[From January
30, 2012 at 11:37am ]
I
was in panic as I tried to find a counter with a shorter queue in a
very crowded grocery chain last Saturday to cash in an infant milk,
when suddenly I bumped into someone’s pushcart overloaded with food
items, mostly American junk, the buyer of which, though of faded
glory in beauty, her skin was of the same old familiar identity:
smooth as silk.
I recognized her right away at first sight although the lines around those then ultra-magnetic eyes were trying to take away their pulling power now like what happened to Superman when he was touched by a kryptonite. And when those eyes met mine, I let loose a hesitant smile and gestured to tap her right shoulder with my left hand and she smiled back so fine.
But I noticed her clenched fist obviously about to meet my open palm, and suddenly something flashed back in my mind as it did come: our old familiar child-play in greetings, the “mano de piedra” or hand of stone grinding thing. As if on cue, I automatically clenched fist too for old time’s sake, and we did fist-bumping twice followed by interlocking of thumbs like caressing snakes. Beyond reasonable doubt, I knew it so well, after so many years I found again “Michelle,” mah-belle.
Like that controversial fist-bumping of Barrack Obama with his own Michelle, we had our own ritual of endearment too with my old school buddy “Michelle.” She was a seatmate and my source of copying in our class in Statistics, but unlike that Saturday she had then that ideal vital statistics. We were so close in that college year of ’97, but I don’t know why there was never a spark between us and friends we just remained.
At the time there were meritorious considerations actually, I’d just had a setback then in the affairs of the heart while she was no longer free. She was then involved or committed to a national athlete but unmarried to each other. And I was just her chief confidant or a shoulder to cry on at times and a “big brother.”
She invented “mano de piedra” for greetings then ‘coz she was a hip-hopper who loved body-piercing and dark heavy lining of a vampire’s eye. Our public display of “affection” upon meeting last Saturday was only for yesterday once more as if we never said goodbye. That day she was a complete departure from her past at least in appearance, but after we swapped pleasantries in an awkward manner I guessed something between us needed severance.
For when I asked her (about her old flame, that national athlete, who was fond then of giving her all kinds of headache) “is he still playing his game?” point-blank, I knew she knew there was double meaning in it that when I picked up a fallen item to put it back to her pushcart ‘coz she replied nothing but “Thanks.”
After Michelle turned around and excused herself to return to her companion she left elsewhere, I got a feeling ‘twas our final “mano de piedra” and I’d seen the last of her. She may be rich girl today and I’m now completely out of her loop yet I know there comes a time she’d recall that once in her life, especially during those saddest moments of her economical and emotional struggle I was a friend with benefits in every strife.
She might have been upset over my past counsel and friendly rebuke along with those things I shared. But surely she’ll remember someday that at one time or another there was somebody who cared.
I recognized her right away at first sight although the lines around those then ultra-magnetic eyes were trying to take away their pulling power now like what happened to Superman when he was touched by a kryptonite. And when those eyes met mine, I let loose a hesitant smile and gestured to tap her right shoulder with my left hand and she smiled back so fine.
But I noticed her clenched fist obviously about to meet my open palm, and suddenly something flashed back in my mind as it did come: our old familiar child-play in greetings, the “mano de piedra” or hand of stone grinding thing. As if on cue, I automatically clenched fist too for old time’s sake, and we did fist-bumping twice followed by interlocking of thumbs like caressing snakes. Beyond reasonable doubt, I knew it so well, after so many years I found again “Michelle,” mah-belle.
Like that controversial fist-bumping of Barrack Obama with his own Michelle, we had our own ritual of endearment too with my old school buddy “Michelle.” She was a seatmate and my source of copying in our class in Statistics, but unlike that Saturday she had then that ideal vital statistics. We were so close in that college year of ’97, but I don’t know why there was never a spark between us and friends we just remained.
At the time there were meritorious considerations actually, I’d just had a setback then in the affairs of the heart while she was no longer free. She was then involved or committed to a national athlete but unmarried to each other. And I was just her chief confidant or a shoulder to cry on at times and a “big brother.”
She invented “mano de piedra” for greetings then ‘coz she was a hip-hopper who loved body-piercing and dark heavy lining of a vampire’s eye. Our public display of “affection” upon meeting last Saturday was only for yesterday once more as if we never said goodbye. That day she was a complete departure from her past at least in appearance, but after we swapped pleasantries in an awkward manner I guessed something between us needed severance.
For when I asked her (about her old flame, that national athlete, who was fond then of giving her all kinds of headache) “is he still playing his game?” point-blank, I knew she knew there was double meaning in it that when I picked up a fallen item to put it back to her pushcart ‘coz she replied nothing but “Thanks.”
After Michelle turned around and excused herself to return to her companion she left elsewhere, I got a feeling ‘twas our final “mano de piedra” and I’d seen the last of her. She may be rich girl today and I’m now completely out of her loop yet I know there comes a time she’d recall that once in her life, especially during those saddest moments of her economical and emotional struggle I was a friend with benefits in every strife.
She might have been upset over my past counsel and friendly rebuke along with those things I shared. But surely she’ll remember someday that at one time or another there was somebody who cared.
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