Behind The Bars of Your Heart

From the highway where I stepped down from the bus, I chose to trudge along the winding unpaved road towards my destination—our abandoned parcels of land near the hilltop of Carmen. Being confined within the iron bars of my prison cell and the jail premises' high walls for five years, I missed the vast and unrestrained view of the world under the sun.

I didn’t have to hurry; there was no one waiting to welcome me. From here on, I would be living alone, hoping that I would be able to move forward one day.

“Boss, to Mt. Carmen?” a voice awakened me from my reverie.

I glanced and saw a motorcycle driver waving his hand at me. He then sprinted towards his rusted motorcycle parked under a mango tree; its wheels filled with lumps of lime and dirt. Knowing that my fare would mean food for his family, who depended on his meager income, I walked towards him.

While the driver was kicking the pedal to crank up the engine, I pulled out my old-as-time leather wallet and took out a hundred-peso bill.

“Boss, please accept this, but I won’t take the ride for now. Maybe, next time,” I smiled and inserted the bill in the front pocket of his shirt.

Most of the people I knew in this place didn’t have the heart to accept higher payments than what they only worked for.

“But boss-“ he attempted to pull out the money and give it back to me, but I shoved his hand back to his chest.

“It’s alright,” I grinned and started walking. I could still feel his gaze boring a hole into my retreating back, perhaps, wondering why I had to exhaust myself from hiking the seven-kilometer distance towards our old hut instead of taking a ride.

I was not a boss of neither high-end nor any small company, but the people here addressed the males as 'boss,' especially the strangers. I was not a stranger here either, but ten years had already passed by since I and my family moved to town.

I got a daytime job in a shoe repair shop, so I brought my parents with me. My father also got a vegetable stall on the market, so our meager income was more than enough to support our simple lifestyle. Through a scholarship program, I had finished college with high honors, taking night classes that started every four in the afternoon.

The sun was still high up in the sky at two in the afternoon; its scorching heat made my skin drip with sweat. Only when I started climbing the slope that the breeze from the sea below sent a cold and refreshing touch to my skin. Panting a little from the ascent towards the hilltop, I stopped to take in the scenes before me.

The deep blue sea at the far horizon glittered under the silver light of the sun. Rolling from where I stood were the swaying branches of shrubs and trees, perked up by the kaleidoscope of wildflowers popping out from the greeneries. The chirping of the birds, the drumming of the cicadas, the buzzing of some other insects, and the high-pitched squawks of other creatures I couldn’t identify felt like music to my ears that I had not heard for years.

Staring into the distance while listening to the soothing sounds of nature, the sound of the judge’s gavel knocking into a wooden block floated in my ear. That sound had already become my nightmare, having heard it several times for five years.

I then remembered closing my eyes tightly as the judge read his judicial verdict. I was wearing the official prisoner's shirt, and my hands were cuffed behind my back. It had been five years already since this case was held on trial.