...more to lose...

…we used to cry about the day when one of us might fall,

weak and blindly, into another's arms.

demands are gained from jealousies, would flow like water drowning us
but leaving us with just another lover's false alarm…

Stacey struggled hard, squinting her eyes, trying to decipher what word it was that she is finding difficult to read. It was her own handwriting, from decades ago when she was still young and naïve. The diary entry was dated August 24, and was a record of the events of that particular day, so descriptive that Stacey can actually feel how she had giggled while writing that down.  It was the day she and Rico became a couple.

Stacey paused for a breath, and flashbacks of how Rico looked seemed to blurly come into her memory. She was barely out of college then, and he was a prince to her young eyes. She remembered how her heart skipped a beat when Rico first said hi to her, and introduced himself. Details of that introduction now escape her, but she was certain it was the moment when her knees almost failed her. She skimmed a few pages back, and she was retold of the moments prior to this particular day.

Rico came to live with his relatives in her street, a newcomer to her village, and yet, he easily became friends with most of Stacey’s friends. One hello led to another, and after several more hello’s, Stacey found herself going out with Rico on dates that she actually was avoiding. Rico had his ways of swooning her, and the words she used to describe them in her diary were something Stacey was finding incredible now. They exchanged letters, some of which Stacey remembered keeping in a shoe box under her bed. She’ll hunt for them tomorrow, she thought to herself, and try to read some if she can.

Then came August 24, a Saturday. A friend was celebrating her birthday with a dance party, typical of the times then. Stacey of course was there. And so was Rico. He had asked her for a dance. Stacey was quite disappointed with herself for not mentioning in the diary what music it was they danced to, but in hindsight, she was glad she now has no chance of reminiscing.

Stacey felt intrigued with what was written in that diary, but the pangs of reality was there to bite her. She reads:

               Rico asked me, “ Stace, ngayon ko gustong itanong syo, mahal mo na ba ako?”

               I answered with a pause, “ewan ko.”

               R: “e di ibig sabihin pala hindi totoo yung mga sinusulat mo?”

               S: “totoo yun! Isusulat ko ba yun kung hindi totoo?”

             Long, long talk (fast forward) I asked her about Janet, and he said “wala ako diyan!”

               And finally he asked me, “Stace, meron na ba tayo?”

               S: “ikaw, gusto mo ba?”

               R: “ikaw, nag-aalinlangan ka ba kay Janet?”

               S: “hindi. Natatakot lang ako pag nalaman ng parents ko.”

               R: “e ‘di itago natin. O ano, walang makakaalam nyan. Payag ka ba?”

               After a long, long, long pause, I finally said “yes!”

Streams of memories started gushing down her closed eyes, as if on cue some movie was played for her to remember everything that came after that fateful day. She didn’t need any more of the entries after that day in her diary to help her remember. The pangs of reality was there to do that for her. Stacey was nonetheless surprised to note that that was the second to the last entry.

…and now it's over, both of us free… but I feel colder…

She was naïve; that was all she could muster to comfort herself. She did nothing wrong, She was young and naïve. Stacey closed the diary, while she allowed those memories to come to her. She was feeling heavy in her chest. Maybe it was anger, maybe it was regret, or maybe it was a strong feeling of hatred for Rico, she may never know.

She loved Rico blindly. There, she was now ready to admit it. And more.

…a thousand tortured lives have fallen, wounded dying cut down by the

questions that we've sharpened just to save our losing days

we thought we'd nothing more to lose we'd tear our hearts with jagged truths

and everything we'd hung to for so long just slipped away…

Theirs was a whirlwind romance. Stacey could count with her fingers and toes everything she did for him. Rico did not need much to make her do what he wanted because Stacey would give in willingly. She remembers now that he had a way of swooning her, as if she was hypnotized. Yes, that’s it, she reasoned with herself. I was duped! Stacey was feeling more of the hate that she tried to suppress for so long. She had no one to talk to about Rico, not when her friends were nowhere when all this was happening, and certainly not her family. They would have had a more terrible reaction than they did if they ever learned.

She gave Rico everything. That was how deep she fell in love with him. He was her first. They had planned their lives so perfectly together. She was ready to marry him and start their happy family as soon as they had settled down.  And as naïve as she was, she thought that all that love she gave was equally reciprocated.

…and now it's over, both of us free… but I feel colder…

Then came the big bomb. One day, sometime when all of their plans seemed to be falling in place, their lives were suddenly torn apart. Stacey saw in her mind how she picked up the ringing phone, and heard, in her mind, Margaret’s voice. She was Rico’s wife.

…i was tired of thinking that our love can shine your thoughts

of our arrangements, were really not like mine

i thought it over, and it was plain to see the love you said you once needed

could just not come from me…

Every recollection of the events after that memory became a blur to Stacey. These were all that she tried so hard to forget. But that giddy feeling reading that very old diary entry started all this downhill feeling she is experiencing right now. She hates him; that is for sure. But not anymore. Stacey calmed herself, by looking at the calendar, which showed the year. It had been over fifteen years since. She is no longer the young girl she was when she fell so desperately in love with Rico. Although this was something she could not bear to tell anyone, she finally decided she would bear it no more. She is finally free of him, and his memory.

Stacey flipped the next pages of the diary. There was one last entry. It was just his name written against the now yellowing paper. She closed the book, took the shoe box from under her bed, stood up and walked outside. She took a lighter, and set all those documents on fire. She whispered softly, I’m free now.

Stacey heard her husband James call out from inside the house, “Hon, what are you doing outside? Come on in, it’s cold out there!” She paused, gave a relieved smile to the darkness in front of her, and replied, “I was just finishing this cigarette. I’ll be right in.”

…and now it's over, both of us free… but I feel colder…

And now we're moving to new beginnings

But as we move we looked once behind

To see what we might find out

Lost loves and old thoughts of our nights of winnings

That lunge, tear and grasp

At lost wanting minds

...starry starry night...

Rachel leaned back casually, putting the weight of her upper body on her two outstretched arms, and giving her legs freedom to move about in front of her. She let a soft night breeze touch her cheeks, as she closed her eyes and raised her head into the sky above. The moon shone like a bright beacon high up in the cloudless, star-filled night. She opened her eyes to the hope that a falling star would dash across the sky towards the horizon for her, because in her heart she was harboring a wish she so dearly wanted – no, needed, to be fulfilled.

Rachel felt the metal of the roof beneath her start to send its chill up her arms. The soft wind was also licking her bare shoulders. Her strapped dress was no help in covering herself from the cold that was slowly creeping inside her. But it wasn’t the wind or the roof that felt the coldest. It was the sense of uncertainty that she was facing.

