that night, revisited…

 

i am so touched in an electric and fateful manner, touched  that he remembers all those things after all those years.

for me, that one night was a “bridges of madison county meets serendipity“ kind of an encounter. hell, i wrote a whole novel out of that night. i kept approximately 36% of my heart locked and reserved for ten years in the hopes of meeting him again. for all those years i haven’t forgotten him too.

ten years. in those years, i searched for my elusive unicorn.

i remember his favorite verbal expression. “goddamnit the rambo GADEMET RAMBO.” he loved saying that while watching my fighting fishes. he was sitting lazily in my sofa, and i watched him with both temerity and aloofness, false confidence managing my insecurities. i was watching him with a strong urge to take care of him, be infatuated with him, and mainly, i watched with a strong primal urge to rape him. :).  i was 17 then. i haven’t been plucked. so to speak.

           most of my college days were spent at the bar in padi’s point timog. i would be there at 9pm so i could take the prime bar seat. i would sometimes bring my laptop or my notes to prepare for my term papers or such, a pen in my left hand, and a bottle of my then-favorite: san mig light, on my right hand. after 7 hours, i would be escorted by the guard to a cab waiting to take me home. once when nokia 5110 was the rage, i had the misfortune of losing one because i was so wasted. sometimes, i would be drunk silly  that i would go home penniless, having been cheated by the ruthless motherfuckers waiting or bussing at padi’s.

but most of the time, i was hitting the nightspots drinking alone so i can wallow in my solitary misery. primary as a come on for guys cazy enough to bitch me with their corny hitlines. at 17, nobody would ever mistake me for the real meat trap goddess that i was. i do not have sex with them, mind you, i just like bringing them home to see what they’ve got, have conversation, watch them make a fool of themselves.  if in an hour i am not satisfied, i free them, with a kick out of my house.

thus i lived so for sometime. until i met my match.

one hung over night, i went to padi’s with a lady friend. not hoping for anything special for the night. i knew i was not gonna get me fish that night, coz the friend i was with was a bombshell, with her boobs being ahead of her a kilometer away, thus, overshadowing my not-so-spectacular self.

that particular day was a total bore, with yours truly having been totally useless the entire day due to a severe case of hang over. 

but that night, oh that wonderful night turned out to be really special.

and i remember everything.

it was a thursday night.

when he went up the stairs, Jay-z’s “Can I Get A…” was blasting on the speakers.  that party had barely started. it was 10pm.

when he passed by, the running soundtrack in my head was “Iris” by GooGoo Dolls. i saw him, then, everything went on slow motion, and my eyes focused on him.

yes, he caught my eyes and my nose. he smelled like freshly baked brownies. fresh from a bath. he was wearing a button down blue shirt. and faded jeans that hung quite nicely on him. those chinky eyes had me at first glance.

he sat at the far end of the bar. my usual seat. hmmm. a breeze blew, and i decided to take my chance. i pulled my friend to the bar, and i sat beside him. bitch that i was, i turned my back to him, and had a cozy fake conversation with my friend. all the while i was swimming in his scent, waiting for a chance to talk to him.

“aherm, don’t you feel cold?” his chinkiness asked. in a heartbeat, my world was showered in kaleidoscopic rain. i turned to him, and looked at his eyes. brown. ish?

“excuse me?” i tersely asked.

“oh, ahm, tinatanong ko lang if malamig masyado. yung aircon kasi nakatapat sa ulo natin,”he replied.

 i think i said “ok lang. you can have the a/c adjusted, if it’s bothering you” i turned my back to him again.

bytch, through and through.

after a while, i probably got tired of pretending to talk to my not-so-smart friend, i turned halfway so i can pretend to watch the maids and boys dance like natives. but i had my periphery locked on him.

he was looking at my bottle. or was it my nice hands? he held his pilsen with his left hand. on his right, he smoked a red. i tried to think about his current thoughts. for the life of me, i can not.

“hi. ano yang beer mo? “ stab in the dark question si pogi. nice pickup line, buddy. lol.

“ahm, san mig light.” handed him my bottle. the cuteness pretended to read the label. gosh, i could have kissed him right there.

“5 % yung alcohol content nya noh?” he again asked. wrong question to ask an information whore like moi. i felt like a dog thrown a really juicy bone. i grabbed and gobbled.

that was when the conversation about the ins and outs of beer and other poison began.  anyway, we talked about hops and grains, barley and malt, and how beer is made. that time brews brothers still existed beside padi’s timog. we pretended to be connoisseurs of the brewery industry. oh how it felt good to be smart. LOL.

 we talked about poetry. i think he quoted yeats:

Aedh Wishes for the Clothes of Heaven
by William Butler Yeats

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

did he quote it? or was it me? well, i know we also talked about other poets, and e.e. cummings, for gods sake, was also mentioned.

we were like college students trying to impress each other with the things we both know  and pretend to know. well…it was fun and informative.

then he asked me, “what paper do you read?”  this was what he exactly said.

i found it odd. for someone to be able to ask that question, he must have an IQ of at least 140.

i asked for a definition. he obligingly said, ” well, what newspaper do you read? mine is pdi.“ (philippine daily inquirer, moron).

