“maggie, you outstand yourself. always.”

the
discoverer of this newly found theory came into the art of psychology
and psychiatry late in his atypical married life. before he pronounced
that, he was nothing but a womanizing forty-eight year old fool. now,
he is a womanizing forty-eight year old fool who found another one,
lousy secret about the whole essence of my being alive.

“not true, brix. sometimes, i outstand others more often.”

“still the egomaniac, clueless neophyte i know.”
he snorted and i confirm upon myself right then that he is still fond
of me now as he was then. perhaps, i was the daughter he never has and
the naive young girl he adored for a while. or maybe i should used or rather than and; the latter would paved way to incest.

i
adore this man; in fact there was a time eight years ago i hallucinated
i love this man. the memories are not clear anymore but i remember i
did. the reasons were not clear though, after all, eight years ago, he
was still two years older than my dad as he is now. and eight years
ago, i was seventeen. what does a seventeen year old know about love,
anyway?

“you should get laid. call that ex boyfriend of yours. or that…that… swedish…”

“swiss.” i corrected.

“swedish,
swiss, british, irish… they are all the same to me. call that swiss
guy at your workplace. here, use my mobile phone; its provided for.” he
said and grinned at me. “oh how you’ve grown..”

“but still…?”

“still as naive as you were back then.”

where
people saw me as something else, this man sees through the facade.
where i was branded as a competitive, ruthless, amoral bitch, this man
proclaims i am nothing but a naive young girl who doesn’t know what she
wants.

“i know what i want, brix.”

“not true.”

“i so fucking want to screw daniel.”

“now you’re talking.” he said and chuckled. “so why don’t you? “

we
were staring at each other there: his espresso getting cold, my mocha
frappe getting warm. it must be his age that gives him the patience, or
it must be the insufficiency of mental age on my part that i lacked of
it, and so i spoke up, “i still think—no, believe—- i still believe
that whenever i can help it, i want to have sex with somebody i love.
but i want to have sex with somebody i love within the sacrament of
marriage—”

at that point, he cut me, “susmaryosep. finish your coffee and shut up your mouth.”

“what is wrong with that? at least i have some principles.”
“this is the 21st century, maggie. and even during the time of the
Gallimimus, Camptosarus, blah blah blah (and he lost me here) they are
fucking each other like crazy.”

“who the hell are they?”

“what.
they’re dinasours.” he replied, looking quizically at me. “don’t you
learn them in school? prep? grade? high? university? post grad?”

“no. we have more better things to talk about than dinasours nobody alive today has even saw.”

“point taken.” he said. “what
i am trying to say is that get out of that stiff maria clara attitude.
you are way past it. and please spare me the sacraments. i think i
understand them better than you do.”

“you are unbelievable.”

“yes, thank you.”

i giggled and laughed out loud. I shook my head and told him, “you never change.” the last time i met this man was three years ago.

“so, tell me, you like this swedish? what is his name? gabriel?”

“swiss. daniel. you are gabriel, brix.”

“yes, yes, i know who i am.” he replied. “did you not love me before?”

“shut up. you are the reason i become an egomaniac.”

he
shook his head. “you are not an egomaniac. the fact you said that holds
that revelation against your proclamation. no egomaniac will ever blame
their being one unto someone else. that is a major sin against egoism.”

i laughed. “i miss you, brix.”

“i miss you too, baby. too bad you still refuse to share me with juicy details about your sex life.” he reach out and rumpled my hair. “your love life is very boring i can doze off through it if not for the espresso.”

“when are you coming back to makati?”

“whenever our government finds any little reason to hold trade fairs and nonsense meetings.”i am really getting bored with this director’s position, you know. even the travels are getting boring.” he sighed. ”

“yes, because you
are getting old and you still refuse to spend money on attracting young
girls. when you are past your forties, you have to spend money to get
what you want.”

he looked at his watch and nodded at me. “let’s go, its getting late. are you sure you do not want to sleep with me?”

“shut up. you’re married.”

“well, yes, i am. but you are not.”

“shut up.”

he laughed and gave me a hug. “remember, maggie, i adore you the way you are. and i know a lot of those people out there do too. and having said that,” he said and winked at me. “you can expect many enemies as well.”

“i know.”

“baby, trust me, you do not know.” he said. “be well, get laid, and enjoy sex, damnit.”

as
i stood there on the grassy parking lot, long after he got himself a
cab, i realize how many amazing friends i have lost in touch throughout
the years that i almost cried.

why is it
that we always realize things at the end? can we not realize it before
the mocha frappe is served, or the salmon tuna was ordered, or the
shuttle cock earned him a point towards victory?

come on, help me please. explain it to me.