Mr. Last Chance

Mr. Last Chance
by Tiana Gulapa

         Paul Carney held the steering wheel for just a while before he proceeded to get out the car. His strong memory of the place fascinated him even though he had only lived here for a few of his childhood years. His mother was born here, she is a Filipina, and her maiden name is Isabelle Magbanua.
Manila was a fascinating city and it still is, he thought it tried to be more westernized and modern but only halfway succeeded, the Philippines after all, is still a very traditional country.
         His gray S-trada was parked in front of their old house, which was still miraculously standing despite the years that had gone by.
A few of his extended family members are now responsible for its upkeep but he had been told that they only come here once every month since they live in another city called Alabang. He walked towards the house and knocked, knowing that no one would answer and did it because he only felt like it. As he knocked, dust fell on the back of his hand and he realized that no one must have gone here for a long time.
         He lifted the flowerpot near the shrubs and took the key under it; he jiggled the key inside the lock before the door eventually opened. The house smelled of dust, making him sneeze. He felt his way around the wall until he found the light switch and turned it on, more dust covered his hand now.
         He went about the house, surveying and musing about the place. Plenty of his childhood memories were created here. He and his mother always watched television dramas in a language he vaguely remembered in the living room and the sight of the television just lying on the floor, unused and still standing triggered this memory. His extended family seemed to have never touched a single thing in the house.
         They moved to America to be with his father when he was seven and he left most of his things here. His father was born and bred (his words) in San Diego, California. Paul was often told that he looked just like his father, except for his full head of black hair and his brown eyes that he got from his mother.
         His father’s name was Richard Carney. He died in Manila, during one of his business trips with him being an investor. It was a car accident and an ugly one at that, a speeding truck hit his car, and it happened in the middle of the day.
         The truck driver must have been drunk or was probably late for a delivery, he once thought. He knew that when his father died, things would never be the same for them again; the day he found out was the day he stopped caring about almost anything.      The only reason he went on with his life was his mother. Paul loved them both very much and he realized that during his angst-filled high school years and despite it.
         Things turned out all right for them, even though his mother had to get a job to provide for them both, his father’s family never failed to help them out during those years, until he finished college.

         Paul is now an I.T. specialist for a big company and that made things better for his mother. He fell to his knees as he felt every inch of his body weakening. He was not a crying man and he had developed a strong exterior but he cried then and there, in the middle of the living room; a room his father had never been in and yet despite it, it was here that he remembered him and cried for him. He didn’t cry during his funeral, he didn't even cry for him in secret, partly because he didn’t want to seem weak and partly because he didn't want to believe it. He cried silently but he cried hard, his hands covering his face.
         After what seemed like hours for him, he got up and figured that he can never really cry enough. I never even got to say goodbye or to tell him that I love him and that I wanted to make him proud, he thought. He suddenly heard rain pelting down the roof.
         ”Shit,” he said out loud.
         “Shit it is,” someone said from behind him.
         Paul turned around too quickly, frightened and shocked to hear someone and fell on his side. A man of about fifty-five years old, wearing a brown shirt and black, dirt covered jeans stood in front of him.
         “Who are you, what are you doing here, how did you get in?” Paul asked, still on the floor, too surprised to remember to stand up.
         “Hey now. Easy on the questions, I’m harmless. You must be Paul.” The man smiled and helped Paul to his feet.
         “Thanks.”
         Paul dusted himself off; the idea of driving in dusty clothes annoyed him, forgetting to point out that he never introduced himself and forgetting to wonder why the man knew his name.
         “I have spare clothes in there,” the man pointed to a room as if reading his mind.
         “No, that’s okay. I have clothes in the car but thanks.” Paul said.
         “I am going to show you something,” The man said, walking towards the main door, about to go out when Paul asked a question and he stopped.
         “Where are you going?” Paul asked.
         “I think ‘Who are you?’ would have been a better question to ask first, but I am going out because I wanted to show you something, as I've already stated. Come with me.”
         “I already asked you that.” Paul said.
         Paul didn’t think he had a choice and besides, he didn’t find the man to be threatening and in fact, it made him feel better just talking to him. The man was already out the door when he followed him.
         It was now dark and still raining, he saw the man in front of the car holding an umbrella. He smiled and gestured for him to hurry. Paul quick-walked towards the man, and then they were walking down the sidewalk.
         Paul didn’t know where they were going but there was something about the man that he trusted so he let it be.
         “I know you miss your dad, kid.” The man suddenly spoke.
         “How’d you know?”
         “I know a lot of things.”
         “What’s your name?” Paul asked.
         “I’d say you’re a little stupid to go with a complete stranger but since you asked me what my name is, I guess I won’t be a stranger for long. I’m Chance.”
         “And I say you have a lot of things to say. Paul. Paul Carney.” Paul offered his hand; the man took it and gave it a strong quick grip.
         The man named Chance smiled, “And you ask a lot of goddamn questions Paul.”
Paul laughed; he often liked people who cursed. After a few minutes of walking, Chance stopped.

