What I had always liked about Chet was his ability to get things done. He had been a big figure on campus, known for being able to accomplish his goals when the inability to accomplish anything was almost a national trait, a resignation borne with such fortitude that it created a feeling analogous to pride. In his time in college, Chet had founded Tomorrow’s Business Leaders. He was on the soccer team and played in a recreational basketball league. He captained the shooting team, although Inchoy—also on the team—was a better shot. Chet was interested in music and deejayed parties. He drove an Isuzu Gemini, a low-end sedan often used for taxis. He came from a big family and all of his siblings had fancier vehicles—BMWs, Audis, Mercedes—but he had wanted the Gemini because he was interested in engines and he could work on it himself. I would sit with him in his garage, baking in the heat, drinking kalamansi juice dosed with vodka, while he lay on his back beneath the car. My job was to hand him tools. He also took it upon himself to teach me how to drive, and this Chet did in a new subdivision that was being developed just to the west of where he lived. Even though most of the lots had yet to be sold, all the roads had been laid, and I spent many hours in this great concrete network with no traffic and no people, grinding through the gears as the car stuttered and stalled, until I was able drive at a dangerous speed. At seventeen, death and even injury seemed impossible. Despite my lack of ability and unearned confidence, Chet was never concerned. He would duck beneath the dash to light his cigarette then peer up to see us careening dangerously toward the edge of the elevated concrete roadway and show no fear. Occasionally he would even laugh.

None of my girlfriends had any interest in learning to drive. They were expected to procure husbands who would procure drivers. I wondered how they lived their lives without losing their minds, although the scheduling of hair and manicure appointments, trips to the dressmaker, shopping at the Greenhills Mall, and manifesting the sum of all that activity into an appearance acceptable for the required attendance at parties and bars and discos did consume a lot of hours.

Chet and I would frequently split up. He was too busy and I was too stubborn. When this happened, I would accept the invitations of other guys. I would insist that these boys let me drive their cars, although I had no license and was usually drunk.

But Chet and I would always get back together.