Towards the east Rachel could identify the constellation Orion. She remembered it well, because Chris taught her how to make an imaginary line across the heavens so she could find her zodiac, Aries. She could imagine his finger pointing to the stars that guide her from one point to another, and she could still hear his voice as he patiently directed her to Aries, the Ram. They would spend countless hours together, including those on that roof just being lost in each other’s thoughts and arms and lips. Tonight she was tracing the stars alone.

Rachel closed her eyes again, but this time to stop a tear from falling. And in the utter darkness that followed, she saw Chris. His face, his eyes, his smile… Rachel never wanted to open her eyes again because she knew that he wasn’t sitting next to him anymore.

Two weeks ago was the eighth of the month, the day both of them had dreaded for the last three months and never wanted to come. It was the day they knew would be hardest, because it was the day Chris would leave for another country and stay there for good. He had accepted a position with the company and he was taking his wife and kids with him.

Rachel loves Chris, despite everything – him being married, she being in a relationship herself. And now that he is gone, she was longing for him even more. She felt, as the cliché-ic line went, more than a woman when she was with him. He knew all the things that Rachel wanted, and he gave them without reservations. Theirs was the materialization of a love that could have been, given the right circumstances. But fate wasn’t on their side, and now she was left alone to watch the night sky like they used to do together.

Rachel lit a cigarette, and the burst of light from the match stick momentarily blinded her. The tear that was swelling in her eyes had dried. She let go one heavy heave of smoke into the air, and formed like thin clouds blurring the moon. She knew she will always have the night sky with Chris. She could never share this moment with anyone else, not even her fiancé.

Rachel gave up in her search of that one shooting star. Her wish stayed unwished, and she closed her eyes for that one last cry. No tear fell, but her heart was breaking. Around her the world is starting to stir up, and the sky was slowly turning deep blue, telling her that a new morning was at hand. The moon was fading. She whispered her last wish to the moon, that someday, somewhere, and somehow, her life and Chris’s will be one again. But for now, she decided, she will leave the stars alone.

Her phone rang; it’s Mark. She knew it won’t be easy, but this phone call would be the start.

...must have been... (May 16, 2005)

There’s only a single piece of pickle in his hamburger, Luke noticed. It’s not fair. There’re two hamburger patties between two slices of hamburger buns. It’s only right that there should also be two pieces of pickles. Luke protested wildly in his mind while examining his dinner. He had been eating slowly for twenty minutes now, trying to delay the burger’s fate until later, and he was on his fifteenth bite when he discovered the injustice. It was a symptom of a man nearing the conclusion that he’d just been stood up.

His handy pocket watch that oftentimes doubles as his cellular phone showed 6:03 - one thousand nine hundred and eighty seconds past their agreed time. He had already noticed the coming and going of several groups of college students from a nearby school. He’d already heard many stories about the latest biology assignment, of how the professor looked today, and of what Mariah might be wearing in her upcoming concert. The store’s CD had gone two cycles already and is about to make a third. And the hapless burger is the current target of ire of a nearly desperate man.

But she said she would come. And because he knew her, he believes she will.

He took a sip of his soda, now tasting more like water. He wondered if sodas could go stale like the chocolate drink his brother forgot in the ref for two weeks. He took another sip, and hoped that he will not have to wait in that store long enough to find out. At least the soda’s still fine. And the burger’s nearing the end of its existence as he was on his twenty sixth bite, which resembles more a rat nibble than an actual bite.

“I’m so sorry! Have you been here long?” the familiar voice said as the body to which it belonged seemed to drop miraculously on the seat in front of him after having appeared from nowhere. It had a face not peculiar of the words ‘I’m so sorry’ but more of ‘I’ve got fantastic news for you!”

Luke hesitated for a moment. He knew that he has the ace of anger and have every right to play this card. But the curiosity brought about by the excitement on the intruder’s face was irresistible. A good lashing of where-the-hell-have-you-been could never win over a round of okay-spill-the-beans-what-have-you-done at a time like this. He chose to play the jack of shits instead.

“No. I just got here myself.”
“Oh good! I would have hated myself for making you wait very long.” the woman said. Luke suddenly felt the pang of the ace wanting to be played. He felt the strong urge to say ‘go right ahead and hate yourself!’

“You won’t believe who I was with just this morning! Remember the guy we met last night at Chito’s party?”

Luke examined the woman in front of him, and asked himself why he was her friend. The answer came in a series of flashbacks which he swore was like when one’s about to die. He saw himself almost two years ago, slumped in his faded Levi’s Type 1 Jeans and his favorite John Lennon shirt that he found and bought in Mindanao. He wore his tattered Chuck Taylor sneakers. He was holding a bottle of beer in one hand, and a lighter in the other. He doesn’t smoke, but he knew the girls around him in that bar do. He was completely different then from what he was now. That night, he was out to have fun notwithstanding his friends.

The music was blaring, and clouds meander through the thick smoke that filled the small nearly overcrowded bar. He saw her sitting in one corner with her friends. She was wearing her sexy white shirt that read Norma Jean. She was no blonde, but a hottie just the same. He was a patient man; before the long arduous waiting in the burger joint, he had watched her every move that night, like an eagle keeping eye on a prairie dog. Then the opportune moment came. Armed with the lighter in his one hand, he swooped in for the kill when she picked up a cigarette from her purse. It was as if Popeye saved his damsel Olive from distress. He asked her for her name but she gave him her number as well. They parted for the night only to become together again a week after, when the story of how they met ended, and the story of how they became friends began.

She was a free bird, meant to fly high and soar the skies. Luke surrendered to this conclusion after four or five dates with her. He could never have the heart to be the cage that keeps her wings clipped. Add the fact that she would not permit him to be either. Luke, however, realized that flying high she runs the danger of the hunters that mean to shoot her down. The long hard fall is a risk Luke knew he could not prevent her from taking. And so he receded into the background and patiently weaved the protective net of friendship with which to catch her just in case. They went out, did things together, and bonded like Dharma and Greg, except that Luke knew he wasn’t Greg, and she wasn’t Dharma.

The years swiftly passed by almost unnoticed. Luke’s shoulders became witness to many of her wet eyes, and countless beer bottles had been emptied to drown her otherwise pathetic love life, or the lack of it. Her spirited heart still remained uncontained. Father Luke had given numerous homilies and written hundreds of “trusting for dummies” and “the complete idiot’s guide to love.” She heard every sermon, and had every copy. But her altitude must have really masked any sound, or caused understanding difficulties.

Then one night, on the eve of their 516th day of knowing each other’s existence, Luke was preparing his comfort net for her when he slipped, and fell himself. Though he would still bear the net and spread it every time the hunter hits her wings, he would never look at her the same way again.

