An End Is Also A Beginning

It was a dark and stormy night... somewhere else in the world.

On a pristine white beach in Bohol, Mar Queno carefully prepared his fresh catch of uni, oysters, and crabs. After all, he still somewhat smelled of vinegar from yesterday's uni accident and didn't want to go through that again (he just barely stopped his mate from pissing on his foot).

It was a dark and stormy night... somewhere else in the world.

On a pristine white beach in Bohol, Mar Queno carefully prepared his fresh catch of uni, oysters, and crabs. After all, he still somewhat smelled of vinegar from yesterday's uni accident and didn't want to go through that again (he just barely stopped his mate from pissing on his foot).

He had wanted to build a wood burning oven like the one he had learned to love in Toscana but he was broke so a makeshift double layer of charcoals would have to suffice. After preparing the dough and spreading the special sauce (which isn't what you think), he began to layer the toppings, some mozzarella, a little fontina, some crab fat, some crab meat. There. 'Ten to fifteen minutes, inches away from glowing red charcoal above and below this inihaw pizza should do the trick, don't you think?' he asked his rather disinterested audience. 'Sure, MQ, sounds good.' and 'Smells right to me.' came the replies, with a little feined pep. The third curtly asked 'This really isn't it, is it MQ?'

Mar Queno just kept on shucking oysters, like the fate of the universe depended on it. Five minutes later, each of the four men sitting on old iron chairs around a low round iron table had a small mug of oysters in front of them. 'While we're waiting. Go on.' Mar explained. The third asked again, this time less intent and more curious, 'This is all you're doing? This is what you turned your back on us for?' Mar, like the other two, had already started enjoying his ceviche, coconut vinegar, labuyo chili, roasted red onion and garlic, cilantro, and sesame oil enhancing the oysters without drowning them out. 'Sorry, what was that?' Mar Queno asked after swallowing. 'Nothing.' the third quietly said, resignation beginning to creep into his voice, as he too reached for his own mug.

The edge of the dough was slightly browned, the cheeses had begun to melt.

Passing out chilled bottles of cerveza negra from an industrial size cooler, Mar Queno suddenly said, 'It's not all that bad. Others would definitely call this heaven, you know. Or something a lot like it.' The wind picked up a bit, tickling the branches, fondling the fruit, as if they all agreed with the free spirit who they had once known in a far less amicable state when he first arrived ages ago. 'I know a little about the beautiful game but I was never that good at it, nor that interested in it, unless you count my mad skillz playing video games. You do know this, right?' he quietly added, talking directly to the third since the other two were too caught up in their newly discovered epicurean nirvana.

'We're at 4/7/4 midway into our 12th season. Sponsors are starting to treat us like we have shite on our foreheads. And lest we forget, you owe me for the Galera incident, you owe me big time for more things than I'd like to remember.' the third managed to spit out. He really disliked oysters. This was pretty good, though. He downed all five, took a couple of gulps of the beer, and let out a long low burp.

By this time, the pizza was almost done. Mar Queno transferred it onto an aged wooden plank, scooped the prepared uni onto it and squeezed five whole kalamansi over that with some salt and labuyo flakes for good measure. Sublime.

'Daaaaaaammmmnnnn!' the first and the second said in unison after their respective first bites. 'I'd pay for this, dude, I'd even pay for it with my own money' was the resounding vote of confidence by the second. 'Now I know why you've put on so much weight, pare!' the first chimed in. The third had stopped eating, opting to smoke instead to balance his beer arm. How long had it been since they'd all had a meal together? Seven, eight years? Of course, the fourth, fifth, and sixth weren't here but still..

'I was going to say yes, you didn't have to rub all of that in my face again, especially since I've apologized three billion times already, and you and I both know who was really at fault in Galera.' Mar Queno stated flatly. The equally flat reply from the third was, 'I know.'

The first started to bring out papers and a pen, the second stopped him, 'We won't be needing signatures and suits will we?' The first insisted, 'This isn't 1999 anymore, don't act like nothing's changed.'

Pen tips raced along stretches of paper, tangled lines crossed and dotted in their wake. Hands were shook and bottles were raised as the power of the afternoon siesta swept across the beach.

'I guess it's time to go home. I wonder how the weather in Marikina is these days?' thought Mar Queno as his guests prepared to doze off on the daybeds on his veranda. One thing was crystal clear. He was no longer the seventh.