         “We’re here.”
         The rain stopped and the clouds revealed the sun, it was daytime after all. He felt silly to have thought it was nighttime already.
         Paul looked around; there was grass everywhere and a dirt road. There was a sign with the words ‘Little Manila’ plainly written across it. The street name, which he assumed it was, was familiar but he couldn’t place how he knew it.
         “I’ve never been here before.” Paul said as a-matter-of-factly.
         “But you chose this place.” Chance said.
         “What? I don’t understand.”
         ”You will, soon. Do you want to sit while we wait?” Chance went towards a table under the shade of a tree. “It wasn’t exactly a question, you know.” Chance smiled. Paul went to Chance and sat atop the rickety table.
         ”There’s a chair over there, you know.” Chance pointed at a chair that Paul didn’t notice before. Paul got off the table and sat on the chair.
         “What now?” Paul asked.
         Chance lit a cigarette. “I haven’t been a hundred percent truthful to you.”
         Paul felt his heart quicken. “In what way?”
         “Chance isn’t my name, it’s my surname.”
         “Oh.” Paul wanted to laugh, “It’s not a big deal, Chance.”
         “My first name is Last.”
Paul felt the giggles coming up but he choked it down.
         ”Your name is Last Chance?”
         “Yes.”
         “Who would name their child Last?”
         “No one named me. I only am.”
         Paul was confused and had second thoughts about prodding more about him.
He felt scared in a way that he may not be talking to a human being after all. Maybe he was dreaming, Paul pinched himself but he wasn’t waking up.
         “All this is real, kid.” Chance said.
         Paul stopped pinching and stared at Chance. It dawned on him.
This was the dirt road where his father had the accident; he had seen this place in a photograph taken after the police investigation on his father’s death.
         “Are you-“ his voice trailed off. “Is my dad coming back?” Paul asked.
         “In a way he is.” Chance said, blowing out smoke rings, “But I can’t bring him to life.” Chance threw what was left of the cigarette into the air where it faded into nothing and that was how Paul saw it; it faded.
         “I’m going to be watching the accident, aren’t I?”
         “Nope. I’m not that evil. I’m just giving you enough time to talk to him.”
Paul looked at him.
         “I’m giving you the last chance to talk to him. Everyone will have their last chances someday and only a few take it.” Chance said.
         “And all this is real? I’m not dreaming?”
         “No, and to prove to you that all this is real, I’ll walk you home.”
         Paul looked off into the distance, “Thanks, Chance.”
         He saw a shadow on the road and saw that it belonged to a man. A man with blonde hair and blue eyes, tall and well built. He was smiling.
         It was Richard Carney, his father. Paul slowly stood up. He didn't know exactly what to say to him. He wanted to ask him a thousand things and wanted to tell him a million, but most of all he wanted to tell him that he loved him. Richard’s arms were open and Paul then ran towards it, tears trailing from his eyes and onto his cheeks.
         A last chance only comes once in a person’s lifetime, and when it does… The person who needs it most rarely thinks twice. He simply takes it.