Until today, when his trance was broken by her loud shriek, “Are you even listening?!”

Luke almost bolted suddenly from his sleep like jolted by high voltage. He searched his surroundings for landmarks that might anchor him back to reality. He secretly bit his lips to check if he was still alive. He is. But telling from an ignored woman’s sudden outburst, he might not soon be.

“Yes… I… you… you were talking about how good ATC looked today. Was that Francesco or Cardams where you went in?” Luke repeated her last few words, hoping he had heard them correctly. She had been telling her tale for the past fifteen minutes or so already. Luke thought that maybe flashbacks on the last day of his life would last much longer.

“Oh! He’s got to be the one, Luke. I just know he is!” she was turning red with excitement, like the bouquet of roses she once got from Luke last valentines day when she decided against a valentine romance. “He’s everything I ever dreamt my man would be. And he knows how to cook. I like a man who cooks.”

“You should have gone out with the caterer to your sister’s birthday then.”

“Don’t be silly! And don’t ruin this moment for me; help me out here. Pretend you’re happy for me.” She said, with the teasing eyes of a little sister asking him to let her take the car for tonight. He didn’t like it.

“Well, I’m not. Not this time. Don’t you think you’ve had too many of these things to last you your lifetime? Why don’t you find someone who’s really meant for you?” Luke mustered some strength to say those words. He could have acted enough to merit some sort of award. With this, she looked him in the eye.

“And who, may I boldly ask, would be that ‘someone who’s really meant for me’?” She had her arms akimbo, and Luke prepared himself incase of an assault, as most women were wont to.

“Me.”

Silence, as most people would claim, has very little effect on the deaf. But for those who can hear, silence can be deafening. The one that fell between them was worse. For seconds, everything stood still. Luke felt like the twilight zone suddenly took over. They were both frozen in a stare into each other’s eyes. His eyes searched hers for any hint – perhaps a glimmer, or a squint in the sides - that could give him a clue of what was going on inside her mind. There was none; either Luke didn’t see it, or he totally didn’t know what he was looking for. Like all silences, this one had to be broken.

“No. It just can’t possibly be.” she whispered under a soft breath, following a heavy heave. She broke eye contact, and turned the other way. “I have to go.”

“But you just got here. And what about that movie you said we’d be seeing?” Luke tried to break the ice, desperately trying to hide a smirk in the corner of his lips.

“No. I really have to go.” With that she took her glasses that she laid on the table in front of her. She hurriedly put them on and stood as fast as she could. She stormed out the door and disappeared from his sight. The body to which the familiar voice belonged was gone as suddenly as it had come.

Luke looked at his burger. There was no more sign of the lone pickle that brought him a great debacle earlier. Only a small part with patties and buns remained. Luke held it closer. With a big, satisfied smile pasted like fresco in his face, he placed the last piece of burger in his mouth as if to say, ‘fate has been sealed’.

...indecision... (May 16, 2005)

She felt suffocated. Her heaves were getting heavier by the minute. She could imagine beads of sweat forming on her forehead. It’s the indecision that’s killing her now. She was moments away from making a life with someone, or breaking an almost perfect and happy relationship with that someone.

It was the morning after a very wonderful date. The hangover of a seemingly love filled night was at its peak. She still had that sparkle in her eyes, the same sparkle she thought she must have worn the night before when he was a breath away from her. In her eyes she still bore the battle scars of a failed attempt at a first kiss. She could not remember whose fault it was, but surely both of them held back when it was about to materialize. She was hesitant; he didn’t have a clue what was going on.

She looked herself in the mirror. There was a hint of uncertainty in her deep brown eyes. She wanted to ask herself if she actually and finally felt love for this guy, or was this simply an extension of a high school infatuation. She had to know.

She scoured her face in the mirror, looking for a sign she might be somebody different from who she knew she was. Perhaps a hint of loneliness was trying to surface, or something missing was making its absence felt. She failed; she was the same woman she grew up with. She was pretty, she knows it, and she was leaning a bit towards vanity. But that does not make for an excuse to want the company of this man. No, there was no loneliness. At times, she would go to places alone. But never was she lonely. She always managed to be happy. And no, there was nothing missing in her life. Yes she must have had a few relationships gone sour, and the one man that gave her the best gift she has now wasn’t man enough to be with her. But she considered every past experience a lesson to be learned, and not a hurt that should clutter in her closet. She had her life ahead of her. The face that’s staring at her through the mirror was the one face she was striving to keep a smile indelibly painted on. This thought did, and it was a smile of satisfaction.

She could breathe well now. The sparkle from last night was gone. In its place was the brilliance of determination. She had to let him know. She had to tell him this whole thing would not work.

Her phone rang. She picked it up and listened. The voice on the other line was incredibly familiar; she felt tingles down her spine. It was he. He was calling for the morning after. She listened. He spoke. His was simply all the pleasantries of good morning's, hi’s, and hello’s. Still he managed to make her knees weak, and a terrible urge to speak to him ensued inside her. She held back, for fear she might say the wrong words, and give him the wrong message. She wanted to say what she had just decided upon moments ago about them not working together. But her tongue was stopped by her intent on continuing to listen to his voice. And then he noticed.

With his “are you still there? what’s going on? are you alright?” she hanged up. She wanted a much better time for him to listen to what she had to say.

The seconds passed unhindered. Time cannot be stopped from doing what it does best – pass by. It is the only thing that survives by spending itself away, and no matter what happens, time will continue to pass. This too, she decided, must pass. So she dialed his number. When he said his hello, her first words were the four most dreaded and fateful words in the English language, “we have to talk.”

And she told him. She unleashed her thoughts. She made sure he knew she wanted this to stop, before it gets any worse. Every word that transcended from her thoughts through her tongue hit its mark on him. And she felt he understood everything. His silence was her confirmation.

At last she was done. The conversation seemed to last an eternity. Goodbyes were always the hardest times, and the longest. She was not ending their relationship because she didn’t want him. It was because she was afraid she might soon. Deeply. Inescapably. Eventually. She could not afford that, not just yet.

Just before she felt triumph over herself for accomplishing what she set out to do, he had his final words to her. After a long pause that marked several ticks in time, he spoke. And the sound that followed was the indifference of the telephone line being cut. He had hung up. Still holding her phone against her left ear, she could hear his words echoing in the abyss he had created in her mind.

“Don’t ever let yourself be miserable. Don’t put yourself in a situation where you’ll be short-changed. Coz you’re one woman worth losing life and limb for.” She knew this meant something very complex, and her self-beliefs were shaken again. These words came from someone she almost fell in love with, and who doesn’t have the slightest clue what was going on.

