My Ride, I Love You

by Patrick Rangsimant

  Ah, yep… From this angle, his smiling face really looks handsome. No wonder he’s on the Handsome Win, Please Share page. I’ve ridden as Mork’s passenger several times but I’ve just realized he’s fairly good-looking. He’s tall, well-built, and a bit tanned. His facial features are quite defined and look especially good when he smiles.

  Oh, that’s right! I take out my phone to show him the fan page.

  “Look, Mork. You’re on the list from this Handsome Win, Please Share page.”

  He takes the phone and looks, furrowing his eyebrows.

  “What’s this, doc? Handsome Win, Please Share?”

  “It’s a Facebook page. They upload pics of handsome motorcycle taxi drivers from around Bangkok, I guess. And look.” I scroll my screen down to his photo and open it for him. “Here, someone secretly took a photo of you and shared it there… Young and handsome mototaxi from lower Phahon. Road. No more clues, calling dibs.” I read a part of the caption out loud for him.

  Mork bursts into an open-mouthed guffaw. “Whoaaa, people actually like such meaningless things? Handsome mototaxi, huh? What about handsome taxicab fan page, doc?”

  “I think there is. But I’ve never looked, oh, wait… Did you just say it’s meaningless? Why?”

  I shut off my screen and put the phone away.

  “Well, doc, handsome people are common, aren’t they? Doctors, food vendors, mototaxi or taxicab drivers, there are handsome guys in all jobs. Oh, right, doc, there are handsome ones among the BMA[35] street sweepers working near your hospital, too. There are plenty of handsome guys, I can’t see why it’s strange or important enough to create a fan page for this.

  I consider his point…

  “Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe people commonly think motorcycle taxi drivers are typically not handsome, so when they spot a handsome driver, they’re surprised and want to share the information with others.”

  “Hah, doc, even you, let me use you as an example. It’s said that doctors typically look like they have Chinese lineage, pale skin and slant-eye, kinda like that. But you don’t look like the typical belief. Therefore,” he props his chin in the palm of his hand and jiggles his eyebrows at me, “a handsome guy like me could be a mototaxi as well. It’s not strange, doc.”

  “Hehhhh, that’s NOT narcissistic at all, eh? You know what, the word ‘handsome’ is not meant for self-praise. Let other people do that. If you say it yourself, people might think you’re such a hideous dog, I tell you.”

  I roll my eyes at him.

  “Eh, why! Handsome man is handsome. Let me tell you something, in my vocational college days, those girls from the department of commerce were all over me. I don’t wanna gloat but, hah!”

  He proudly says it with his arms crossed… Oh, I see, he went to vocational college. That’s the equivalent of twelfth grade, isn’t it? Yep, maybe. I’m not familiar with the system anymore, so I’m not sure.

  “But well, you like to look at that kind of thing, doc? This Handsome Win Share page.” He asks.

  “Nope, not me! Nadia found it and showed it to me.” I shake my head.

  “Oh, that’s your broken heart friend, right? How is he doing? Feeling more cheerful now?”

  “He got more cheerful already. He has a strong will.” I omit the part where I should say ‘you are actually Nadia’s next target’ because I don’t want to shock him.

  “Doc, you’re going to the same condo, right? Just a sec, let me take my meds.”

  Then, he gets two fever-reducing pills and tosses them in his mouth before chugging down the water from his bottle, bottom up. The half-liter bottle becomes empty in no time. He drinks water like a camel.

  “Oh, no, are you sick?” I ask.

  “Yah, doc. Having some fever.” He replies and I notice that his voice sounds a little bit nasal today as well.

  Out of habit, I put a hand up towards his forehead. He doesn’t seem surprised, though. Instead, he bends his body slightly forward to make it easier for me to reach.

  “Oh, right… You’re running a temperature.”

  “Yah, after dropping you off, I think I’ll go to a pharmacy and buy some anti-inflammatory pills for myself.” He then hands me a safety helmet.

  “No way! Don’t take anti-inflammatory pills.”

  I take the helmet from him without putting it on yet.

  “Oh, why’s that? Everyone else takes anti-inflammatory pills to cure a sore throat.”

  “You got a sore throat too?” I ask and Mork nods.

  “Open your mouth, let me examine it.”

  I turn on the flashlight on my phone. Mork obediently opens his mouth, widely, too, while bending his upper body down for me. Um… Mallumpati One,[36] excellent visibility, a little redness and swelling, no pus at all. I turn off the light and put my phone away again.

  “Hey, your cold is from a virus. You don’t need an antibiotic pill.”

  He furrows his brows. “What meds is that, doc? Anti Bio? What?”

  “Antibiotics, or antimicrobial. The same kind of drugs that you called anti-inflammatory.”

  “Oh? Don’t need it? A cold is an infection from a microbial, so we need an antimicrobial, right?”

  Oh, boy… He’s arguing. Now, who’s the doctor and who’s the mototaxi driver, I wonder.

  But this is common. I’ve long been fighting a battle against this batshit belief. Thai people tend to buy and take antibiotic medications as soon as they have a sore throat, believing it won’t heal without antibiotics. Worse yet, they prefer medicine with stronger potency.

