By Aileen S. Quijano

IT WAS Tuesday, 8.45 A.M. Two text beeps and the sound of my cell phone wailing rudely interrupted me from a deep, well-deserved slumber.

I peered with one eye at the offensive screen of my phone and barely made out a blinking number I did not recognize. Pressed the red button. A second later, my phone sang again. With a voice hoarse from sleep, I answered a curt “hello?”
The frantic voice on the other end sent an alarm and woke up the sensible me. “Hello, is this Aileen? This is Charlene’s mother. I believe you’re her friend and office mate before?”

It took me a moment to put a face on the name. “Yes, yes ma’am. I know Charlene.”

“Charlene’s missing. She hasn’t come home for three days now… her phone can’t be reached. Do you happen to know where she is? Help me find her, please.” She was sobbing.

I haven’t had contact with my friend for about 3 months now and I told her. “What happened ma’am? Last I heard, she’s working at a call center… did she have a fight with anyone at the house the last time you saw her?”

“No, no. Everything was fine. I’ve called everyone…including her workplace. I was told she went AWOL.” Pause. “I heard she had a chat mate. This guy she met in the Internet…Jay, is it? Do you know him?”

The name rang a bell. “Ah yes, but all I know is that he’s not from Cebu. I don’t even know his full name, ma’am,” I said sadly. I could feel her frustration. I was getting frustrated too at not being much of a help to her.

“I’ll try to ask around. Call you as soon as I know any thing,” I assured her. I heard a landline ring at the background. She spoke quickly, “Salamat, ‘day. Please do. I’ve got to answer the other line. Maybe it’s her.” A hopeful statement but too soon yet.

I was worried. I began to text people but a friend beat me to it.

His text: “Do u knw d l8st? Char s missing…”

My reply: “I heard. Bt ts nt lyk her 2 nt go hom & nt tel any1. Obedient child bya to cya.”

Whenever we traveled to places, Charlene was the first one to text and call her parents on her whereabouts and tell them she was safe. And she did this before and after we boarded the air/seacraft, when we reached the hotel, when we left the hotel, before going to sleep, on the way to the airport… well, you get the picture.

And she did this religiously though she was already 25 years old. A few more text exchanges with friends ensued. What really happened? Where could she be? Did Charlene really run away because of love? Is she stranded somewhere where there’s no signal? Or was her phone stolen? Was she angry with anyone at home and left to cool off? Was she vacationing somewhere and was afraid or forgot to tell her parents?

Nobody knew for sure. Each one put in their two cents’ worth of possible reasons. Yet everyone was afraid to voice out what was in everyone’s worried mind — another possibility, a scarier possibility: Could she be lying somewhere… raped, injured or dead?

Everyday, you read or watch the news and you know that these things happen with boorish regularity. And everyday you feel yourself becoming numb, detached, indifferent and impatient. Even bored. And sometimes, perhaps churlish enough to be amused by some of the circumstances.

But you realize with a jolt that it’s a different thing altogether when you try to replace the deformed faces on the tabloids with that of a friend. Scary. Not funny at all.

Tuesday, after 8.45 A.M. I did not read the papers nor turn on my TV. But I started to pray. And hope. (Sun.Star Cebu)

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