The mirror showed another face, one that was breathing heavily. The indecision has brought the suffocation back.

...union... (May 16, 2005)

In her mind raced thoughts of him as she stepped off the car. It had been three months now since she last heard of him. And now was the day they both feared would come, but eventually looked forward to. This was the day they promised each other to meet again, to take that one last chance, because tomorrow is goodbye.

She fidgeted and hesitated a bit before entering that small surfing resort up north. She had braved the five-hour journey just so she could be at the right place at the right time. And indeed she was, she remembered the place. But as composure returned to her, she could not remember the face of the name she had come to say goodbye to. Her heart knew better, and it sensed his nearness. With eyes beaming with hope and an ardent uncertainty she searched the crowd now gathered to look back at her.

Then he was there.

He waved at her, and solicited a deep sigh of relief from her. She offered him a smile, of which he indescribably returned. A few steps and they were again within arms away from each other. Her face radiated the joy she felt just being with him again. She had loved him, indeed. But not anymore, or so at least she thought. And this thought was something she had three months to convince herself was real. She had promised herself the night before that it was indeed goodbye. She came there for a purpose, and she wasn’t about to sway from that purpose. She had come to say goodbye.

But he was so near. She could smell him, and her arms yearned to reach out and wrap him again. Her lips certainly missed his, and she wondered what the price would be for another taste of his kiss. He was exactly the man she remembered him to be, the same masculinity that again made her heart thump wild. While saying her pleasantries, she looked at every part of him but his eyes. She knew that if she did, then she could never do what she came here to do.

He too was there for the same reason, but without that which held her back. And as she wrapped her arms around him for one last time, she knew. Three months had changed a lot. He was different now, as was she. Only, she wanted more convincing of the truth, he already felt the truth. Her hopes of rekindling their love went unreciprocated.

Her embrace tightened as she whispered her last few breaths into his ears. The word goodbye flew swiftly, and she held back the tears bidding to fall. She dare not let them. She had coerced herself to be tough. She had psyched herself for this. This is only goodbye, nothing more. There will be no regrets, she said. And she turned around. With head held up high, she walked away from him.

In her mind raced thoughts of him as she went into the car. It’s another five-hour journey home. There’s plenty of time for the tears to fall.

...yes... (May 16, 2005)

Jeco looked at himself in the mirror. He spotted something wrong with his eyes; it was proclaiming a sense of apprehension, squirming whenever he looked straight at them. Shy eyes, he thought. But he could not flatter himself too much as to hide how he really felt. He was indeed hesitant about something. He was inside the men’s room of a known restaurant, and just a few steps away, Stephanie was waiting for him to return to their table.

He had excused himself two minutes ago when he felt there was something suffocating in the air. Maybe it was the wine, he reasoned. No. It couldn’t be the wine. He had had more alcohol in one night before. There was only one other logical reason why he suddenly felt his world turned faster than it ought to. It was Stephanie.

She was intoxicating. And that made up for all the mysteries he was experiencing. He secretly took a peek out into the dining area from the small opening in the door. From afar he could see her. She wore nothing more than a simple shirt, a pair of jeans that fit nicely with her stunning figure, and that indelible smile of hers that seem to be just pasted on her lips. The sight made Jeco’s heart skip a beat. “What the hell am I doing here?”

Jeco remembered her from as far back as his high school days. It was a story to tell his grandchildren. He was a greenhorn then, a nobody, in a school where you first learn how to run before you learn how to walk. She was a somebody; everyone wanted to have a piece of her. He was walking back to his classroom one fine day in July when perchance he decided to walk through the canteen and up the stairs to the second floor. She, perhaps also by chance, decided to take the same way coming down from the second floor. He met her; she didn’t mind him. Jeco stood there half spellbound as she walked down the stairs, with her hair laid down and blowing in a sudden gush of wind like the kind you see on scripted Hollywood movies. Only this was real life, or surreal life for Jeco. Time seemed to have moved in slow motion and everything suddenly burst with colorful auras. Then as suddenly as it had come, the moment was over. She walked past him, and a brush of her hair against his right shoulder was enough trophy for him, a trophy he cannot display.

Jeco straightened his shirt, unbuttoned the topmost button, stroked his hair one last time, took a deep breath and opened the door. I’m ok now, I think, he said to himself. He walked slowly towards Stephanie waiting at the table. “Are you ok? You took so long in there… I was worried you might have felt sick or something.” She was being polite. Knowing her, he would have half expected a more teasing remark. “Am ok. I just needed some… a…” He tried to suppress the words “fresh air” from coming out of his mouth because where he just came from she surely would die laughing if she heard those words. He frantically searched his vocabulary for something that would fit what it was that he needed in the men’s room. “…cold water for my face.” And he was saved.

“Would you care for some more wine?” he offered her. “No, but thanks. I’m really not a big drinker, you know that! Wait, are you trying to get me drunk again?”

He knew exactly what she meant. A smile started sprouting on Jeco’s face when he remembered the last time they went drinking. It all started nicely, like both of them were pretending it was a date of sorts. But it was not. It was just two friends out for the night in the city. They watched a movie, had coffee, and powered by a dare, they tried the rides in a known amusement park. At three in the morning they bought a couple of beers and consumed it by the bay, while sharing each other’s life story. It was an intimate moment indeed; both telling tales one never thought would be sharing. While the pages of their history were being laid down, the alcohol in the beer was taking its toll on a girl with very low tolerance for it. Stephanie was drunk before the last bottle was even half empty. And she only had two. Jeco almost had to carry her back to the car and into her apartment. But she managed, saving some grace for herself. He swore he’d never seen her like that before, and would love to see her again in the same state. And it was purely for fun.

“No, I wouldn’t want to have to carry you again!” and a chorus of laughter between the two of them ensued.

“So, what was it again that you wanted to say to me? You did have something to say right? That’s why you asked me out…” Jeco thought he heard bells ringing, and a spotlight was directed at him, like it was time for him to answer the jackpot question in a noontime game show. If only it was a matter of choosing between the money and the box, life would have been simpler. But no, it was a beautiful girl in front of him asking him to reveal a secret that up until now he never had a chance to tell her. He wanted to, but only now did courage decide to accompany him.

“Well… I think you’re wonderful…and I’d just want to ask you something… would you like to…” The bells rang again. This time, they sounded very familiar. Jeco suddenly snapped into reality when he realized it was her cell phone that sounded off.

“Oh! Excuse me… I’m sorry, but I have to take this call…” Stephanie politely turned the other way. Jeco thought it was because she didn’t want him to hear whom she was talking to, or what they were talking about. It was none of his business anyway. But curiosity took the better of him, and he carefully leaned over a little. In mumbled words he heard her say, “…oh that’s so sweet of you…I’ll be home soon, ok?…yeah, bye, love you!”

