced and groaned. “The next time, you wash it on your own and don’t you ever raise your voice at me again!” “Aww! Okay. Okay! Sorry. I’ll get it from the laundry line outside!” He was about to go outside the small room that a person could only make a couple steps and he’d be in the small living room next. “I don’t care if you’ll get late at school. Return those clothes you took out from the cabinet. Don’t make me clean up after you make a mess, Russel!” she scolded, barring his way with the spatula turner she was still holding. Russel scratched the back of his head after rubbing his hurt ear and started to clean up. Meanwhile, Rohan grinned and stuck out his tongue at his older brother before he dashed to the small bathroom outside their room, to the right, where it was close to the kitchen. “Aisht! The eggs are probably burnt by now, thanks to you, Russel!” The nineteen-year-old girl quickly disappeared to the kitchen, exasperated. Almost everyday, they were fighting as normal siblings do, while their father could not do anything. He would sometimes leave his room since he usually needed assistance to get into his wheelchair. After he met an accident as a jeepney driver that took his wife’s life three years ago, he was paralyzed from the waist down. It left Rosetta to juggle her studies as a scholar, a responsible sister to her younger brothers, a filial daughter and a waitress at a restaurant in a resort hotel about fifteen kilometers away from Dumaguete City, where they lived. The small kitchen was merely about three by three meters. It already had the sink on the left, the plate and glass rack, as well as the small two-burner gas stove on the right. Below the sink was where the trash bin was placed, as well as the basin for their dirty laundry, laundry soaps and other necessities. Opposite to the small sink were the white square plastic table and monobloc chairs. They were old that scratches and stubborn dirt were evident. Rosetta just made the table presentable by putting a clean plastic mantelpiece. After saving the sunny sideup eggs that were slightly burnt, she put them each on the four plates. Once in a while, she checked her old automatic silver wristwatch, which was owned by her late mother, the only thing she held so dear. It was past seven in the morning. Her class would start at eight thirty. “Rohan! Russel! Breakfast!” she hollered after putting rice on a huge plate and placed it at the center of the table. She still had to fetch their poor father. It was quite difficult for him to move around even with the wheelchair since their place was so cramped. Nonetheless, he would be up and about a few times a day to not get bored or do something productive like fixing a neighbor’s fan, TV or radio. He did earn a few hundred of pesos from time to time. The two boys sat at the table. Rohan was fresh from having a quick bath, and Russel was already dressed in his high school uniform—white polo shirt with short sleeves and white buttons in the front paired with khaki pants. He was in junior high, while Rohan was in the sixth grade. However, Rosetta had no idea if she could have them both enrolled by next year since their money was running low. They already used up a long time ago all the money from people’s donation when their mother died, as well as the small amount released by her credit cooperative. Her twice-a-month salary was not that high to save enough. They still had the monthly bills and groceries to think about, not to mention some medicines for their father. “Sunny sideup again, ‘Nang?” Russel murmured, looking at the girl in a messy bun. Her pert nose slightly flared as she looked at him. “It was scrambled eggs yesterday, ‘Nong,” Rohan pointed out, grinning. His small eyes were filled with mischief, mocking his older brother. Rosetta put her hands on her hips. “Just like the majority of Filipinos, we’re not rich, Russel, so just gobble it down! Be thankful you have an egg and rice on your plate. Others don’t have anything at all.” “Yeah, the egg’s burnt though,” he mumbled with a sour look on his face. Rosetta hit him in the back of the head. “You’re already late, shithead! Stop whining about the food! It is your fault the eggs got burnt! Now give thanks to the Lord that we have food. Just remember what Mama used to tell us, pray before and after eating, alright?” She turned on her heels after giving him a sharp look. She went into her father’s room and saw him dragging his legs while trying to sit in the wheelchair on his own. “Oh, Pa! Let me help you.” She rushed to help but he waved her away. “I can do this. Just don’t fuss around me anymore. Get on with what you have to do. You’re running late for school, too.” His voice was low and grumpy. His face wore a frown, too. She swallowed, watching her father get into the wheelchair, which was close to the bed. The only bigger room in the house was this, the master bedroom. Their small bungalow house was made of concrete and thin galvanized iron sheets for a roof. The house was without a ceiling. The walls were bare and gray. At the foot of the bed was a meter-wide space before a wooden cabinet that was pushed to the wall. Beside it was a small TV that was mounted on the wall. To the far right was a small and narrow jalousie window, so the room was bright enough and fresh air was abundant. Outside were old avocado and mango trees. Near the window, on the external side, were potted red roses. Rosetta’s brothers were done eating when they got to the kitchen. The petite girl gave them some allowance for food and pedicab (tricycle) fare, if needed. They usually walked from the school and back home, which would take them fifteen minutes more or less. She told them to get straight home after school. Only Rohan gave her a hug and patted their father on the shoulder, while Russel just murmured something, and both left the house. “You have to hurry, Rosetta,” her father urged her. “Oh, right!” She sat opposite him and started to eat fast. She just remembered she would have a long exam today.