Dear Dad, Yes, it’s me, your son who never writes. I guess by now you’ve heard the news about this mess in the University. The media sure have played it up. Hell, they make a big deal over everything that happens in this school. I suppose I should first reassure you that I didn’t get hurt. I pretty much managed to stay out of trouble. I kept out of sight most of the time and whenever I had to go to class I made sure a couple of the brods were with me. There were a couple of times when we were almost confronted by the Sigmans but, aside from the dirty looks, nothing happened. I suppose it was because we stuck to the most public routes like the main lobby and covered walks and made sure a lot of potential witnesses were around. In case you’re wondering, it’s true that one of our brods was responsible for starting this whole damn mess. Manny Danilo, one of the senior brods, caught a bunch of Sigmans leering at his girlfriend last week in the lobby. I can’t say I blame the guys for staring. Lisa, that’s Manny’s girl, likes to prance around in tight blouses and she seems to have developed an allergy to wearing a bra. She’s stacked like Sharon Stone and not even her male teachers can keep their eyes off her chest in class. Well, one of the Sigmans made a remark, which Manny overheard, and the next day, he organized the “hit” squad for an assault on the Sigman tambayan. I didn’t take part in the attack, but Arnie Reyes did and, from what he told me, they did quite a job on the Sigmans. The guy who made the remark ended up in the infirmary with a broken nose. Arnie said he did most of the damage with his fists and didn’t bother using a steel pipe like the others did. You remember Arnie, don’t you? He used to sleep over back in high school. Big, burly guy. We were teammates on the track and field team. He was the shotput and javelin specialist. Never met a stronger guy in my life. I sure as hell am glad we’re friends. We were recruited into the frat together by some upper classmen at the dorm. Remember how you told me that I’d be given a particularly hard time during the initiation rites because I was a son of a brod? Well, yeah, some of the guys put a bit of pressure on me because I was Judge Franco’s kid and all, but it was nothing compared to what they put Arnie through. Arnie was always damn strong. He joined the University powerlifting team as a freshman and you should see how huge he is now. He’s taken to cutting his shirt sleeves because he says they rip whenever he flexes his biceps. I think one of the reasons I wasn’t picked on so much while I was applying was that the senior brods concentrated mainly on Arnie. I think they were intimidated by his muscular build and it became a matter of prestige as to which of them could make him quit during the initiation. I guess, my long distance runner physique didn’t impress them as much. Brian Yumol, yes the guy who was killed, really went out of his way to make Arnie suffer during initiation. I know it’s probably wrong to speak badly of a dead brod, but Brian was just about the meanest guy I’d ever known. He was dark and skinny and had this high-pitched, stuttery laugh. That’s how Arnie knew he was the one administering most of the paddles on him during the initiation in spite of the blindfold. When he got out of the infirmary, Arnie told me he could hear Brian cackling aloud while the blows rained down on him. He said the sonofabitch was hitting him in the side of his stomack instead of the back of his thighs. He must have received twice the punishment any of our batch mates did. I think Brian couldn’t stand the fact that, even while we were still applicants, all the girls from the sorority would flock around Arnie at the tambayan while he barely got a second glance. Brian did quite a job on me as well during the initiation. “Your dad can’t help you now, can he, boy?” His whiny voice was unmistakable. He seemed to take an extra effort to make sure his blows landed on my kidneys. But like I said, that was nothing compared to the job he did on Arnie. Arnie pissed blood for two days after final rites. Well, you know how it is after initiation. Forgive and forget. Welcome to the family, brods! You should’ve seen the change that came over Brian. He started buddying up with Arnie as though they were long lost friends. He hung around with me and Arnie all the time, gave us rides around the campus, joined us at lunch. I think it was because he figured that with someone as big and strong as Arnie around no one from another frat would dare attack. Because of his size, Arnie was designated as a “hitman” in case of trouble with other frats. I’ve never joined any of the “hits” but Arnie tells me about them. He never carries a weapon though; the other members of the “hit squad” use steel pipes which they usually hide in their pant legs. Yeah, I know things have changed a lot since your time, Dad, when frats settled matters with one-on-one fistfights. Well, that’s the way we settle things now. Some other things haven’t changed though. It still takes just an exchange of dirty looks to start a scuffle. Anyway, Brian was a member of the “hit squad,” too. Arnie told me he was a coward, but a mean one. Brian would