Jeco felt the opportune moment to tell her that he liked her and how he always thought of her slipped past him and out into the front door. It was like the host of his imaginary noontime show telling him, time is up! He knew he had lost much. But she was polite. She pretended she didn’t notice, and Stephanie reached out for his hand on the table and softly said, “you were saying?”

The spotlight was back on him again. But realization took the best of him. Even if he did say it, it wouldn’t matter. It dawned on him, with just that very recently concluded phone call of hers, that he had absolutely no clue what he was about to get himself into; and that this was entirely simply a high school infatuation. “I just wanted to ask you if you would like to…to…join our company party this coming Friday.”

He felt his lie seething through the grits of his teeth. He felt his heart burst little by little. He had no other choice. He judged that this friendship with her is a great treasure, and he would not in any way attempt to ruin it with something so selfish as him saying he loves her.

“Hey. No man takes a girl out to a fancy dinner just to ask her if she could come to a company party. You should have known me better than that to think I wouldn’t know. But I do know. Do you want to talk?”

It was like his secret was out. She was psychic, he thought. Either that or she had very good investigating team working for her. She simply was a girl who knew him too much, and one that could not be lied to. She is his best friend. She is her love. She is he. All these he thought under an eye that cannot look up to meet hers. And she continued…

“Look, you’ve been so nice to me. You’ve been everything that a woman could ever want from a man. There’s nothing I wouldn’t want more from you. You’re my best friend. But…” she picked up her cellular phone, and showed it to him. “…that was my son. He’s waiting for me tonight. He said he can’t sleep, and I have to be there. I hope that explains it. I’m not really good with words…”

“What did I say? Look, if I said or did something to upset you, I’m sorry already. I was just simply trying to… a… invite you.” He pushed his lips to conjure a timid smile, unsure if such an action might break some ice. She smiled back, but with head bowed down and looking in a different direction from his. It was enough, and a feeling of contentment settled down within him. “Steph…”

She raised her head a bit, and her eyes looked at him. From his viewpoint she was intrepidly charming, almost disturbingly. He cannot afford to buy one more reason for him to fall in love with her. What he has right now is enough. So he looked away.

“I was wondering. I know we’ve been through so long, did some things we both didn’t even imagine we could do. You know I like you. But… do you like me enough to make you happy?” It was a shot in the dark. Her answer could make or break him. He was at her mercy. He felt weak in the knees, and a sudden need to excuse himself to the men’s room surged in his will. With loud thumps, his heart raced as cold sweat began to form in his forehead. He was never this nervous before, even with a hundred cups of coffee.

“Yes…” she replied, fumbling with her fork. “Too happy in fact, that I don’t want to ruin it by letting you be like this.”

Jeco wiped the sweat from his forehead with a napkin from the table. He knew that a victory in this situation would be short lived, and wouldn’t be so sweet.

“Would you let me continue making you happy then? You know how I feel about you. I don’t have to say it, you just know. And I’m spending all of my energy just so this courage of mine could be here for me to ask you this. Will you let me make you happy? Would you let me in to your life?” That was it, the culmination of this night, the question that had been waiting to pop. His adrenalin had done their part, and his heart is overworking.

“I don’t come alone. I have a son. I don’t want to burden you with him. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, and I suggest you stop before you even start.” She was near tears. Jeco offered her a napkin. He could see little crystals of tears forming in her eyes, bickering to fall. He reached for her hand, held them and gently squeezed then tight.

“I know. I want you, all of you. I’ll do my best to continue making you happy. And little James could use somebody to play with.” He smiled, amusing her and himself. “Just say yes, Stephanie.”

“Yes!” she answered with a burst of happy laughter amidst the tears in her cheeks. Jeco knew she was for real. And the two of them glimmered with a blissful look, even if faced with the uncertainty of tomorrow.

“So, what’s the first thing you want to do in our new life?” Jeco asked teasingly, as he leaned over to give her a kiss on the forehead.

Still sporting her vicious smile, and her indelible charm, she said, “Let’s have dessert…”

...ebeye...

The counter for Continental Airlines in the airport had in front of it a long line of people with heavy luggage towed or bulky bags on their backs. I patiently waited in line for my turn, fortunate to be carrying only one small backpack. I prepared for the ordeal that was ahead of me.

“Next please!” the pretty woman at the counter said, and I moved forward. I gave her my passport and ticket, and in return she handed me my boarding pass. She had a pretty smile, and I’m guessing she’s already got a special someone, judging from how happy her smile was. I don’t know, I just related the level of happiness of someone by how pretty that someone’s smile is, and that in turn is indicative of having a special someone or not. So sue me.

I paid the hefty amount for the terminal fee, for the betterment of the airport, so they say. It must be a very small amount, because of all the people paying that amount I have yet to see the betterment that the money is supposed to bring. It then struck me; I was still in the Philippines.

“Unsa man, magbinisaya ta, or mag-ininglish ta? (So what, are we going to speak in Bisaya, or in English?)”, the immigration officer on the next line to mine asked an obviously terrified passenger. His first time maybe, and he was lucky to get a joker for an immigration officer. “Aw, Bisaya di-ay ka sir?(oh! Are you Bisaya sir?) “ asked the poor fellow. “Kanina pa kita Binibisaya, tapos tatanungin mo ‘ko kung Bisaya ako? (I’ve been speaking to you in Bisaya, then you’re asking me if I’m Bisaya?)”

I haven’t really left the Philippines yet. Clowns still abound.

After a long while of going around and around the small Duty Free section of the airport, looking at the same things over and over, I finally decided to go to the pre-departure area. There, I was met with another clown. Well, not really. The final inspection was thorough, and the lady inspector found my Bench hair gel. She got it, and said it was over the allowed volume for gels and liquids. I protested, and showed her an almost empty plastic bottle. She pointed to the marking on the container. It said 4fl. Oz. (135ml). I still protested, claiming that the actual gel content was way less than the 100ml minimum required. She said it’s not the content that they’re looking for; it’s the actual container size for these products. I thought I saw her eyes twitch as if I’m the hundredth moron to ask her that tonight. The defense had no shot of winning, so I silently conceded and went to take my seat. Defeated, I planned my revenge. Secretly, I was looking for other passengers whose case was like mine, but I was too lazy to put into action my vengeance. I pity my gel; it was denied its chance to go abroad. Instead it lay in a heap of other confiscated items. Farewell my gel, you’ve served me well.

