word count: 1158

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I forced myself to look around. This was too cruel. I saw how one of the officers pushed the second cart and apples rolled across the pavement. An elder woman, one of the vendors, was crying as she bent down and tried to grab one of the fallen ponkans from her own cart. An officer sneered at her and snatched the fruit first before she could reach it. The other officers took out some plastic bags from their pockets and grabbed anything near them to stuff them in.

"Ayaw iduot og maayo kay malata na. Tunga-tunga'on pa ra ba na nato unya," I heard one of them whispered. (Trans: Don't stuff it too hard, you'll squash it. We still have to distribute these among us later.)

To opportunists just like that jerk, they would take advantage of their power and of the situation to feed themselves. It looked stealing to me more than confiscating.

The kwek-kwek vendor tried to intervene but the officer with a baton smacked him in the chest with it. The vendor groaned in pain as he was thrown onto the ground. He watched helplessly as the officers confiscated his products.

"Asa nama'ng truck? Naa pay kariton na ipangkarga diri oh," said one of them on his SAT phone, his face looked bored as he observed the commotion. (Trans: Where's the truck? A lot of carts are still needed to be towed here.)

I felt angry. I wanted to intervene so badly but I also understand the ways of society. Ones without power could always be trampled on. And in this pandemic, fate seemed to intensify that notion - dragging the poor deeper into the pitfall.

I took a step towards them. But what I was about to do, I really didn't know. Because I was interrupted when someone grabbed me by the elbow. I jumped in shock and whirled around so fast, I almost knocked myself down.

"Al! You scared me!" I exclaimed as I saw my childhood friend.

He was sitting on his motorcycle as he looked at me. The wrinkled corner of his right eye told me that he was smirking behind his mask. He let go of my elbow as he adjusted his ride and parked it near the sidewalk. He turned the engine off and got down. He took his helmet off and glanced at the commotion behind me. His face contorted in disgust.

He then looked at me and said, "Don't get yourself into someone else's mess."

I huffed and crossed my arms across my chest. "And what makes you think that?"

He rolled his eyes and said, "I know you."

I gave another huff and pouted behind my mask. "Why are you here anyway?"

"A lot of officers are roaming around, it's not safe to drive out. And I figured out you might be doing some homework in the computer shop so I came here. Let's go home together."

"Si papa?" (Trans: My father?)

"Your father went ahead."

I released a sigh of relief.

To the breadwinners of the poor, the pandemic was all about survival. They couldn't get a decent job before, how much more then that it was stricter? All they could do was to play to their strengths. That's why my father and Al chose to be habal-habal drivers to feed their respective families. Unfortunately though, due to the social-distancing rule, it was banned. Only married couples were allowed to ride a motorcycle together. If a habal-habal driver was caught working, the motorcycle would get confiscated. And that would mean the end of their source of income - the end of my family's life source.

I absent-mindedly glanced back at the scene. But Al caught my chin and forced me to look at him. I gave him an irritated look as I jerked my face away from his grip.

He gazed at me softly and said, "You can't do anything about it."

I only stared at his sad eyes. He's right. I couldn't do anything about everything. I was just a helpless teenager stuck in this estupidong pandemic, being pressured by everything but not being able to do something. Just like falling into a pit. The height of the fall could overwhelm me. Feeling trapped and helpless, I wouldn't have the strength to find a solution, much less get out.

"Dong, bawal mag-parking dira. Habal-habal ka?" (Trans: Boy, it's not allowed to park there. Are you a motorcycle taxi driver?)

I immediately tensed as I heard someone spoke. The sad look on Al's face vanished, replaced with a guarded look, as he merely glanced at someone behind me. I turned around and saw the same officer who hit the vendor with his baton approaching us. Unconsciously, I stepped forward, putting myself in front of Al - as if I was trying to shield him. If ever a habal-habal driver was caught...

"No," I blurted out.

I heard a sigh from behind me but I ignored it. The officer raised an eyebrow at me.

"I mean, k-kanang kuhaon r-rako niya. Yes, umm h-he's my--" (Trans: I mean, he's just fetching me.)

"Husband. Ay'g kabalaka chief, kadiyot ra mi," Al cut me off as he dragged my elbow and pulled me towards his side. (Trans: Husband. Don't worry, chief, it'll only take us a second.)

The officer's eyebrows rose even higher. "Husband?"

"Yes. Early marriage, you see," Al said so casually, as if it's perfectly normal for 18 year-olds to marry. The officer looked skeptical, as if, any moment, he'd ask for a marriage certificate.

I looked at Al. Without glancing at the officer, he lifted another helmet and put it on me. He concentrated on the straps as I did my best not to blush under his gaze.

"You're not my boyfriend, much less my husband," I muttered under my breath, making sure the officer couldn't hear me. Al only smirked. He placed a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back. "Social distancing, babe. Naa ra ba'y pulis." Then he winked. (Trans: Social distancing, babe. There's the police, watching.)

I felt my face flushed. He was the one who pulled me close!

I gave him a deadly glare, then avoided his irritating smug face. The officer was still eyeing us suspiciously as Al got on his motorcycle and turned the engine on. It roared to life as he put on his own helmet. He held out a hand to me, gesturing for me to get on.

I gave him a haughty look and didn't accept his hand. I can get on without his aid, thanks. I lifted myself and got on behind him, a familiar routine that I had been doing ever since he got this as a gift from Kuya Tito, his father.

He nodded at the officer then he craned his neck to look back at me. "Let's go home."

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