The rain was heavy that night on EDSA. Every drop on the roof of my old Toyota Corolla seemed to sync with the pounding in my head. I was tired from work—a twelve-hour shift as a warehouse supervisor—and all I wanted was to go home, lie down, and forget the weight of the world, even just for a moment.
The traffic was snail-paced. The car lights blended on the wet road, creating a dizzying reflection. In front of me was a black and shiny vehicle.
It wasn’t just any vehicle; it was a long limousine, the kind of car you rarely see and know is owned by someone who doesn’t worry about the price of gas.
I was overcome by sleepiness. In an instant, the limousine in front braked sharply due to a sudden stop of the bus ahead. It was too late when I stepped on the brake. My tire slid on the wet asphalt.
BLAG!
The sound of metal hitting metal was like thunder in my ears. I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the steering wheel tightly. When I opened my eyes, I saw the crumpled rear of the limousine and the wrecked bumper of my car.
I froze in my seat. Not out of fear of the accident, but out of fear of the cost. I didn’t have insurance. I would already be short on rent this month, and now, here I was, having hit a car that was probably worth more than my life. Suddenly, the limousine door opened.
Two men in black barongs with earpieces came out. They were heavily built, showing the markings of professional bodyguards. They walked toward me in the rain, unmindful of getting wet. One of them knocked hard on my window.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
“Get out!” he yelled, although it was muffled by the glass. My knees were shaking as I opened the door. I was met by the cold air and drizzle.
“Sir, I’m sorry,” I immediately blurted out, my voice trembling. “My tire slid. It was really just an accident.”
“Accident?” one of the bodyguards said sternly, looking at the damage to the back of the limousine.
“Do you know who is riding this? Do you know how much this damage will cost?”
“I don’t have the money to pay,” I said almost in a whisper, bowing my head. “But I will find a way. I will give you my ID…”
“We don’t need your ID!” the bodyguard shouted, making a move to grab my collar.
“This is a hassle for Boss! He has an important meeting!”
Other motorists were looking at us. I felt myself shrinking with every shout they made. I wanted to cry, but I held it back. I was used to hardship. I was used to fighting alone. Ever since my father left us fifteen years ago, I learned to swallow all the bitterness.
“Call the police,” I said, trying to be firm. “I’m not going to run away. I’ll go with you to the precinct.”
“You definitely will come!” the security guard yelled. In the middle of our argument, the rear door of the limousine suddenly opened. My world stopped. The bodyguards also stopped and immediately bowed out of respect.
A shiny shoe was the first thing to step onto the wet road. A cane made of expensive wood followed. And finally, an old man stepped out. He was wearing a gray suit, his white hair neatly combed, but his face showed frailty.
“What’s going on here?” the old man asked. His voice was soft but carried an authority that cut through the noise of the rain.
“Sir,” the bodyguard quickly explained, “This reckless driver bumped us. We were just confronting him. You shouldn’t get down, you’ll get wet.”
The old man didn’t listen. He walked closer to us. Every step was heavy, as if he was struggling to walk. As he got closer, the light from the streetlamp slowly hit his face.
I was rooted to the spot. Those eyes. The shape of his nose. The way his forehead furrowed when he was annoyed. Memories of a dinner, fifteen years ago, flooded back to me. The last night I saw him before he left the house carrying a big suitcase, while my mother cried in the kitchen.
“Leo?”
My name was the first thing that came out of his mouth. Not anger, but surprise.
I swallowed hard. My throat felt like it had been doused with acid. The anger I had kept hidden for so long suddenly flared up, but it was accompanied by an intense sadness. “Don Manuel,” the bodyguard called him, wondering why he knew me.
I stared at him. He was older now. More wrinkled. Thin. The once dashing figure of my father was gone. “Pa?” was all I could say. The word felt foreign on my tongue.
The security guards’ eyes widened. They looked at me, then at their boss, and back at me. The resemblance was undeniable now that we were face to face. My father—Don Manuel—came closer, ignoring the rain that soaked his expensive suit.
His trembling hand reached out to touch my face.
“It’s really you…” he whispered. His eyes, which had been stern earlier, were now welling up with tears.
“Son.”
I pulled my face away. “Don’t touch me,” I said, my voice hoarse.
“After fifteen years? Now you call me son just because I hit your car?”
“Leo, listen to me…” “No,” I cut him off. The pain was pouring out like the rain.
“Do you know how Mom and I survived after you left? She died without ever seeing you again. I worked while studying. I humbled myself just so we could live. And now…” I looked at his limousine. “…you’re riding in something like that while I can barely pay the rent.”
A tear fell from the old man’s eye. He didn’t wipe it away. He let it mix with the rain on his cheek.
“I know,” he said softly. “And I regret it every day. Every single day, Leo.” I fell silent. I hadn’t expected that answer. I expected him to defend himself, to say that his decision to leave us for his ambition was the right one back then.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he added. “I’ve been looking for you for five years. Since I found out I was sick.”
I looked at him straight on. “Sick?” He nodded slowly. “I don’t have much time left, son. All this wealth…” He gestured with his hand toward the limousine and the bodyguards. “…it’s worthless. Money is useless if you die alone.”
I saw the loneliness in his eyes. The loneliness of a person who gained the world but lost his soul. The anger in my heart slowly turned to pity. “Sir,” the bodyguard interjected, slightly more respectfully now. “You might faint. We need to leave.”
My father looked at the bodyguard. “I am not leaving until my son comes with me.” He turned to me again. “Leo, I know I have no right to ask for forgiveness. But let me make amends. Even if only for the last moments.”
I looked at my damaged car. I looked at the bodyguards who were now bowing their heads. And I looked at my father—an old man pleading in the middle of the rain.
I remembered what Mom said before she passed away. ‘Son, don’t harbor hatred. Anger is poison that only you will drink.’ I took a deep breath and wiped away my tears. The weight on my chest that I had carried for fifteen years felt like it was being washed away by the flood on EDSA.
“You’re soaking wet,” I said, still a little hoarse. “You’ll get even sicker.” He smiled. A smile full of hope. “I don’t care about the rain. I have my son with me.”
“Sir,” I said to the bodyguard. “Help him get back in.”
“Are you coming?” my father asked, fear evident that I might refuse. I looked at my old car. “What about my car? And yours? I can’t afford to pay for that damage.”
He chuckled softly, a laugh mixed with relief. “Forget the cars. They’re just metal. The important thing is, I’ve found you.” He signaled to the other bodyguard. “You take care of his car. Have it towed, fixed, or sold. Just make sure my son’s car is safe.”
The bodyguard opened the limousine door for me. For fifteen years, I had dreamed of seeing him again just to throw everything back in his face.
But now that he was here, I realized I didn’t need confrontation. I needed a father. And he needed a son.
I got in beside him. The interior of the car was warm and comfortable, far from the cold outside. He handed me a towel. “Thank you,” I said.
“I should be the one thanking you, Leo,” he replied, holding my shoulder tightly. “Thank you for hitting me.” We looked at each other and both smiled.
In the middle of the noisy, chaotic traffic, inside a crumpled limousine, I felt the peace I had sought for so long.
That accident was the unexpected event that would fix everything.