I could live my life never knowing you exist,
Then I would never miss you.
Life would go on with ease, I’d dream no reckless dreams
Experience no joy in schemes.
She opened her eyes and all she could see was sky, all she could breathe was green grass which was soft underneath her. Then his hand moved to her stomach. She could feel his warmth even when cotton cloth and delicate sheer swaths rested between her and his skin.
His fingers traced her face slowly and knowingly, shivers crawled her skin from her face to her arm down to her belly.
His face covered hers, his body enveloping her body. She hears the gentle rustle of his white shirt on her white muslin dress. All was white. And everything else concentrated on her stomach. She didn’t know that the belly could hold such breathtaking sentience.
A few ringlets of clouds swirl in the sky, which I guess is good because today of all days I wish for a perfect weather.
Happiness for me is constantly feeling lazy. And this is one of those idle days, the sun warm on my cheeks, a butterfly blue sky hovering above me, its wings like a magic wand endlessly granting my wishes.
Mateo, Andres and I are in charge of the sun glare protectors which we are about to buy at the Farmacia Blumentrit this morning. Mateo is the kind of person who people tend to be drawn to. He has the most engaging smile and though he’s more lean than muscles, his strength is obvious for he likes sports as much as any full blooded young man and is captain of his soccer team.
Andres on the other hand is handsome, but too serious. He rarely smiles, but has a good heart.
Mateo drives the Buick with me at the passenger seat and Andres at the back.
“Next year I will get my license and I will be driving dad’s Cadillac,” said Andres Torres seriously.
“That’s great Andres. We can go joyriding with my colehiyala friends. I can introduce you to some of them,” I say.
He scratched his head. “I-I’m not really interested right now.” He says shaking his head, his wavy hair bouncing at the top.
He is three years younger than Mateo who is twenty but a little more mature in the way he behaves. But he worships his older brother Mateo.
Our families have long been friends. I have known them forever since we were kids playing in the vacant lot behind our house.
My mother intimated to me that anyone of the two boys would be a great husband material since they had breeding and old money.
Of course I was aghast when she told me that. I believe in falling in love and not being paired off like cattle. My feelings I kept to myself because I wouldn’t hear the end of it if I tell her my deepest thoughts.
The breeze that hit my face as we travel along Rizal Avenue is sleek, it glides through my skin and flicks my long brown hair which I wear loosely. A scarf is wrapped around my head to keep the locks inside but they still manage to escape, the tendrils licking my lips and ears.
I look at Mateo beside me. Mateo’s hair is slicked with pomade but it keeps falling to his forehead.
He catches me looking at him and he points a forefinger and pokes my cheek.
“Aw!” I say indignantly. I turned eighteen last month. And although I have been trying to act like a lady, Mateo still treats me like a kid.
I growl at him though lightheartedly. I catch his eyes boldly.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he says.
“I wasn’t looking at you. You must be mistaken. I want to learn how to drive. I was watching you drive,” I lied. Try as I may, my voice sounds a little too frenzied.
How can I tell him that I just had a dream about him last night, that he was making love to me in that dream? That he was touching me in all the parts of my body that counts. Just thinking about it makes me warm and tingly inside.
I wish he would look at me the way he looked at me in that dream. The way he whispered my name with his lips close to my ears. The way he said my name as if it was the most important word in the universe.