Upon boarding the plane, I found my seat to be in between two teenage girls. Lucky me! Then the one on my right, the one seating in the aisle seat, said to her friend on the window seat, “Ay, magkahiwalay tayo! (We’re separated!)” I offered her to exchange seats with me, so that she can be next to her girlfriend. She accepted with a wide grin of a girl who had just entered puberty. I got to sit in an aisle seat, which is what I wanted in the first place had the pretty girl in the check-in counter found me one. Now I have it. Luckier me!

“Daddy, it’s gonna blast off! We’re gonna blast off now daddy, see?!” a very cute voice of a small boy rang throughout the cabin, as the plane rolled down for its take-off run. And I could hear an ensemble of soft chuckles from the passengers who heard and gave a damn. I looked to my right, and the kid was excitedly going about his chair, as the plane took to the air. He had long hair at the back that looked like a head tail, if there was such a word for it. Then I remembered I hated takeoffs, so I closed my eyes and pretended I was still on the ground.

“Sir, would you like to have the Chicken Pochero or the Pork Adobo?” the stewardess softly asked me. I startled in my half sleeping mode, and wondered for a moment if I was in Max’s. No, this is a Continental Airlines flight, and I chose the pork adobo. The two teens next to me chose the pochero. I wondered if they’d like to share or trade.

I slept for most of the flight, occasionally waking up due to a hurting neck, or an arm, or the back or for any other body part. Long flights really aren’t times for good sleep. I wonder how the stewardesses do it. Maybe they don’t. I woke up once in time for Ashton Kutcher shout “She said YES!!!” after the very doable Jessica Alba accepted his proposal for marriage. If you’ve seen the film, write the title together with the complete cast and send it to me. You win a congratulatory pat on the back. Seriously.

The stopover in Guam was quite uneventful, which is a good thing. I heard some warning days before that customs in Guam would be very tight, now that they were on orange alert level. I didn’t know what that meant, and by the speed at which I reached the pre-departure area of my next flight, I may never know.

Then came the Island Hopper.

I had been on this flight twice before, and all times including now, I still can’t be patient as the plane lands at every major airport in the Federated States of Micronesia (FSM) and the Republic of the Marshall Islands (RMI). It’s literally like a bus, stopping at every major bus stops, where people come off, and new ones come on. Only this bus is a Boeing 737-800 airplane, a huge monster compared to the very small islands it’s stopping at. There is the sea all around. All the sea I could see in my entire lifetime. The Pacific Ocean is truly one incredible flood!

I got to my stop. It’s a US Army base and a tiny dot in the map of the world. It’s called Kwajalein Atoll, in the RMI. For the trivia buffs out there reading, (why would you?), this is very near the famous Bikini Atoll, where America first did their nuclear tests. I can hear your “aahhhh”s and “oh-really”s . Yes, this is the same place where Uncle Sam still plays around with his ICBMs (intercontinental ballistic missiles). In fact, this base is called the “Reagan Missile Test Site”, we all know what that means! Star Wars!

The people in the reception area are quite intimidating, what with their service pistols showing in their holsters, as if they’re ready to pull them out and shoot. And the one loudly speaking was a woman. I was really behaved. And it’s not my first time here. I was cleared at immigration, and was escorted by an armed police to the pier, to take the barge to my final destination: Ebeye Island, the slum of the Pacific. Nice.

I got to the pier after a slow drive. Apparently they’re only allowed to run at 15mph max in the base, and being Americans as they were, they never did try to violate such rule. I wondered if we could have the same rule in the Philippines and have it followed. Nah, never gonna happen!

I got to the port, in time to see the barge about 500meters away out into the sea. I just missed it. I had to take the alternative, what they call the Water Taxi. For 10 bucks, you get your own personal yacht. No, not really. It’s a rag tag beaten down boat powered by two engines, propelling you fast into the waves. And I mean fast! If you’re seasickness prone, I do not suggest you take this. The boat pounded the waves, literally, and I was expecting the other way around. I wanted to puke, but there was nowhere to go, and my hands were clinched tight onto the railings and refuse to budge, even if my stomach wanted to go over the edge of the boat to remove its contents. So I just stayed put through the whole ordeal. I almost kissed the ground when the boat finally docked in Ebeye Island, but I decided against it knowing what is on the ground there. You don’t want to know.

Ebeye Island. Where do I begin to tell you the story of this land? I don’t know, but maybe Google can help. Let’s start with the pier where I just claimed like a Spanish conquistador. It’s the only one in the island, where most of the people come and go on barges and water taxis. If you’re waiting for someone, this is the only place to meet that someone. It has only one structure - a six post roofing that’s being slowly eaten by saltwater. On the far side of the port, there are locals fishing, the only hobby that anyone can do here. After the port, I walk toward the town center. It’s like walking in the streets of Tondo, only add the Pacific Ocean one kilometer on each side. Can you picture it? Shanties here and there, children playing in the streets naked and without footwear. Dark skinned men sitting on corners as if ready to pounce on you. All the scary stuff. But not really.

From the pier you can see the two prominent, if not iconic, structures on the island. On the left is the Triple J department store, and to the right is the Payless Supermarket. These two establishments have saved my hungry self more than once on times when I’ve worked late in the hospital. They close at around 9pm, and they are the ONLY places to get edible food after 7pm. The staff there is mostly Filipinos, and that’s a major relief in an isolated island.

Turning to the right on the next street you can find Anrohasa Hotel, the only hotel in the island. And there isn’t much to celebrate. Once a three star class hotel, it has degenerated into a flicker of a star class hotel. No, not even, I would rate it as a black hole class hotel. But beggars can’t be choosers, and there’re no other places to stay. Thank goodness they have air-conditioning and water, two things scarce on the island.

After a long island hopping flight, I am writing this blog in my room at Anrohasa Hotel. I have no TV, no other amenities, and no choice. I’m thankful though I have clean sheets, and running water. That should be enough. Tomorrow, I will try to connect to the hospital Internet, and post this blog for those who care to read. Or those who would like to send their generous donations. I accept cash.

Wish me luck in borrowing some hospital Internet access. Goodnight!

...melbourne...

It’s 10:48 pm, on a Tuesday night. I am two hours into the future – at least from where I came from, I am. I don’t know, but there’s just something in time zones that my body has a trouble adjusting to. It’s like a diesel engine, needing some warming up before it operates in optimum shape. I’m not saying my body is out of shape, although that’s arguable.

I got to the airport the other day and took a flight in a Boeing 777 Time Machine. I was cramped into a small chair for eight hours just so I can be warped two hours into the future. You will catch up on my time soon.

My flight landed in Melbourne at 6:30am, and being that the scheduled training I came here for was at 9:00am, naturally I was late. I came in at 10:00am, relieved that the Aussies haven’t called the immigration yet to ask where in the world I was. I settled down, after the usual introductions and pleasantries. I think just about then I was officially in a different culture.

