Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Confessions (Part 2)

Milkshake from Park Cafe and tempura from the manong whose rolling stall is usually found at the corner of Miggy's.

He drives his white Hilux very fast. She looks sideways - scared of what seems like the road to death. He plugs his mp3 player on his car stereo and the sound of Erik Santos ballads serenaded the two.

He was the typical young man - independent and free. He stays alone in a flat in Nazareth. His place is a wifi zone - thanks to him, his neighbors could have free internet access. He has money and power. His parents lavishly support him financially, and whenever he still wants to buy something new - maybe a Macbook or the Canon SLR he saw from Robinson's. He smokes but never drinks.

It's his spiritual belief that makes him watch for his madman behavior. He is afraid to going to their sacred house dirty. If he does drink, he is not allowed for forty days to worship with the "clean" people inside. He prays five times a day and fasts for 30 days in a year.

In her mind, it is impossible for them to be an item. Her best drinking buddy once told her that he is too rich. Not that there's a big deal about being rich or poor, but it's fearful to be with someone who's too rich and too powerful and a whole lot different from what you are. She glares at her friend for talking too much - maybe just because they have finished two liters of rhum coke. She imagines - back to the night that they were almost an item.

He stares at her. She can't look at him straight in the eye. She leans on the back of the chair and looks outside the window as the next song opens Stephen Speaks singing Passenger Seat. She thinks the moment is romantic. The car, the music, the night and the two pieces of tempura left. It would've been "more perfect" if there are words to be spoken - to hear from the other.

They drive around the city until midnight. Then he brings her home. Outside the gate, they park the car. She doesn't want to step out and get inside the house. She has been waiting for him to say something. When her hand touches the door to open it, he holds her other hand. Shocked, she stays still. Hands clasped together - but still not a single word spoken.

Both of them think that they are not ready - to make this sweetness and romance to the next level. It is better that way.

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