  It started from Amoxycillin, and now everyone is going for Amoxuclav without needing a doctor’s prescription. These are easily accessible in drug stores. Some drug stores don’t even have a pharmacist. Moreover, I’ve met some patients who had been taking Cefdinir before seeing a doctor. In the future, these bacteria will all become resistant. And then, for any bacterial infection, all we can do is to sit and pray for the bacteria to just somehow die on their own.

  “Common cold is caused by a virus. But antibiotic meds kill bacteria. They are different types of microbial. For a virus, we can rely on our body’s immunity system to kill them. You just need to take a fever reducer, get a lot of sleep, and drink plenty of water. That’s all.”

  “But I’m coughing, too, doc. My phlegm looks green. They said that means there’s pus in the mix and that we’ll need antimicrobial meds.”

  Meh, yet another thing. Green phlegm means it’s mixed with pus, heh? Why don’t you think it could be pandan custard, too?

  I roll my eyes. “They? Who are they? The doctors?”

  Mr. Mork shakes his head. “Well, ‘they’ means ‘they’ in general, doc. Other people. Everyone else.”

  I sigh. “Listen to me and rewrite your memory, Mork. When we have a cold and get about fully recovered, your mucus goes down to your throat and you get postnasal drip. Cold can turn your mucus into yellowish and greenish colors. That’s the sign of getting well. It doesn’t mean pus. Don’t take antibiotic pills.”

  “Ah, really, doc? I really don’t need any antibiotics?”

  His face still looks dubious. I nod again.

  “Trust me. I am your damn doctor. If I say you don’t need it, then you don’t. Stop listening to random people who aren’t doctors.”

  “Uh, that’s great, I guess. Antibiotic pills are expensive. I don’t want to waste money.” He walks to his motorcycle.

  “Ah, doc, let’s go. I’ll drop you off. We talked for too long, your boyfriend must be waiting.”

  I put on the helmet and buckle it before walking to my ride.

  “Oh, right, take this.” I search my bag for the box of instant ginger tea originally bought for P'Por and hand it to Mork. “If you want to speed up your recovery, make warm ginger tea and drink it. Trust me, when I was a kid, my grandma always brewed this for me whenever I was sick. I always got back to normal before I could even finish one pot of ginger tea.”

  “Oh wow! Thank you, doc.” He take
s it and puts it in his front basket.

  “Come, hop right on. I’ll send you home.”

  “Okayyyyy” I climb up the passenger seat, one hand holding onto the rear handle and another hand reaching through to wrap around his shoulder joint. Then, Mork starts the engine.

  I don’t know… Maybe this is the way human beings familiarize with each other. It is learning to trust each other.

  At first, when I had to ride as a motorcycle passenger and met him, the only thoughts in my head were that it’s dangerous and scary. But he taught me how to ride in the backseat of a motorcycle. And my perspective changed. From seeing it as dangerous and scary, to seeing it as a common activity in my daily life.

  When I ride as his passenger, I trust that riding on his backseat is safe…

  Maybe it’s similar to today, when he learned to trust me, and learned that a cold doesn’t require antibiotics, and learned that green phlegm is not pus but a signal of recovery. He also trusts that drinking ginger tea helps with cold recovery. Mork has voluntarily changed his old beliefs and now believes in what I told him instead.

  I think...that is symbolic, a proof of trust.

  “Ah, we’re here, doc.”

  He parks in front of the condo and turns the engine off.

  “Here, thirty baht.”

  I hand him the money but he shakes his head.

  “Nah, doc. Today you examined me and gave me ginger tea. Just dropping you off isn’t even enough.”

  “Whatttt? Nope! The other day you helped me carry Nadia back to the dorm in the middle of the night and only accepted the fare.”

  He insists on refusing the money.

  “If we keep counting the debts back and forth, it will never end. We’re friends. And friends help each other like this. I’m not charging the fare today. See you later! Sweet dreams, doc.”

  I smile in return while giving the helmet back to him.

  “Alright, then. We’re friends. Sweet dreams, Mork.”

  Exactly. This is the human’s way in a community. We meet, we get acquainted, we communicate, and we learn to trust each other. Then, we start being friends.

  Chapter 8: Mork

  ACHOO!!!

  That’s not me. My Loong sneezes so loudly it echoes in the whole house. Ar snatches a sheet of tissue paper and hands it to him while complaining.

  “Cover your mouth for coughs and sneezes. You’re spreading the cold.”

  Loong takes the paper and blows his nose into it vigorously.

  “I guess I caught a cold from Mork.”

  “Hey, I’m cured already, Loong. Don’t blame me.”

  I hastily claim my innocence. That day, after dropping the doctor off, I came home and made the instant ginger tea with warm water. And yeah, it’s just like he said. I fully recovered before I could finish the whole box. My nose feels great and my throat is no longer scratchy, without needing the antibiotic pills. I dislike taking an antibiotic medication because it makes my urine stink.

  “You’ve already passed it to me before you were cured.”

  Loong keeps pointing the finger at me.

