A Story About Saturday and The Mystic Green Apple

Saturday, if my memory serves me well, probably around midday, the heat was just over the top, obnoxious if I may add, that even if I stayed awake for nine straight hours the previous night, I can't help but swear and go down from my room to the den and try to get a little more sleep, it's Saturday after all and we all deserve a little pampering if not sleeping.

It was an unusual Saturday morning and one thing I noticed while slowly descending the wooden stairs that goes *creak-creak* everytime your foot leans on its "God-knows-how-old" steps, was the unusual silence, normally at this time of the day, Ma watches an equally obnoxious noon time show that parades scantily dressed dancers with dark underarms, probably smelly too, perky male hosts, even more perkier female hosts an over aged gorilla and the three stooges (would you believe one of them even became a Senator?). Enough of the trivialities, as I was saying, the house was empty as a church in Basilan, I went straight to the table, found a note hand written, that says Ma went to Quezon and wont be back 'til Monday morning. Say goodbye to relaxation and hello to home cooked, hopefully edible, meals.

It was a Saturday and I was supposed to meet Van for a much needed rendezvous; but suddenly I remembered that she's out with her team, probably doing something crappy, probably eating something "crappier". Oh well, life's full of crap anyway... Then a beep and a light followed by a patterned vibration...'twas my cell.

You texted me and it was a humid Saturday morning, what we talked about and how it lead to a so called "date" unfortunately I already forgot. I suppose you were free and so was I and we both have nothing to do so we agreed to meet. It's funny because you're always free and it's not like I'm complaining I'm simply stating a fact. So it was an early dinner date with booze of course, after which you'd sleep over and that was just dandy. I mean, how often do you get this lucky having a pretty damsel sleeping over for the night, even just for a night? It's like winning the lottery yeah? or something like seeing a unicorn or a leprechaun..

You see, it was a Saturday and I just love it. There's something about this day that makes me wanna sing or dance or both. This Saturday however is an exception, it makes me want to sit and think for no apparent reason.
Saturday is such a good day for malling, there's not a lot of people, at least compared to a Sunday when all the kids go running and crying and wrecking havoc and all that kid's stuff. I guess it's a day made especially for lovers which we're not, of course, but I just mentioned it for the sake of argument. Nevertheless, you were there first meeting up with old friends so I decided I'd go late just when you girls are about to finish. What you don't know is, as early as 3PM, call time was 5PM, I was already dressed, my hair fixed, which by the way I don't usually do and my beard trimmed. Again another useless trivia.

Saturday afternoon, half-past four and you girls are still at it, worse, you don't return my SMS, I was getting a little worried, paranoid, but in the nick of time, just when the meteor's about to hit the surface, you texted me to follow and meet up with you ladies then on my part a bit of hesitation, constipation followed by a confirmation that yes, I would follow and yes wait up for me and I'll be there in a jiffy. A feeling of disgust and unexplainable nervousness enveloped my persona. But I don't have a choice do I?

So there I was, on a damp Saturday afternoon, nursing a cigarette between my middle and index fingers, jacket on the one hand, waiting for a cab, hoping somehow that for some magical reason I'll look like Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp or hell even Denzel Washington or anyone except me. I felt like throwing up just when a battered white cab pulled over to take me to where you're at. At one point in time, in between my house and the point you're in, I wished for rain... Guess what happened, nothing.

The Saturday afternnon drive was OK I guess except for the leaking LPG tank which, if not for a semi opened window, might have killed me prematurely and the itchy, probably tick infested, car seat. Armed with nothing but a pack of Marlboro Lights, a red lighter and a comatosed wallet, onward I walked past the blaring speakers and huge industrial sized fans blowing warm and foul smelling air, a mix of cigarette smoke and cheap barbecue and seafood, to grateful customers to a place called Gerry's. And this is where it gets a little interesting...