Lunch was one big potato sliced in strips and looked like it was given a long hot bath in boiling oil. It was paired with one fillet of fish. That was it. The locals call it Fish ‘N Chips. Apparently, this is a staple food here. From where I come from, that’s what we eat on Friday nights out painting the town red. Or pink, depending on our moods.

I am Filipino. I need rice, like morphine, or cocaine.

I spent the rest of the first training day fighting sleep. Backtracking a bit, planes never really are the ideal places to catch forty winks. I think I only got 15 and a half. I lost count when I dozed off. So my body decided to try and reclaim the other 24 and a half missing winks that afternoon. My eyes became heavy like there was an oompa-loompa sitting on the lids. But I fought it off, and survived the last four training hours. Going back into the hotel, the thought of hugging the soft satin sheets and fluffy white pillows was more tempting than any of the beautiful Melbournians that I passed by on the street. And sleep I did.

I woke up this morning at 7:00am. At least that’s what my watch said. It was a delightful sleep. And the waking up part seemed perfect. Until I realized my watch was still telling me what time it was in Manila. I forgot I how Philippine Air Lines had already warped me two hours into the future! I hurriedly got ready, but never missing any of my morning rituals. I even had breakfast like a good kid. I arrived at the office at 10:00am, like I did yesterday. The blokes didn’t ask me what happened, like it was a usual thing for them for me to be late. I simply took it as something good; I didn’t have to explain anything to anyone. But then again, something tells me that there’s something not right about it. I don’t know.

Lunch this morning was something different, a lot closer to home. Not really home, but close. The Aussies went to get a Sub, and my Asian brothers didn’t quite like more bread. Certainly no more oil bathing potatoes! So we separated from the whites like Apartheid advocates, and dragged our brown butts into an Asian restaurant two blocks away and had our hearts, err stomachs, filled with rice. Now that’s lunch.

My body had recovered enough winks already, and I think I could swear I’m a Melbournian myself. Or not. So tonight I am writing this blog in the comfort of my warm hotel room. I have heater. So the 8-degree air outside can’t bury it’s frosty bite into my warm butt tonight. I am watching Sopranos on tv, and that’s not something I usually do.

Then again, warping two hours into the future isn’t something I usually do too…

...silence...

Sometimes all I need is someone to listen. No words. No sound. No anything audible. Sometimes when I want to vent out the enormous pressure that has built up inside my chest, the mouth is the only functioning appendage in my body, spewing words as they come from my thoughts. They need no response. They need no reply. Words of admonition or even praise hold no meaning at this time. Silence. That would be the best retort. Much like a volcano erupting, and man can only watch in awe from afar with cautious reflexes, I am only needing your patience.

These are the times there’s nothing you can say or do to make me feel better. Only when the gush of emotions have subsided inside me will I be fine. No amount of your language can provide any effective consequence.

I just need you to be there. Listening to me. Understanding me. Loving me. All in silence.

...when it rains it pours...

I have to punish myself for always giving in to stupid clichés. But no words better describe what tumultuous times I am going through. It started this morning and would in all likelihood continue into the rest of my breathing days.

...sigh...

...deeper sigh...


i miss blogging... i wish the gods of literature send forth the rain of articulation on me...

...drive...

Part 2

Peter turned on the ignition key and his Honda City purred like a stirred kitty. His hands held the steering wheel, as he sits undecided if he should go or not. He fished his cell phone from his shirt pocket and opened the message inbox. “Are we still on for lunch today?” read the message from his wife. He glanced at his wristwatch and saw it was half an hour still before 11am, enough time to think about it. Peter replied with mixed hesitation, but mostly anticipation, “m sori hon, hav emergency miting at d ofc.” He bit his lips slightly as a breath of prayer slipped past his teeth.

Peter put his car in the first gear and pulled out from his parking lot, and out the exit gate.

___________________________________________________________________

Michelle placed the check she had just signed neatly under a pile of paper on her desk. She had been signing checks the whole morning and thought maybe lunch would be a good reprieve. Her watch said it was 10:36 in the morning so she took her cell phone from her purse to read a message that had just come in. it was from her husband, telling her how some meeting at the office made him unable to fetch her for lunch. She had anticipated this, as she would have been wont to do, since her husband is a very busy man.

Michelle picked up her desk phone and asked the building bellhop to get her a cab. She grabbed her purse, her jacket and hurriedly went out of her office room, and down the elevator to her waiting taxi.

___________________________________________________________________

Peter cruised smoothly on the highway; he wasn’t in a hurry. Traffic on Edsa seemed to be cooperating today, he thought, so there’s still a lot of time. He carefully opened his date planner and rechecked his scheduled activity for lunch. It said 11:30am, but he knew it was something they use to buy them some time together. An early lunch would mean two hours with her.

Peter steered the car towards Arnaiz Avenue and parked in front of a flower shop. He thought maybe for a change we’d surprise her with some Tulips. She likes tulips, and had hinted on him that she’d love to get some on her birthday. A few days ahead wouldn’t hurt, Peter thought, he’d still give her another bouquet of tulips then.

Peter saw through the glass doors of the shop a taxi almost sideswiping his parked car. He hurriedly went out and followed with his eyes, helplessly, the speeding cab. “Hey!” he shouted.

___________________________________________________________________

Michelle sat impatiently on the back seat of her taxi. She amused herself with mental notes on what the insides of this cab have, and lack. Frankly, it needs a makeover, she thought, but what can you expect from Philippine taxis. She felt uneasy being in the back; she felt uneasy riding cabs in general. The normally short drive from her office to Pasay Road seemed to take a lifetime today, what with the taxi driver being extra careful, as he had said in his just-listen-to-what-I-have-to-say chatter.

Michelle politely told the driver to speed up because she was in a hurry (to get off your stinky car, in her mind). Perhaps feeling insulted that his extra carefulness in driving wasn’t fully appreciated, the driver jerked the taxi to overtake on the right lane, with hardly an inch left in avoiding hitting a parked Honda. Michelle looked back through the taxi’s rear windshield to catch the receding image of the Honda’s owner and read his lips shout “Hey!”

...drive...

PART 1
_________________________________________________________________

The brake lights on the white Nissan Sentra in front of him turned on, and Peter cautiously stepped on the brake pedal of his car. His Honda City came to a slow stop three cars away from the intersection as the traffic lights turned red on their street. Kalayaan avenue has surprisingly light traffic today, he reckoned to himself, as he checked his watch. It said 7:23 in the morning; twenty minutes had passed since he made the last turn going out of their village. It usually takes him 30 to get where he is now, at the corner of C5. A swarm of motorcycles pass him on both sides as they jockey for position in front of the stopped traffic. He was never fond of cycles, and shook his head as he watched more and more motorcycles pass him by. He thought that the lights stayed at red longer today than it did yesterday, and was suspecting that the day before the lights turned faster. Anything to amuse himself, he thought.