  “Yeah, and you sneezed loudly without covering your mouth, heck, you’re gonna pass the cold to me, too.”

  Ar joins the fray. I think I better rush upstairs to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.

  “Hey, Mork, wait.” However, a voice stops me in my tracks after just three steps.

  “Yah, Ar. What’s up?”

  “You still remember that he and I have a check-up appointment for diabetes and blood pressure tomorrow, right? Have you booked a day off at work?”

  I nod. “Yah, I told P'Fueang already. You two don’t forget to wake up early, we’ll have to queue up and get the blood tests done. Even with the appointment slips, we have to hurry there.”

  “I know. And you, don’t go to sleep late tonight. Gotta wake up early.”

  “Yesssss, sirrrr.”

  My two uncles sound like soulmates. They began having high blood pressure one after another, a year apart. And when they got diabetes, they started around the same time as well. I was so confused how they coud have diabetese, because none of them are obese. Like I told you, these old men are vigorous and muscular. But the doctor said it comes from several factors. Looking healthy doesn’t mean you’ll always be strong. I need to be careful as well.

  So it is my duty to take them both to their routine check-ups every two or three months. Actually, they can manage on their own, but it is better to have someone accompany them while waiting for the calls, in case one of them needs to go to the restroom or submit the blood sample.

  And that’s my responsibility. Plus, the hospital where they are going is the same hospital Doctor Tawan works at.

  Who knows, maybe tomorrow I’ll get to see him.

  While my head is thinking, my legs bring me into my bedroom and past the bedside table. On its top, I catch a glimpse of the photo in the frame, a photo I took with Fern… I still haven’t yet gotten around to replacing it with something else.

  Earlier, I just put it face down and thought about replacing the photo, because it hurt every time I saw a picture from the past when we were still together. I didn’t want a constant reminder of the pain from losing Fern.

  I can’t remember putting the frame back in its upright position. Maybe I automatically put it up while dusting and cleaning my own room.

  Right now I can look at it with neutral emotion. It doesn’t hurt. I don’t feel anything. And since I don’t feel anything, I haven’t replaced the photo or discarded it yet. So the photo of us is still in the frame, to remind me that once upon a time in my life, she used to be with me.

  I hop in bed and pick up my cellphone, thinking about playing a game. But I recall the fan page Doctor Tawan mentioned the other day, the page that has my photo.

  Um, what’s the name of the page? … Oh, right! Handsome Win, Please Share. Shouldn’t I check it out a bit? I’m curious to see what they wrote about me. I wasn’t paying attention when the doc showed it to me on his phone and didn’t read anything.

  Changing my plan, I shut off the game and open my Facebook...uh, after several months.

  I have my own Facebook account, I tell you! Anyone has it nowadays. But I mainly use mine for gaming. I don’t know how to explain, but to me, Facebook is like an ID Card; you have it, you sometimes take it out and use it, but not often. Yah, I guess that’s about right. They’re similar.

  I started using Facebook because of Fern…

  As an average guy, I don’t care about such things, but when my girlfriend wanted me to use it too, I said okay. Not because I’m obedient, I just didn’t want to keep hearing her complaints in the long run.

  From then on, I have a Facebook account that’s mostly untouched except for the label of relationship status that had Fern’s name on it.

  Now the relationship status is blank. Fern has taken her relationship with me off her profile long ago. But my own status is still “in relationship” only because I haven’t changed it to “single” yet. Also, my timeline is empty. I never wrote or uploaded anything. Too lazy to type, and I dislike taking photos. There were only the photos that Fern took with me and tagged me. But after we broke up, she deleted them all and my timeline became empty again.

  Honestly, she didn’t need to do that…

  It’s not like deleting the photos can also delete the past. Removing the photos of an ex doesn’t mean our new one would become the first anyway. I feel that old photos are like a memoir. Who knows, someday Fern might want to look at the photos from that pork hot pot restaurant we once ate, to see where it is because she’s forgotten the location. But now she can’t check anything, because she deleted the photos already.

  To delete is the choice that Fern chooses.

  To remember is the choice that I choose.

  After staring at my empty timeline, I type the keywords “Handsome Win, Please Share” in the search bar at the top, and it shows the page along with various pictures.


  I scroll down and find my photos. Wow, they’re so clear. I wasn’t wearing my safety helmet in these. One photo shows me talking to P'Fueang, next one I was laughing (with my mouth open so wide,) and the next one I was smiling (eh, I am handsome alright.) Last picture was when I was bending my head down to drink Pepsi from the bag with a straw. There is a caption under those photos.

  “Young and handsome mototaxi from around lower Phahon. Rd. (Also, not gonna give more clues to you guys, I’m calling dibs on this one, eiei.) Asked around, and they said his name is Mork.”

  (Reading that...creeps me out!)

  I have no idea who took these pictures. Their cellphone seems to have a very good camera. I’m not sure from how far or what angle they took these, but clearly, I wasn’t aware of it. Actually, I’ve always been quite dull. Everyone in the family and also those older mototaxi guys at my station all said I am dull and obtuse. I used to be confused between the two words: dull and stupid. When people said I was dull, I always thought they meant I was stupid.