Notes from Bodi's Diary
The grass was dewy as I ran around the football field, the air a little chilly more than usual. I stopped and looked around me.
Even the shadow of the trees seemed different, the angle of the images reflected on the pavement slightly longer, a mark of the earth's slight tilt away from its gravitational orbit.
I noticed this phenomenon when the end of the year approaches. Happier days ahead. Christmas, the long holiday furlough from December to January, and closer to home - the semestral break that started two weeks ago.
'Semestral break' are two of the most joyful words invented for college students like me whose noses are attached to books cheek by jowl, eyes latched on to their computers 24/7, brains almost squeezed dry by inhumane exams given by equally vicious teachers.
It's over!!!!
Well, it's not over.I didn't know then that the start of the semestral break marked the beginning of a long, agonizing search for one precious thing that could spell doom for me if I couldn't find it in time.
As the Features Editor of my school paper, I took a lot of pictures for a recent article on a former batchmate who has gone rogue, and is now heading a Muslim separatist army in Mindanao. In fact this former student, let's call him X, is now rumored to be one of Benny Laden's first lieutenants in Southeast Asia.
I worked hard for this article, hiking in the hills of Antipolo for that top secret meeting.
It was a scoop! In fact, my Chief Editor told me that if we were able to print it in a week, local and international news agencies will be interested in the article, and our names will forever be emblazoned in the annals of journalistic derring-do,the new Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein in the flesh!
I took lots of pictures of X in all sorts of poses, especially in his favorite pieces of armory. X was a crazy, brilliant dude. Scary. He wanted world domination. He laughed at the camera I was using.He said I was using the equipment since we were in high school.I haven't seen one a journalist-to-be with this kind of equipment, but hey, I couldn't afford a newer model. Besides, this precious camera has not disappointed me in all my journalistic adventures.
My Editor asked for the X article, and I e-mailed it to him as soon as I finished typing it. I then prepared to download the pictures from my trusty camera. As I turned it on, the battery lights started blinking, needing a power surge from the charger. I looked for the charger, and it was gone.
At first it didn't sink in. I never gave importance to a camera charger. It was one of those small, innocuous gadgets that are insignificant to one's existence until its importance suddenly looms in your horizon, a dinosaur about to rip you in six seconds, a plane about to land on top of your house.
Where was the damn charger? I looked for it and couldn't find it. I searched for it inside the offices of the school paper, and it wasn't there.
Meanwhile, my Editor was starting to give me dirty looks. He was pissed. Uh oh. Wait till he gets angry.
I asked for my brother's help in looking for it. When I told him that the camera charger was missing, he flipped too.
"Don't tell me you haven't downloaded my Class Night Pictures. My class will kill me and chop me into a hundred pieces." We both looked at one another with alarm.
We searched inside the house, and sifted through tons of old books, dirty clothes (uggh!!), garbage bins, name it, we looked under, over, above.
I remembered that pictures of X, my brother's Class Night pictures were not the only ones lost. My family's recent pictures in Thailand and my org's recent party pictures were not yet downloaded. Seeing my Dad's anger and my friends' disappointment depressed me more.
Where do I get a replacement charger as old as this?
When it looked like it was really gone, we started praying to St. Anthony, the dude to call for lost things. My brother and I thought that by praying, a light will suddenly shine and a thought bubble would spark inside our minds for a clue to where the charger is. Nope, no such luck.
And so, here I am, running around campus, trying to find solace in my early morning run around the football field, trying to savor the last few days of the sem break, trying to find words to tell an Editor not to kill me.
My cell phone was ringing, and when I looked at it, I became alarmed. My Mom never called me this early in the morning.
" Bodi, guess what! There's a guest at the radio show who's psychic and can find lost things by talking to you through the phone. Hurry. Call now!!" I thought my Mom would have a heart attack. I didn't realize that she had absorbed my worry about the lost charger.
"Which radio show,Ma?"
