It was his birthday when I saw him last. I didn't know it at that time -- walking towards the MRT station on my way home from Cubao. I had my headphones on as per usual, oblivious to the world moving around, when this tall, well-dressed, familiar form walked past me. It seemed a blur when his face crossed my vision, but in that precise second I knew it was him. He smelled the same. I let a few more heartbeats pass before I decided to stop and look back. When I did, he was already looking at me. "Hey," he said. "Hey," I said. It was unmistakable. The smell of rain on hair, of crushed grass -- it was really him.
Walk, I willed my legs to do. "It's been a long time," he smiled as he reached for a handshake. I could see in his eyes he was trying to remember the last time we saw each other. To be quite honest I couldn't remember either. "Yeah," was all I could come up with. He seemed relieved at the fact we both couldn't remember.
He said he got off work early and was on his way home. I offered to walk him to the other station. "I got a better idea," he said. "Let's eat. It's on me." Of course I refused, but I did a poor job of protesting it was quite obvious I really wanted to be with him longer. He gave me his cut-the-crap smile and said, "Come on. It's my birthday." That shut me up. So me and my sheepish smile ended up going with him to the mall food court to eat.
We ended up at this Mongolian food stand ordering big rice bowls -- our usual fare when we used to see each other more often. "It's been a long time since I've eaten here," I said as I watched with childlike wonder the girl behind the counter mixing vegetables in a deep, crimson bowl.
"Me too," he said with the same quiet awe. "Come to think of it, the last time I ate here was when I was with you."
"Hmm. You're right." We stayed silent until our orders were cooked. My head was reeling with questions, I had to hold on to something solid to steady myself. I looked at him again. He had his usual deadpan expression on, neutral and unreadable. The scent of his hair lingering like smoke, which my mind remembers so well. He tapped my shoulder to wake me from my reverie; our orders were done.
When we were seated, we talked about the usual small things. Where he was working, where I was working, complaints about officemates, of cranky relatives and moving out. I told him I was thinking of getting a haircut.
"O, why not? It's time for a change, don't you think?"
"Maybe," I said, picking through the vegetables in my rice bowl.
It took us about an hour to wade through each others' lives. I asked him about the book he was planning on writing, but he said it was on the shelf for now. I told him I'd still help if he needed it. He gave me a sad smile. "I need to be heading home," he said finally.
We got up and started walking. Both of us were quiet, but the hands in my pocket were fidgeting and restless. "Listen," I said, crackling my fingers, "I know you're a little averse to the topic, and I didn't want to bring it up... but I have to ask..." He glanced at me without a change in his stride, eyes black, without light, and waiting. "... are you seeing someone?"
There was that sad smile again. "I am. It's been a while now..." And I was sure he said other things, but at that moment, my mind retreated to its dark little corner without sound and time, leaving my physical body to fend for itself. I was giving the appropriate responses, sure. Smiling at the right moments, saying "Really" or "I see" without causing a break in the conversation, but that was it. The strings stretched taut in my mind were snapping and my ships were slowly sinking.
A little window to reality opened when he grabbed my hand again and waved. "I'll see you soon, alright?"
"Sure," I waved back. "Happy birthday." Turning around, I ran my fingers through my then long hair. I think I'll be having that haircut.