stay back while the others launched the first wave of attack. When that was over, then he would charge in and start hitting the guys who were stunned or already unconscious. There’s an unwritten rule among frats about using steel pipes; you’re not suppose to swing it with the full force of your arm. The force of the blow should come mainly from the wrist motion so that no permanent damage is inflicted. We’re not as barbaric as some people paint us to be. Well, Brian didn’t follow this rule. Arnie told me that he seemed to enjoy using both hands on the pipe and going for the arms and knees. A few months ago, he shattered a Sigman’s kneecap during an assault. I guess that’s why everybody thinks Sigmans killed him during the last rumble. There, I’ve let the cat out of the bag. You read it right. Brian Yumol was not killed by a Sigman. The newspapers have it all wrong. The guys being held for homicide right now had nothing to do with Brian’s death. The papers were right about the Sigmans attacking us in the parking lot though. I was with Arnie, Brian and a couple of other brods. It was around six in the evening. We were walking toward Brian’s car when a dozen Sigmans who had been lying in wait surrounded us. They managed to land a few blows before we ran away. I didn’t get hurt much, they seemed to be mainly after Brian and Arnie, probably because they recognized them as the ones who has taken part in the assault on their tambayan a few days before. Anyway, we escaped in different directions and I was able to hide behind this big station wagon. It was getting pretty dark and the Sigmans were having trouble finding us. I lay low for a while. After a few minutes, I took a peek through the windows. I could see Arnie and Brian crouching beside a van a few cars away from where I was. The Sigmans had caught one of the brods and were beating him on top of a car hood. Arnie and Brian seemed to be debating whether or not to join the fight. As far as I could tell, Brian seemed to be urging Arnie to help our brod but seemed reluctant to step out himself. He was trying to push Arnie out of hiding while making sure he was safely concealed. I was about to dash over to them when three Sigmans found them. Two of them went after Arnie while the other one attacked Brian. I wanted to rush over and help but I just couldn’t move, like I was frozen. Sorry Dad, but it looks like your son’s a coward after all. Well, Arnie sure didn’t need my help. He managed to knock down his two attackers almost immediately. Those fists of his are like sledgehammers. He then went after Brian’s attacker. Brian was screaming like some girl and trying to protect his face and head from the blows. Arnie grabbed the Sigman and knocked him to the ground with a single punch. Brian remained whimpering on the ground, shielding his head, until he realized what had happened. He then stood up, walked over to the unconscious Sigman who had attacked him, and started kicking his head. He was really looking to do some damage. Arnie shouted at him to stop but Brian just kept on kicking, like he wanted to kill the guy. Brian must have landed more than half-a-dozen kicks before I saw Arnie suddenly grab him by the collar. He punched Brian three times in the stomach. Brian doubled over, kneeled down and started vomiting. Arnie then stood up and karate chopped him on the back of his neck. I heard the crack of something breaking from where I was hidden. Brian went down hard, he wasn’t moving at all. Arnie stood over him for a few seconds, then launched himself into the fight that was still going on in the middle of the parking lot. He managed to knock a couple of Sigmans unconscious before they overwhelmed him through sheer number. The police arrived a few seconds later but I managed to slip away without anyone seeing me. So, you see, Dad, I’ve kept my promise: I managed to stay away from the rumbles. I guess, you know, the rest of the story. It’s all over the damn newspapers, The Sigmans denied having anything to do with Brian’s death, but of course, no one believes them. The guys they’re holding in prison never laid a hand on Brian. Arnie, of course, has no idea that I saw the whole thing. He’s being hailed as a hero by the brods. I wonder if the autopsy on Brian could ever reveal that his neck was broken by an open hand, not a steel pipe. So, now, the newspapers are having a field day denouncing frat rumbles on campus. The Sigmans’ Lord Chancellor has been suspended and is facing possible expulsion. The brods are busy planning another assault in the future to avenge Brian’s death. I haven’t talked to Arnie since this incident. In fact, I haven’t hung around the tambayan at all. Maybe, one day, I’ll tell Arnie I know what really happened. I’ll assure him that no one else will ever find out. The way I figure it, Brian kind of got what he had coming. Maybe one day, Arnie and I can be the sort of buddies we were back in high school. Maybe one day, all this stupid fighting and beating up on guys so that they’ll deserve to call you brod will stop. Heck, maybe one day, I’ll actually have the guts to send this letter to you, Dad. Who knows? Your son,
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