"Mo Twister's show! Call now. No one's calling because Mo Twister isn't around. Talk to Mojo and Grace Lee."
I didn't know my Mom has shifted from listening to her beloved AM morning shows.
"I only have my cell phone, Ma."
"I don't care. Use the darned cell. I'm paying for the charges, anyway!"
I was touched. My Mom was willing to pay for the cell charges as long as I was able to talk to the psychic dude guest.
I've been an avid Goodtimes listener for years, but lately I haven't been listening to the show because of all my troubles. I shared the same belief as Mo Twister. I don't believe in ghosts or third eyes, and I was skeptical about the guest. But my Mom believed otherwise. She always said that she had a sixth sense, but deliberately did not want to use it in any way.
The lines were busy, busy, busy. How the hell would I be lucky enough to call this show? Finally a ring, but God, it took forever. What if no one answers?
God forbid, what if they take the provincial line first?
"Hello?" It was the most mellifluous greeting I've ever heard from a girl. I couldn't believe it was Grace Lee on the line. She sounded so warm and so non-judgemental.
"Hi Grace Lee and Mojo," my voice sounded hesitant. " About the lost things?"
"Did you lose something between your legs?" Mojo was catty as hell, but I disregarded it. At this point, my pride was the least of my worries.
"I lost my camera charger," I think I heard some snickering. . perhaps Mojo thought it was so insignificant. .
"Let's see if Jobert can find it, " Grace Lee answers in a kind voice.
So he has a name. Jobert. What an ordinary sounding name for such incredible psychic gifts.
"You know what? It's not in the house anymore. It's in a place away from the house. It's in a small, black, gym bag. Perhaps it's in the car?"
I pondered on what Jobert said.
"That sounds logical. Thanks."
It was as illogical as hell and didn't make sense.The car? How could it be there? In a gym bag? My Mom and Dad go regularly to the gym. I prefer running around the campus.
I go to the car parked near the football field, and I poked and looked around. Books, papers, no bag. I looked to the back.
Two bags. Both my Mom's.
I zero in on the black bag. Could it be there?
My fingers searched for a tiny charger in the first and middle pocket of the bag.. I wanted to cry at that point. Last pocket, last chance. I scrounged around and felt a bulge. Makeup, perhaps? I brought it out and God Almighty, it's the charger.
My face was awash with tears by that time. But I didn't care. I thought my career in the university paper was gone, my reputation tattered, my relationship with my family irreparable.
It was a miracle. I looked up in the sky. Thank God Almighty!
I called my Mother. My brother was on the line too. The rest of the members of my family were jumping up and down then.
"Call the show again to thank them!"
But I was crying again, in relief, in gratitude. Mom felt that I was too emotional by that time to make the call, and she volunteered to text the Magic show by then.
In a few minutes, I was calm and ready to make the call myself, to thank Jobert for using his powers for good, and to thank the show hosts.
I was listening to the radio, and I laughed.
My Mom's text message was being read by Grace Lee.
"My son called about the cell phone charger. He found it! Please tell Mo that he's wrong about not believing in ghosts or people with a third eye. Thanks to Jobert."
I guffawed. Trust my Mom to make a dig about Mo's skepticism about ghosts.
Sweet! It was the first laugh I heard from myself in three weeks. Life is beautiful. Thanks to psychic dude Jobert, I can smile again.
(Postscript : Bodi is a real early morning caller at Goodtimes looking for his camera charger. His voice sounded really troubled and at first I could understand why Mojo and Grace Lee might have thought that it was an insignificant problem. It dawned on me that the camera he was using could contain important irretrievable documents and more was at stake than the pictures contained in it.
I found it funny too that the Mom of Bodi sent a text message thanking Jobert, but at the same time shoving a dig at Mo, telling Mo that he is wrong about not believing in supernatural stuff.
'Notes from Bodi' is purely fictional and does not reflect the real Bodi's thoughts,but comes from the imagination and point of view of the blogger.Goodtimes!
Photos of the trees courtesy of Algo at Flickr)
