A Fleeting Moment [PG-13]

Another writing exercise.  I just had to write out a fantasy.  It's been awhile since I wrote anything beyond work-related stuff.  I hope this reads well.

I was a princess for a week.  I pampered myself with hair treatments. I bought new clothes, particularly new underwear.  I waxed my legs, my armpits, and shaved myself clean "down there".  I watched my diet, hoping to lose a few more extra pounds.  But, what was most royal was how every time I looked in a mirror, I saw a beautiful princess looking back.  She was radiant, skin glowing with excitement and eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Things had been very different the week before.  I rushed to complete all my deliverables for the month to ensure a light schedule in the days that followed.  I constructed simple lies laced with enough truth to be believable.  I prepared excuses and practiced them in my head.  I was a nervous wreck back then. My entire being wracked with guilt and still I performed every task with determination.

All this because we are meeting today.

One day, you said, out of the many years I have spent with him.  Could I be yours for one day?  Not even a day.  An afternoon, perhaps.  Yes, that would be enough.  Thank you, you said.  That was two months ago.  It had taken me a long time to agree.  I debated with myself.  I wanted to give you something you could treasure in your heart.  I wanted to be selfish about it.  I wanted to forget everyone else and everyone else's expectations.

And so, here we are.  In a  place where nobody knows us.  My heart is pounding as you take me into your arms.  You greet me with an almost innocuous peck on the forehead.  I feel the heat radiating from your aroused body.  It is the first time you kissed me.  We chat happily, like friends, as you lead me into the motel.  I watch as you retrieve our key.  As you guide me into the elevator, I hesitate a moment before reminding myself that there is no turning back.  I make inane comments about the hallways, trying to drive away my anxiety.  You patiently reply while scanning for our room.  It didn't take you long to find our door and you open it.  I memorize the number.  602.  It is a number that will hopefully forever be in my memories.  I walk into the foyer and feel for the light.  You push me against the wall and kiss me roughly on the lips, as the door slid shut.  I barely have the sense to make my hand graze the light switch.

In a few short minutes, the clothes I had chosen for you, the underwear I had specifically bought for you, are all on the floor.  You appreciate each piece as you remove it.  You take in every inch of my skin with hunger.  You burn me with your gaze.  Your hands are hot against my naked flesh.  All this and still I shiver underneath you.  I fully understood the cliche as you wrapped my body with pleasure.  You are my pleasurable mistake.You are my life's correction and my life's greatest sin.

Our eyes are locked as you unite with me.  You are such a wonderful creature.  It truly is unfair that you are preoccupied with a woman who cannot completely explore your wonders. 

Before the passion completely melted away into the afterglow, my mobile phone sounds off an alert.  Time is up.  The moment has passed.  It takes all of my willpower not to beg you to hold me for a moment longer.  I see in your eyes that you are not satisfied, as well.  What should have quelled our lust simply stoked its fire.  I pull on my clothes without any grace.  I am no longer a princess.  We talk as if nothing happened.  We return to the lobby and you pay for our sacred haven.  I treat you to dinner and we talk about work

It's the end of the day, you casually comment as you stare at the setting sun.

I nod and note that the day passed too quickly like all fleeting moments.

Not Forgotten

This is a very short experimental piece. Dedicated to those who are taken for granted or have taken someone for granted.

Apo - grandchild; sometimes used by older Filipinos to refer to a much younger individual.
Langit Lupa - a children's game akin to tag.
Kuya - address for older brothers.

-

Mama's voice always brightened with recognition whenever she heard my voice over the phone. And it never failed. She always asked questions I didn't want to answer.

"Apo, will you be coming over for lunch?"

I frowned at the telephone as I glanced over at my father who was getting ready for church. "Dad, it's mama," I called out to him, irritably tugging at the itchy petticoat my mother loved to make me wear. My pigtails bobbed as I skipped away from the phone to catch a glimpse of Super Book.

"Apo, will you be staying over while your parents are away?"

I suppressed a sigh and covered the mouthpiece as I turned to my mother who was packing bags. "Mom, mama wants to talk to you," I said to her before running out to the street to play Langit Lupa with the neighborhood kids.

"Apo, will you be playing mahjong with us today?"

