Friday, May 29, 2009

7:56 PM | The Last Days of Summer

So we make plans for the coming days. The summer will be ending by the time the weekend springs to a close. I tell a friend I am ready for one last fling with adventure, while we still could call the days as very much a part of Maytime. "A Sunday in Siquijor?" I tell him over afternoon coffee in Don Atilano, while I nurse a broken heart and while I finish the script for a short film we will be making starting on Monday.

Slow Friday afternoons are made for such delicate juggling acts.

My friend says yes, and proceeds to call a friend whom he thinks can join us for the day trip. "Always best to have someone else to tag along, right?"

I shrug and then nod. What else can one give as answer? I am only aware of the days slipping by. Was it only yesterday when we celebrated the cool of January? When did it become June, the middle of the year? So we scramble to make sense for what remains of the year -- and we mentally consider the things we have planned to do and finish for the year. Time is running out.

"What if we get left behind by the last boat though?" I ask casually, while tapping my fingers over this very same keyboard I am using now. The coffee and the cigarettes have dulled the slow aching deep within my chest -- and I am able to breathe a little easy.

"Then we leave early Monday," he says.

"That sounds like a plan."

"What time do we have the production meeting on Monday?" he asks.

"About ten-ish," I say.

"We can still make it, I guess."

"What about tonight?"

"It's the last Friday night of the summer."

"So, it's dancing in El Camino then."

"I guess."

"I guess."

"What else is there?"

"There's Payag."

"Over my dead body."

"There's Hayahay."

"Which is still something we can do before dancing in El Camino."

"I need to work on some things tomorrow though."

"Me, too."

"Let's not stay out too much."

"We've said similar things before."

"This time let's mean it."

"Okay."

"Okay."

I look at the distant blue in the horizon, and it must have been the kick of the fourth cup of coffee, but I swear I can hear God laugh.

Labels: life

[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich

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