CHAPTER 2

Sunday mornings in the Evans household were always noisy and hectic. One would often be awakened by the thudding of several sets of feet stampeding along the hallway or the clanging of pots and pans in the kitchen; depending on who woke up first – the kids or the always busy and harassed mother of four.

Then, just as the delicious aroma of fried bacon and buttered pancakes wafted throughout the house, one’s ears would be assaulted by the loud whirring of an ancient lawnmower as the father of the house whistled tunelessly while doing his rounds in the garden. All in all, the atmosphere exuded familial chaos in a strangely soothing way.

Today, however, these noises were absent for the whole family was busy with their last-minute packing.

The Evans lived simply, but comfortably. Their house was a 5-bedroom affair in one of the newest subdivisions in the suburbs; exclusive enough, but not really classified as ‘affluent’. They owned two cars, a dog named Smooch, and a turtle named Speed. All four kids went to the nearest co-ed private school in the vicinity.

Judging by their rather ordinary lifestyle, no one would suspect that Martin Evans, a British expat who married a simple, local girl named Claire, owned the biggest electronics company in the country. Martin did not believe in flaunting one’s wealth nor in wasting any of their hard-earned peso on luxuries that they could easily live without.

Yet as the kids were now turning into teens, he was fast realizing that he could not go on depriving them of the things most kids their age enjoy. And so on this rare Sundaymorning he would be treating them to a three-day vacation in Boracay, for no other reason than that it was the current rage (according to his eldest daughter, Elaine, anyway). “You haven’t lived until you’ve danced the night away on the white sands of Bora”, was actually what she said.

Since one of Martin’s idiosyncrasies was sticking to a strict schedule, at precisely 7:10 in the morning, the whole family was found assembling in the foyer, complete with their backpacks, carry-ons and whatever else they were allowed to bring with them. 15-year-old Elaine, being the eldest, was entrusted with the checking of all their luggage and so was the one who received the most glares that morning as she removed ‘forbidden’ objects such as a hunting knife (from 13-year old Jasper’s backpack), sparklers (from 10-year old Wesley’s slingbag) and Speed (from 8-year old Samantha’s tote). After a bit of tug-of-war with her siblings Elaine was finally able to declare them all-packed-and-ready. So, at precisely 7:30 am the Evans family was on their way to the airport. 

Traffic on the SLEX was light so they made good time in arriving at their destination. At the airport, they checked-in their luggage, waited for their flight to be called, boarded and after one-and-a-half hours in the air, landed on Caticlan airport without incident. From there, they got on a banca which took them on the last leg of their journey to the exotic island of Boracay. Martin wanted more privacy for his family so instead of checking into one of the lodging houses and hotels scattered along the island he opted to rent a private home conveniently situated just a few strides away from the famous white sandy beaches of Boracay. 

As soon as the front door was opened, Jasper and Wesley dumped their bags on the spacious living room and immediately proceeded to explore the surrounding areas. Elaine helped her mother in getting settled while Martin unpacked his various gadgets and connected his laptop to the house’s phone jack and power outlet. He may be on vacation but his staff wasn’t so he needed to make sure that they never lost contact with him. After making sure that everything was in order, Martin, Claire, Elaine and Samantha all trooped out of the house to join Jasper and Wesley in exploring the delights of the island.

The next two days were filled with laughter and good, wholesome family fun. They rode the banana boat, went snorkeling and gathered beautifully-colored shells on one of the outlying islands. They ate oversized burgers, grilled prawns, roasted lamb, chicken-inasal, lechon and lots and lots of fruit. The kids could never get enough of the delicious buco-shakes mixed with either chocolate or strawberry syrup. Souvenirs were hoarded and Samantha even packed a large glass bottle with white sand.

And of course, just so they can claim that they’d finally lived, they all danced on the white sands of Bora.

Martin recorded everything on his handycam while Claire packed all of her digicam’s five memory cards with tons of pictures. All-in-all, it was a vacation none of them would ever forget. But none of them knew either that it would be the last one that they would take as a family. For on Wednesday morning, at exactly 11:12 am, tragedy struck the Evans family.  

They were on their way home, after being picked-up from the airport by their uncle Nick, Claire’s younger brother, when fate decided to play a deadly joke on them. Martin and Claire sat together on the first row of the van, right behind the driver’s seat. Jasper sat beside Wes on the next while Samantha and Elaine were sprawled on the most spacious seat at the back. Every one of them, with the exception of Jasper who was busy playing Tekken on his gameboy, was asleep, dog-tired from their three-day holiday.

And so, as it turned out, only Jasper and Nick saw the on-coming trailer-truck barreling at high speed behind them. Nick had already heard the insistent, loud honking of the truck as its driver tried to warn the other motorists of its present predicament. Looking at his rear-view mirror Nick knew that their only chance of survival was to quickly swerve to the side of the highway. The vehicles on his right and front, however, were blocking them, apparently still unaware of the situation. By the time the other drivers were alerted to their impending doom, it was already too late. The truck had already hit the back of their van. It had slammed at them with such force that it kept on pushing the van against all the other vehicles in front by about a hundred meters before it finally lost momentum and came to a dead-stop.

Five cars, two vans, three jeepneys and a trailer-truck were involved in one of the most tragic pile-ups on the SLEX that morning. The one that was most damaged was the van that carried the Evans family. Its rear was crushed during the impact, compressing the seats forward, sandwiching it between the trailer-truck behind and another van in front.

Jasper looked in horror as his sisters were pushed forward, their fragile bodies mercilessly being crushed between the seats. He turned to the front and witnessed how his parents were also thrown forward, their necks snapping audibly from the violence of the force that propelled them from their seats. He tried to scream but his air was cut-off by the terror that was starting to paralyze him. When he saw Wesley’s sleeping form beside him, however, he was overwhelmed by a tremendous urge to protect him. Mustering whatever strength he had left, Jasper hauled Wesley’s body from the seat, pushed him down on the floor and covered his younger brother with his own. Thereafter, he lost consciousness.

The next time he opened his eyes, he was lying on a hospital bed, wired to a monitor, his bandaged head throbbing, his numb left arm in a sling, and his stomach heaving every time he moved. When he turned to his right, he saw Wesley lying on another bed, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling, tears running heedlessly down his bruised cheeks. Jasper pushed himself from the bed, pulled out his IV and wires, and walked on wobbly legs towards his brother. Wesley looked at him with wide, terrified eyes. It took about a minute before he finally recognized his older brother. He practically leapt into Jasper’s arms when he did, his trembling arms going around Jasper’s neck, latching onto him in relief and desperation. It took two male nurses to pry Wesley away from him.

Later that afternoon, two doctors visited them, their faces solemn yet sympathetic, smiling reassuringly as they assessed the two brothers’ various injuries. When Jasper asked about their parents, sisters and uncle, the doctors nervously glanced at each other, their faces turning grim and serious. Jasper knew without being told; they were all gone.

And just like that, 13-year old Jasper became the de facto head of the Evans family, 10-year old Wesley his only surviving kin.

With a calmness that belied his years, Jasper understood an important fact that only survivors of such tragedies knew without being told – they would never be the same again. 

He would never be the same again.