I shrugged mutely and waved at my brother who was studying the computer screen intently. "Kuya, mama is asking you something," I informed him before going back to the mountain of homework that high school students tend to accumulate over the weekends.

"Apo, who are you?"

I frown slightly and suppress a sigh. There is a spark of recognition in her tone as though her ears remember the sound of my voice. But her question belied that her dimming mind had already forgotten me. Squaring my shoulders, and breathing again, I begin to speak to my grandmother with the hope that her brain would remember what her ears did.

"Mama, it's Tintin, your son's daughter. You know, the teacher? We're coming over for lunch today and we could play mahjong, if you're up to it."

I try hard not to choke on my own words. It never failed. Mama always asks questions I didn't want to answer.

WTF?!

A/N: Some of the lines here were taken from The Most Complete and Most Useless Collection of Pick-Up Lines. So, kudos to the guy who compiled them. And, no, I didn't go to that site for reference. Honest! I didn't!

-

"My name is Karl, but you can call me 'lover'."

That was the first pick-up line that came to mind when I saw the pretty little thing with sad doe eyes. I glanced at the girl quietly nursing her--what the hell? Is that mineral water? Who the heck drinks water in a damn bar without puking or passing out beforehand?--water while staring blankly out the large windows and into the street.

Really, how stupid can a pick-up line get? Not to mention dangerous. If that cutie turned out to be a tranny, then he'd know my name and he would easily be able to say that Karl tried to pick him up. I'd go to hell and back before I let my name be involved with some gender-confused mental case again (I'd rather not discuss it). I'm pretty well known around these circles and I don't need something like that ruining my rep. Don't get me wrong. I don't usually mind people like that, what bugs me is the idea of people like that with--in the less common, but more meaningful sense of the word--me.

So no name dropping before hearing the mineral water girl's voice, at least. I need something as direct, but not revealing of my identity.

"I am a magical being, take off your bra." Sure. I'll use that when I want to get slapped. No. Back to the drawing board.

"Do you believe in love at first sight or should I walk by again?" Too romantic. I don't need something that cheesy. Besides, I'm not romantic at all, so I wouldn't be able to back that up.

Maybe I should work with something more basic. "Hey, you come here often?" Yeah, that would probably work. I know she's not a regular at the bar scene, else I would have seen her before and she wouldn't be drinking damn-lame-ass mineral water. I mean, seriously, who does that? I could tell her that if she was uneasy, I could introduce her to some of the girls. I could tell her which drinks are good. I had several options in case the line worked.

Really, beyond the pick-up line, things pretty much work out the same way. I had everything mapped out in my head.

As I sauntered over to the bar and to her side, I reassessed my options for the best pick-up line and decided that simple and basic was still good. But, it wasn't my night. The moment I got close to her, she stood up and turned, glass of water in hand, and bumped right into me. The water splashed all over my shirt and pants.

"What the fuck?!" were my first words to her. Smooth, Karl, real smooth. What the heck kind of a first impression is that?!

She frantically reached for bar napkins with one hand as she raised the other as an attempt at pacification. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry, mister! Sorry. Sorry. Sorry," she repeated her apology several times as she handed me the napkins so I could wipe myself dry. As the bits of the napkin clung to my shirt, I realized that drying myself was about as useless as my pathetic attempt at choosing a pick-up line.

"I'm sorry. I was being such a spaz," she said more slowly, more sincerely, turning her pretty doe eyes at me. In the darkness of the bar, they were black as night, making me think of dark places and secrets and secrets that take place in dark places.

"It's okay," I assure her, balling up the useless paper mulch in my hands and tossing it over to the counter. The bartender frowned at me when the napkin wad bounced into his work area.

She looked at the general direction of the door, "I was about to leave. I really don't belong in this place," she explained softly. "So, if you're sure it's okay..."

Now, when you're dealing with women, one must really pay attention to the little details. Girls like it when you notice the hints they drop, whether consciously or unconsciously. I took advantage of her words. "How can you not belong in this place? It's a bar. Everyone belongs in a bar. It's a place to belong."

Okay, so that didn't come out the way it was supposed to.

She blinked up at me, confused. Dammit, she's using those pretty eyes against me. "It's really not my thing," she tried to answer.

"Lifestyles like this are like people, you have to get to know them a bit before you decide whether or not you like them," I philosophized. Where did I get that crap? I'm not really sure. I think a guidance counselor told me that, but I think he was talking about Citizen's Army Training or college or something mundane like that.