Peter took time to check his phone; perhaps a message or two would be there. None. Oh well, some days you get them, some days you don’t, he held this thought to himself. He thought of composing a message, if only to solicit a reply. He hesitated, and glanced at his wife asleep on the passenger seat next to him.

The cross traffic halted, and the lights on Peter’s street turned green. He shifted to first gear, slowly released the clutch pedal, and honked impatiently at the Nissan in front of him as he stepped on the pedal.

_________________________________________________________________

Michelle felt her seat shake a little, even shuddered, but decided that it wasn’t an earthquake. She was firmly aware of where she was, and from behind closed eyes she could make out the ghostly appearance of the large familiar billboard. She shifted in her seat, leaned some more on the glass pane of the passenger seat. Her seatbelt was pulling tightly on her chest, as if adding more pressure against her heavy breaths.

With much anticipation for getting out of that car, maybe because she felt uncomfortable sitting in such a confining space, or maybe because she just felt the air outside would be more comforting, Michelle looked out the window, her face hidden from her husband’s view. She watched as a white Nissan made a sudden right turn, and thought the driver was in the same hurry as her. She imagined that she was on that car, on the controls, and making that swerve.

Michelle pretended to sleep. Her husband was turning the radio stations, perhaps looking for a song familiar to him. She listened closely, trying to guess each station’s songs by the few tunes that she would hear. For some, she uttered dislikes, for most, she secretly wished her husband would hold the station longer. The station that her husband picked crooned, “…no matter what I do, it’s just a lifetime to live through…”

Michelle felt like Kalayaan Avenue was an endless road.

_________________________________________________________________

The seeming endless chatter of the radio’s more than opinionated DJ’s seem to bore Peter, so he decided to turn the dial. He didn’t really know which station to listen to, but just a station with more music, and less talk. He turned and turned until he found a song he never thought he’d like. Today was full of surprises, so he let himself listen. “…I try to smile so the hurt won’t show…”, sings the radio.

In his head, Peter reviewed his schedule for the day. He can never get it right the first time. Either there are cancellations, or a sudden change in plans would force him to move one appointment a few hours back, or totally forget to attend to them. Even in his mind, he was not certain of the day’s schedule so he reminded himself to check his planner at the next intersection. He wished that this time, the lights would stay red longer.

Peter stopped the City a few inches away from the zebra crossing. He watched for a moment as several people crossed in front of him. His wife was still motionless, and Peter decided against making a remark. He preferred to keep her asleep. She’s a lot peaceful that way. He reached in the backseat for his planner, careful not to rock the car so much so that his wife won’t wake. He looked for today’s page, and was surprised to see the item at 11:30 - Lunch with Michelle. Peter glanced at his wife, and a sly grin was pasted on his face.

...bottleneck...

Things have a way of getting themselves entangled in painfully frustrating bottlenecks. James is slowly becoming a swell of emotions as he looks through his glass of Talus, and sees Nikki’s smile develop into a blur. She is looking at a couple on the other table, seemingly observing them with an enchanting pair of deep-set eyes. He wondered what her thoughts were dwelling on, or perhaps if he was any part of them. From across the table, James straightened in his seat. He was ready to talk to her, if only he knew what to say.

Nikki smiled, and took a sip of her wine. James watched in detail as her lips parted to make way for the red liquid into her mouth. He wished that he were that glass, upon which Nikki’s lips were pressed. He imagined his lips in contact with hers. And how marvelous that would have felt. James took a sip of his own wine, and found sanity to calm him down.

“Would you like more wine?” the waiter politely interrupted their séance, and when the pair nodded, poured more of the red intoxicant into each of their glasses. It was a pinot noir, particularly chosen by James to try and impress Nikki, to which she was, and complimented him on his fine choice. Nikki said it was the smoothest wine she’s ever had, and James knew she was flattering him, because she didn’t have many. Nonetheless, she joked that she could finish a whole bottle with him, and James was pleased with the “with him” part.

“Why do you like me James?” she asked with a smile, the kind that expects a cajole. James was tempted to oblige, but seized the moment to cautiously unclog the emotions swelling up inside him, like a policeman directing traffic at a busy intersection.

“I don’t really know why, Nikki. I guess if I did, then that would mean I like you only for that thing. But I don’t.

I don’t like you for your smile, which surely melts me every time you give them to me.

I don’t like you for your eyes, which surely sees my soul no matter how deep I recede into myself.

I don’t like you for your touch, which sends me into the greatest ecstasy that I have ever known or will ever know in my life!”

James placed his wine glass to his right side, away from the center of the table. The red rose that was set on the small wooden vase complimented the glitter caused by the wine glass from the light overhead. Nikki’s eyes were glistening, because they were near tears. She didn’t expect a barrage of sweet words from James, and the way he had said them had her eyes filled with the exuberant tears of bliss.

James reached his left hand out in front of him. The table was wide, and Nikki met his hands halfway through. He gave her a light squeeze, gently telling her with his hand the rest of what he wanted to say. James looked straight into her eyes, and she nervously looked back. Nikki loves James, and up until now, she was the same swell of emotions that he is.

“I like you, Nikki, because you’re you. I like you for everything that is you. And everything that is you, makes everything that is me complete. And I would give everything that is me, to be forever in love with everything that is you, Nikki.”

James felt the alcohol and the adrenaline in his blood being pumped rigorously into his brains. He wondered for a moment if excessive mixtures of both cause cardiac arrests. His sight blurred for a second and his consciousness became hazy as he heard himself speak sincere words.

“It would be a great honor if you would have me in your life, Nikki; if you would take me as your boyfriend and you as my girlfriend…”

Nikki bit her lips softly, unsure of what words to use. She has in her head a conundrum about how she would respond. She wanted it to be special; she wanted James to feel that she too, is in a billow of emotions for him. With her right hand clutched in his left, and the disinhibitor called pinot noir that she had just taken, she decided there were no sweeter ways to tell James.

“Yes! I would love to have you in my life James, and it would be my honor too, as it is yours!” Nikki uttered in a single breath, chest tightening with the excitement of this new development. She heaved a contented sigh, and gave James the sweetest smile she could ever give, and James melted like butter on a hot day.

James stared into Nikki’s eyes with the look of a happy man, and she looked back at him full of anticipation for a new chapter in her life. They both emptied their glass of Talus, just as the check arrived.

The date was March 27. It has always been since.