About this site

Tumbang Preso (meaning, knock down the jail) is a game of arrests and escapes where each player's life
chances depends on the toppling of a tin can watched by a tag who plays guard.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

To the playroom
















art work by liloy




Karla brushed away the tear that had escaped from her eye. She looked up and saw Papa looking at her. “Don’t cry, Baby,” he said. He held out his hand to her but she shook her head so firmly that he drew back and leaned on the sofa. He motioned for her to sit by his side. She adjusted the cumbersome contraption under her arm and complied.

Papa spoke low and called her Baby. Come here, Baby. Don’t cry, Baby. He picked up Panda who had fallen onto the floor with her ass up and sat her on the opposite corner of the sofa. Karla sat between Panda and Papa. Now, don’t you three look like a family? Mama used to say. Panda came with Papa the day he gave Mama the keys to his car. “It’s not a bear, Stupid,” Mama had said to Papa. Karla inched away from the toy. She felt strangled with Papa on one side, his big stubby fingers running from her hair to her nape now and again, and Panda dull and shapeless with its gray rough skin on one side. An idiot’s toy, Mama called it, but Papa would not hear. Mama never liked Panda. First thing she’d do before sitting down with Karla is to lift Panda by the ear and dump it behind the couch. Mama did not like so many things in the house. She kicked them if they got in her way.

Papa brought Panda home the day he bought himself a new car. “A new car for Papa and a new teddy bear for Baby. And so that Mama can drive herself to Hell if she likes!” Papa laughed when he said that. Mama did not, but caught the keys Papa threw at her.

Then went out as often as she could until she stopped coming home altogether. Papa had since taken to the sofa to watch dirty words flying, night after night.

“What is shit, Papa?”

“It’s a dirty word, don’t you say it.”

“Yaya says shit.”

“Don’t take after the househelp!”

“What is fuck you, Papa?”

“Hey, Baby! Don’t you use that dirty word.”

“I know damn.”

“Don’t use it!”

“Mama used it.”

“Don’t you take after that bitch! Go to your bed now.”


Without Papa knowing, Karla liked to repeat Mama’s words under her breath. I’m so damn tired. Move over, Karl. Damn that cough. Mama called her Karl. She had a strong deep voice that rang across the room.

“Karl? Where are you?!?”

“Damn. What did you do all day, shut yourself in with your stupid dolls?” Mama liked to call everything stupid.

“Papa bought me a new one.”

“That’s all he knows.”

“Don’t shout at the child, Honey.”

“Don’t Honey me!”

“Don’t shout in front of the child.”

“I’m not shouting! You cooped her up all day? She will never grow a spine!”

She will never grow a spine Bam! Karla loved the sound of Mama banging the door. It sounded like Damn. She will never see the sun Dam. If she should leave and disappear, Karla told herself, she would bang the door loud like that. Papa wouldn’t tell where Mama went. Each time she asked him he always said, Go to your play room, Baby, okay?

“I’ll bring Panda with me.”

“You will not. Everything you take down there never goes whole out again.”


Karla pulled herself up, refused Papa’s proffered hand, and made her way to the playroom. Damn, she told herself as she moved toward the closed door. She reached for the knob, twisted it, pushed, hopped in, and slammed the door. Bam. She blinked at the unexpected force and smiled. From the inside she opened it again, then closed it again. Blam. She laughed at the powerful sound she made. She felt merry. “Stop playing with the door!” she heard Papa call after her. Karla kept on at it until she heard Papa’s footfalls coming. “Stop that you little bitch!”

She pushed the door shut once more and pressed the lock in the knob. She turned around and leaned her back against the frame. She could hear Papa’s heavy breathing from behind the door. “Stop making all that noise, Honey, okay?” Don’t Honey me! How Karla liked to shout at Papa. Mama always damned Papa. Damn this house damn this car damn this neighborhood. Mama did not come home. Mama is gone. Now there’s nobody to damn Papa. Karla let her crutch drop on the floor. She spread her arms at her sides, pressed the back of her head against the door, and closed her eyes. Damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn.

She went on and on until she made enough. Then Karla opened her eyes, glanced around the room. Dropping to her knees, she dragged herself toward the heap of mangled dolls.

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