She smiled at me brilliantly. She really is very pretty. The smile makes me want to hug her just to check if she really is as warm as her smile makes her out to be.

"Oh, I see..."

She seemed genuinely thoughtful for a moment, and then she looked me in the eye with those pretty doe eyes of hers. "You come here often?" she asked.

WTF?!

"Yeah. My name is Karl, but you can call me 'lover'."

And then, she laughed and shook my hand.

-

Something that has a relatively happier ending than usual. ;-)

Ending

Really, he shouldn't have been surprised by it.

It was like reading a fairy tale. He should have known that, at some point, the words "and they lived happily ever after. The End." would come up. That story had been going on at a monotonous and boring pace, for lack of witches and dragons and evil stepmothers, for almost seven years. But still, somehow, Mister Silang found it in himself to look mystified when his co-faculty, Miss Sinag wordlessly handed him the large dove gray envelope and a small white card. Mister Silang found himself backtracking through the four years he had known the couple and ten years he had known the groom, searching for the quintessential climax that should have preceded this inevitable conclusion. Catching himself, he thanked her and buried himself back into his work and wondering why he even bothered to wonder. As he mechanically ticked away at the test papers that he promised himself he would have graded by that afternoon, he found his thoughts constantly looping back towards princes and princesses and missing adventures.

There was a buzz in the room even after Miss Sinag had left, and the dull hum of the chatter of his fellow teachers suddenly felt suffocating. Mister Silang found himself packing up his papers and mentally searching the school for a quiet place to work. As he stood up, he directed all attention towards himself, and he found himself being crushed by the stares of the other people in the office.

"So, will you be going, Mister Silang?" Miss Villanueva's eyes shone under her thick-lensed tinted reading glasses. It was like she was living the role of the starry-eyed fairy tale princess through the much younger Miss Sinag. She was a nice lady who had her fair share of sad love stories to tell, so in her old age, she was more than content to giggle with misplaced giddiness.

Mister Silang frowned. He may have just been paranoid, but Miss Villanueva's voice appeared laced with unspoken implications. "I can't make any promises at the moment," he replied.

"But, you're not just Miss Sinag's co-faculty," Mister Maligalig pointed out as he leaned back on his chair. He was looking pointedly at the white card Mister Silang had amongst the things in his arm. Now, the implications that seemed to be in Miss Villanueva's voice made themselves clearer in Mister Maligalig's double entendre comment, which Mister Silang dared not answer. "You're also both a close friend of Miss Sinag and a dear childhood friend of her fiance, are you not?"

"That was a long time ago," Mister Silang retorted to both the implicit and explicit questions. He gathered his thoughts and excused himself before he suffered further scrutiny. He began to make his way to the library, filling his mind with thoughts of partial points and bonus quizzes. He had just barely succeeded in pushing the princess who delighted in sitting prettily in the maze of his consciousness to the proverbial gutter, when Murphy's Law decided to apply itself to his internal battles with fairy tales.

"Mister Silang, are you busy?"

"I'm on my way to the library, Miss Sinag," he responded, hiding the exasperation that was probably clearly painted on his face by not turning to face the one who called him.

The volume of Miss Silang's next words seemed softer, "It..."

It won't take long.

In Mister Silang's mind, she was slightly flushed at the effort of saying those words. She hesitated, and she twiddled her fingers uncomfortably. He was making her uncomfortable, and, for some odd reason, he found himself feeling triumphant at that.

"I just wanted to know if you'd read the card," Miss Sinag's voice came out a lot more steady than Mister Silang had anticipated.

"No."

Snappish. Cold. Uninterested. Those were only a few of the ways to describe Mister Silang's tone. This deterred the female teacher and she was quick to say that she had other matters to deal with and would Mister Silang be so kind as to respond to her note before the wedding, thank you very much.

And, after that encounter, the princess that had previously been rudely shoved into the side streets of his thoughts came dancing back onto the main road, laughing haughtily at him. Even as he sat in the library which was quickly emptying at that late hour, Mister Silang found his mind wandering back towards the white card Miss Sinag had obviously been talking about. Before opening it, he speculated about its contents, trying to find courage he didn't realize he was missing.

