That Sunday afternoon is no different from today: beautiful and melancholic and I wish you were here, my K.
“What’s your favorite Eheads’ song?” She asks while her arms are extended into the air, seemingly drawing indistinct lines and random images.
“Um, that’s tough. I’ve got like more than a dozen to pick.” Not sure if she heard me clearly as I talked after dipping my face into the center of the pillow. Besides, I feel too lazy – perhaps, just perfectly relaxed – to even utter a word. There is much delight in this afternoon; and fragile in a sense. Like I’m happy holding a precious stone but afraid at the same time to move an inch for I might lose my grip and drop the stone and break it into pieces. I spoke very faintly and slowly and I could imagine someone curling up her eyebrows after hearing me murmuring, evidently muffled, as if an astronaut in the outer space spoke with his voice trapped in his cosmic helmet.
“Sure thing. Give me all you got, beybeh!”
I am so amazed she heard me right. That leaves me with no excuse but pay attention. I turn to her and then seize her with a dashing kiss.
“I love you, K. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. Baby, I love you 10 times 988 raise to a billion power.”
And she grins.
And it is so sweet seeing her like that – her rounded eyes getting chinky at the sides, parts of her untidy hair cutting through her forehead, and the shape of her lips resembling that of Zooey Deschanel.
We stare at each other, looking through each of us. Half-parts of our faces are both sank in an undressed pillow, its case was probably thrown out by our making of love before dawn.
“Baby, did you read what I was writing?”
“I’m actually wondering what that was. I thought you’re practicing for your class tomorrow.”
She laughs. “We don’t have art classes tomorrow. My instructor is attending a paint exhibit. He’s out killing ambitions of some wannabes. Such a terror.”
“Good for you. Okay, what did you write then?”
“Wait. I’ll tell you but you have to give me your list of Eraserheads’ first. I know you like everything. You’re a superfan –”
“– Shallow Breathing, Lightyears, Over 18, With A Smile, Palamig, Tama Ka, Balikbayan Box, Spolarium, Filler, Hard To Believe, Wala, Saturn Return. That’s my dozen.” Then I snap her out with a kiss and hug her tight like sealing a bottle with its cap. “Come here, beybeh!”, I tease her like a growling lion. “Tell me what you wrote.” She resists and bursts out laughing as she gets tickles all over.
She begs me to stop while cursing like crazy, confused if she will say a word or laugh it all out. Then, oblivious with the passing of time, the afternoon waves goodbye with shallow breathings.
August 26, 2012