“oh, i like both manila bulletin and pdi. kaya lang you get ink stains on your hands from the bulletin,” i fakely answered. hehe. i love reading, but then, i was not a big fan of dailies.

then we had another conversation on dailies. and books. then he went on about loving crossword puzzles, and how he could answer one in an hour. hmmm. we also talked baout pugad baboy. snoopy. newspaper cartoons.

we talked about a lot of things. but his pheromones must have clouded my thoughts 3 hours into the conversation because i can not seem to remember the other topics we talked about.

i know that he mentioned that he lives near my place, somewhere called dapitan. and that he studies dentistry at ue. little nifty information that i was gonna use days later.  

we talked about our horoscopes, how the world began, etc., etc.,

i noticed my not-so-mentally-gifted friend was no longer around, and so were the people in the bar. it was almost 3am, so someone between the two of us thought it was a good idea to continue killing ourselves with alcohol in my place.

when i was in college, i had a nice two-bedroom apartment complete with everything i needed: carpets, fighting fishes, a collection of cds and cassette tapes, cable, countless books, a really nice set of sofa, and a really nice narra dining set. the apartment and the hefty allowance made drinking every night possible. at 17.

 i lived alone in that apartment for i dont know how long. alone. so while we were in the cab, thoughts of not being alone anymore crept into my head. i was starting to…whatever.

anyway, we stopped by the 24-hour mercury drug along mayon avenue to grab some booze. his handsomeness argued with me that a drugstore would never ever sell booze. i had to grab him by the jugular just so he would believe that there was actually booze there. he couldn’t believe his eyes when we got there.

you are right, honey, this was during the time when convenience stores were unheard of.   i said that this drugstore does not only sell booze, they sell cigarettes, and oh, they sell DRUGS, too. duh. a total sin store, huh?

so we got some stuff, like, i think i got a toothbrush for him, and slippers too, if i am not wrong. and we headed home, a block away.

i introduced him to my fishes, all 6 of them, each in his own bowl. he was somewhat bored, i dont know.  he asked ” these fishes, all of them are yours?”

i said “yes,” after which he would reply, “goddamnit the rambo GADEMET RAMBO.”

“all these books, too? and all these cds and cassette tapes?”

“why, yes.”

“there is a lot. goddamnit the rambo.GADEMET RAMBO.”“

we got drunk. rambo and the bytch, each to our own thoughts on what will happen next.

for me, a 17 year old bytch who hasn’t had a serious relationship yet, it was an awkward moment. it was somehow, a flight or flee situation. i kept thinking about ways to look cool and relaxed. at the same time, i was relishing EACH AND EVERY SINGLE MOMENT OF HIS PRESENCE. i didn’t know how to define it at that time, but i was  half hoping and half wishing that this night could lead to something else. i felt like meryll streep in bridges of madison county. something out of the ordinary comes my way, and i stumble around for something to hold on to because the confusion is making my rhytm unsure. yet, i feel so womanly, and sexy, and insanely attracted to this man.

yes. right on target. i was physically attracted big time to that man.

his round face, chinky eyes, lips that were insanely sexy.

at 5′10″(i think), he was chubby, and fair skinned.  which made him a god to my eyes. a yummy god, that was what he was. this man is THE man whose mere presence turned me to mother packing mush.

more importantly, i felt drawn to the man in a surreal way. it was the first time i met a guy who could travel down the same wavelength i was wired in. someone who can carry a conversation with me without exerting extra effort to read between the lines.

honestly, i felt i found that molecule-mate my young soul was kind of hoping for.

so…further intto the night, er, morning, i made him take off his shoes, so he would be more comfortable. and my, what feet he has. until now, no one has ever broken his record in my internal book as the man with the cleanest and most delicious feet. i drooled at the sight. sort of like a visual orgasm. oh your feet…

we went upstairs when we can not contain the alcohol anymore. i helped him take off his clothes, hehe, yummy, and i gave him a sponge bath of sorts. powdered him, pampered him, drugged him for the morning hangover, and well, basically tried to take care of him

and… i worshipped his feet.

in the process, i was able to look at him for a long time, and i felt that tug at my innards, making me want to take care of him for an even longer, well, long, long, time.

i watched and looked at him for a long, long time. i etched into my head every single inch of this god who fell onto my bed, every single nook and cranny, committed firmly into my memory. it was as if i knew then that it was the only chance i had in a hundred years to peruse his hunkiness, the baron of pale pilsen.  with all honesty, i tell you this,  i memorized his whole countenance, i beheld him long enough to fill me for the next lifetime.

then we kissed.

the kiss was the tenderestand softest and the best i ever had. the 69 kiss.

i touched his face wishing that the kiss would never end. i wished to my gods that the night would be in time warp so each moment will be a million years long till i can savor it forever.

i wished with all my heart that he felt the same way too.

but i knew that wishing alone does not get you what your heart longs for.

i knew that when the sun comes up, i would wake up from a dream. that the bubble will be burst by uncertainty and hangover.

and i was right…

it was, so far, one of the most romantic evening in my life. so romantic, a novel has been written about it. this was one of the few nights when i was drunk yet sane.

i remember every single detail of it.

and i remember every inch of him…

i should have bled for my wish and begged my gods more…

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