"My Dearest Bryan,"

What bold beginnings for a woman about to be married!

"Do you still love me?

I still love you..."

The princess in his head giggled girlishly, shyly, embarrassed by her own boldness. Mister Silang took her hand and kissed it.

"Just say the word and I won't marry him."

And the prince in his head wept bitterly at the sight of his princess stolen by a mere teacher. But, who was the prince in the face of true love? He was just a prince, after all. And even princes can get their hearts broken.

"I want to be with you for the rest of my life."

Perhaps another happily ever after was to be read, but this time, not with the prince. And just as Mister Silang was about to ride off on his white steed, he read the card in his hand.

"Bryan,
Would you be Roy's groomsman?
He wants you by his side at the wedding.
Just as he wants you to be our friend for the rest of our lives."

Mister Silang closed the card and tucked it into his pocket. In his mind, the prince and princess were riding off on their white horse to Happily Ever After. The princess seemed to be smiling at him rather smugly.

Mister Silang picked his things up and went to find Miss Sinag to give his response. He would not make any promises. He could not.

Dance

This is an old story from an older blog. I just found it funny for some reason.

-

In the candlelight, her eyes were hazy as if she was dreaming. Her head swayed slightly, in time with the music played by the band. She watched the couples dancing with a small smile and a longing gaze.

There was no one there to dance with her but me.

"Do you want to dance?" I ask her as she snaps out of her daydream long enough to pick her goblet of water by the stem. She looks surprised and wordlessly holds holds out her hand to me. I heard the music shift to a slower pace. The song couldn't have been more appropriate.

I guide her to the dance floor. Now, she looks confused, so I place her left hand on my shoulder and take her right hand into my left. Last to take its position was my right hand on her waist. She hesitates a bit as I gently prod her movements. "I haven't danced in a long time..." she murmurs as she follows my lead. She's blushing. It's easy to see since she opted not to wear make up tonight. "This is nice." Her voice is soft in my ears as she sings the lyrics in chorus with the band's lead singer.

"You give your hand to me, and then you say 'Hello'..."

The lights choose that moment to dim. I look down on her to read her reaction, but instead, I come face to face with her who has chosen to check on my facial expression as well. Our eyes meet and we stare at each other unabashedly for a moment that should have lasted forever. I see so many things in her eyes and my heart skips a beat when I come to terms with what those things were telling me.

"And I can hardly speak, my heart is beating so..."

There is happiness in those eyes. I see so much happiness and an overflowing love. She is happy being with someone she cares about deeply. I strikes me as odd that she could be happy that way while dancing with me. And then, the reality dawns on me. She loves me.

And then, there was sadness. There was a deep sadness that speaks of dreams that could never be fulfilled.

I subconsciously pull her closer. She leans her head on my shoulder. I feel her hands tightening their grip on my shoulder and hand. It's almost like she doesn't want to let go. I push the small of her back so she is even closer to me. I murmur my feelings, half hoping she wouldn't understand, and half wishing she would, "I love you."

She lifts her head from my shoulder and meets my gaze. Our faces are so close that they could touch with only a slight movement. I see the understanding in her eyes. "I know." Then, the sadness overwhelms the happiness, but it cannot overwhelm the love.

The song ends and a familiar tune plays. Someone has a thing for "My Bestfriend's Wedding". There is no other explanation as to why "The Way You Look Tonight" immediately followed "You Don't Know Me".

I remember her telling me how much she loves that song. How she would love to hear it sung to her. She closes her eyes and sways to the music, enthralled.

Just as the lyrics begin, a hand taps my shoulder lightly. "May I cut in?"

Gods, no! I remove my hand from her waist and pass her hand to the newcomer. "Of course," I graciously step back as her arms instinctively wrap themselves around his neck after they lost contact with me.

I see the look in her eyes.


She is happy. She is as happy to be with him as she was happy to be with me. There is a love in her eyes that matches the love that she showed as she stared up at me only minutes before. The sadness I detect is carefully masked. A sadness of dreams that would never be fulfilled.
I step back even further. I take my seat on the table I will share with them later. I see them. They are perfect. People watch them and dream. They are the dream that has been fulfilled.
And, yes, that is how I will remember her. That is how I will think about her. The way she looks when she is in his arms.


I sing the last few bars of the song.

"Just the way you look tonight."