It was around six in the evening, Saturday, and beads of sweat started to appear on my forehead. I was greeted by luke-warm smiles and doubtful looks. I returned the smiles but not the look, took a seat beside you and tried to join in the conversation. I failed miserably. The girl infront and beside me, left side, was talking non stop, like a gattling gun or a loose cannon, except for the time when they needed to wet their lips with iced tea or to wipe an imaginary stain from their lips. The girl in front was a flight attendant, she has this really warm smile that can melt the ice caps of North Pole, probably even cause a great conflagration in Canada or something, a body to kill for and a face that can launch a thousand ship (now that's just unoriginal!), she's "taken" obviously. The other is, simply put... talkative.

It's a unique experience for a Saturday get-together, you girls talking, me listening, you girls talking, me sitting down playing with my fingers, you girls talking, me thumbing my cellular phone, reading imaginary messages, you girls talking me trying to blend in. It was cool though, you made sure I was OK by asking me "if I was OK"and at one point you even placed your hand on my leg, a gesture maybe that means "hey, it's OK, at least you're with me now". I appreciate that. Honestly, me looking at you, staring at your smile, me observing how you sip whatever drink you're having, asking me if I was OK was just perfect. I'm already OK.

We left at about 8PM, that's after about 30 minutes of goodbyes, "see-you-soons", "I-miss-you-girl" and all that girly crap. So out we went,side by side to get something to munch on during your stay. It's weird how I love touching your nape as a gesture of endearment, weirder you dig this kind of gesture. You've mentioned that your ex used to do it, I wonder if the feeling's the same, I mean me, instead of him doing it. You bought this really sexy cross between a panty and a short. I thought why wear something that looks like a panty when you can actually wear a "real" one? Weird...

I thought since it's a Saturday, why won't we have a "Pizza Saturday" and a a bottle or two of beer? And so we did. I know for a fact that you love Yellowcab so I wouldn't miss the chance to impress you with it, I mean that's the least that I can do to repay you for agreeing to spend the night with me. after which we hailed a cab, stopped over 7-11 for the beer and on to our house. You know what, sometimes when I'm with you I get a little over-protective, male instinct I guess, I just don't like it when guys go staring at you when you're with a huge guy like me. It sucks... I mean we all deserve a little respect. But on the other hand, who can blame them?

One thing I forgot to mention was when I went down to buy the drinks, the moment I stepped on the aspalt and walk through the ever open doors of 7-11 I felt worried about you. Worried that that stinking bastard of a cabbie might drive away and I'd be accountable, worried that you might get hurt or he might do something that I can't forgive and that I'm gonna spend the rest of my life hunting him down to tear him to pieces and feed the remains to the sharks, or ants or alligators or whatever. I was paranoid as hell... Good thing he's smart enough not to do that...

So there you were, on a Saturday night, hair tied up in an unruly but glamorous way, silk dress flowing, like wine or time or whatever, sitting sipping your cranberry juice and me hoping I can frame this moment. That time, if you'd asked me to run away with you to a far away island somwhere in the pacific or timbuktu, without hesitation I would. You didn't and either way I'm fine. What surprised me was even though I sprayed about a ton of air freshener, a distinct scent filled the air. I was like walking through rows of apples, inumerable, and from its branches hang thousands of green apples, inviting... It leaves a scent that makes me want to believe it's real, that all these are real. It's not.

IF, there is one moment I would like to re-live that would be that day, I won't change a thing, not a single bit of detail, not even the part where we were having a hard time looking for a cab.

It was SUNDAY, early morning, we walked your hand in mine, which marks the end of this short yet eventful day. It started at 6PM and ended at 2AM. Thoughts of "what-could-have-beens" circled my mind like a vulture preying for it's dying victim. For a moment I thought time stopped, for a moment I was king of the world. A big white taxi took you away from me. Reality bites, it bit me and it bled profusely.

As I open the door, SUNDAY early morning, your scent remained, only this time I know it's no longer real, the scent lingered for a few moments and got carried away some place, some place where it would forever stay, where you could touch it, feel it and that place ain't here. But hey, it's a Sunday, but Sunday is another story yet to be told...