I met her during theAgusan High School Reunion last May. She was a graduate of
class 1988. She looked out of place among her classmates. She looked
sophisticated, too well dressed. And she walked like a model. Very fair. I
stared at her for a while. Who is this woman? She must have felt my scrutiny
and slowly looked my way. Our eyes locked for a few seconds. I had a hard time
trying to look away. I pretended that it was a casual glance, that she was just
in my line of vision.
Five feet tall. Medium build. Probably dyed her hair dark brown. She wore a
subtle pink lipstick, matching her skin and her attire, which consisted of
avant-garde pants and a diaphanous top held up by thin straps. The soft
material exaggerated the protrusion of her breasts. Thirty four or thirty five,
I surmised.
I discreetly inquired about her. Somebody gave me a name. At an opportune
moment, I got up, and managed to get to that line of direction to which she was
headed and .accidentally . came face to face with her. She was much prettier up
close.
Hi, I said, gave my full name and stuck out my hand. Very light brown eyes.
Mestiza Chinese or Spanish or both? I heard you.re interested in coconut
by-products. I deal with them, sort of a hobby. My uncle is in the copra
business.
She somewhat nodded and accepted my hand. She politely introduced herself in
return. Husky, alto voice, what I would consider a bedroom voice. She answered
my inquiry. I could hardly hear her because of all the noise of celebration
around us. But I looked deeply into her eyes and felt like I was drowning in
them. I did not realize I was holding on to her hand too long as she gently
pulled away. I was transported back to reality and I remembered I was in the
middle of the Inland Convention Center and it seemed everybody was looking at
us.
I think she noticed my embarrassment. She gave me a hint of a smile, which
I fantasized was meant only for me, as if it were our own little secret. She
muttered something about a calling card. I apologized and told her I never
carry one. She gave me hers and told me to call her sometime in the future,
something about Manila.
It was over too soon as she walked away towards somebody else, an old
classmate, I.m sure, leaving me standing there, totally lost, gawking, a card
in my hand. Yes, dummy, she.s real and you.re in the middle of the convention
center and everybody is looking at you!
That night I slept fitfully, the image of her face, floating in front of me in
the darkness of my hotel room. I was trying to convince myself that it was not
unusual for someone my age, retired for a year, to be fascinated by someone or
something that pretty.
I met her again, two days later, while attending the Business Opportunities
seminar at the same Convention Center sponsored by Butuan City for the
Balikbayans. She was seated four tables away to my right, looking even more
gorgeous in the daytime. After the third speaker, I saw her yawn. I looked for
her card and texted her.
.Bored?. She opened her cell phone, read my message and started scanning the
audience looking for me. She did not see me.
.To death.., she answered. .Where are you ?.
.Look to your left.., which she did. She saw me and I drowned in her eyes gain.
She gave me a wave and a bigger smile.
She disappeared after the fifth speaker. That was the last time I saw her in
Butuan.
Three weeks later, I was in Manila on a business trip. Or was it just a
convenient excuse? I was staying at the Shangri-La Hotel. I texted her as soon
as I checked in. .Can we meet?.
Thirty minutes later she answered me back, .Yes, Saturday, for Brunch?.
It was only Thursday. Two more long days.
Chapter 2
