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A
DREAM
By Jeffrey V. Tolentino
She came to him in a dream. In soft whispers and light colors, without reason nor logic; when feelings stay unmoved and senses left unguarded. Like a shadow, unreal and yet so near. He just finished drinking from a faucet when, suddenly and unannounced, heavy rain began to fall. He tried to return inside but stopped when he realized it has already closed. Then he saw her, running hastily but with purpose and precision toward the gate. She was carrying a couple of towels, neatly folded on her hands, and he walks up to her. Without asking he tried to grab one of her towels but she refused adamantly and in doing so lost her footing and fell to the ground. He was taken aback, but before he could compose himself and help her, people around them began taking her towels and started using them as umbrellas. It didn't take long when there were only the two of them left; and in his hands, the towel he successfully robbed her.
She stood up and took the towel he offered with a little hesitation. Without a word, she made her way toward the gate just as he was to speak. She slumped her shoulders when she reached the gate, and looked back at him with a face of surrender rather than anger. She made a cape out of the towel and shook her head, unbelieving at how slow he was walking, although he still managed to slip once.
It took him a little while to get outside the gate. His whole is already soaked wet, and he brushed his hair backward to clear his sight. He saw there was no one else around. He turned his head to her and saw her face. She was, he thought, almost relaxed; almost unbothered although she was as wet as him and the towel is not helping her at all.
"Why don't you come to our house and dry yourself?" He offered. "You can borrow my sister's clothes."
She didn't know why she agreed. She didn't know she agreed. As if the rain had washed out all her understanding. She began to follow him and soon afterwards, was walking beside him. Then her body felt the cold rain. And she realized her ankle was aching. Is this why he's walking so slowly? She thought. Did he knew, somehow, that she's aching?
He was startled when he saw her again fell to the ground. She must have stepped on something, he thought. He waited for her to stand up but saw instead that she was massaging her left ankle. He took her left hand and brought it around his shoulders.
His house was only a ten-minute-walking distance, but it took them another five minutes to reach his front door. When he opened it and helped her in, the first things he noticed were his father sitting on the sofa and her mother unpacking some boxes. He led her to one of the sofas. He didn't bother introducing his parents to her, nor her to them. It didn't seem to matter at the time.
"I’ll go find my sister's room," he said plainly.
His words sounded strange to her. How could he not know where her room is? But the thought vanished just as he did to the far side of the house.
"Dear Joshua, I'm freezing here."
Her head recoiled when she felt someone took her hand. She saw two sets of eyes watching her. She recognized one was a lady and she slowly ushered her to a room. She asked her to take her clothes off which she almost took as an order and complied. Then she felt a warm cloth wrapping her.
He went from one room to another, failing to recognize any evidence of his sister's habitation. It then occurred to him how little he knew of this house. (They just moved in two months ago.) He decided to go back to the living room but saw only his mother closing a door of a room. He quickly understood and went past her and knocks on the door. He waited for her to say ‘come in’ before he opened it.
He slowly walks in and saw her sitting on his sister's bed. A thick, white blanket covered her from neck to toe. Her shoulder length, damp hair was comb from forehead to back; helping the bedside lamp present her features more clearly. Before he could utter a word the door opened and his father went in with a cup of hot milk.
"Take this to help you get warm," his father told her and put the cup on the bedside table. "And you, go and change before you too catch a cold."
He waited for his father to leave the room and close the door before he returned his eyes on her.
"Cold?" He joked. He received her answer in a silent smile. Another moment of silence ensued. They held each other with their eyes. Then he raised his arm and spread his palm as if to say goodbye. Without her saying a word, he left silently, as if he too might say too much.
She traced the memory of his movements. His unusual way of motion--putting his hands inside his pocket and walking slowly with his head down as if his every step is his carefully placed inner thoughts--astounds her to say the least. Another long moment and she caught herself staring at his wet footprints. Only then did some semblance of sanity started pouring into her head.
She
weakly stands up and cross the room to a closet. She opened it and saw what she
presumed are his sister's clothes. Just as she did, she caught an errant
thought: she doesn't even know his name. How can this be? She strained
herself to remember his name but failing badly. She can't even remember how it
sounded like. How can this be? she asked herself again. I saw him almost
everyday. I pass him on hallways. Sometimes my eyes would unintentionally catch
his across a room. We even spent a few moments talking about him, and....
How can this be? She remembered one morning when their professor made them write a poem and recite it in front of the class. She just finished reciting hers and she heard his name called. What was it? He didn't stand up nor went in front of the class the way everyone did. He sat in his chair and recited his poem. His clear voice reverberated inside the room like a distant echo, although with not enough reality to recognize its existence. Like a soft wind blowing behind a tree. When he finished, she remembered only one line and forgotten it the day after: All we need is starlight to spark our dreams. It sounded something like that but she can't be sure. Though she remembered how Mr. Garcia looked and say "Thank you" which she believed in his sincerest way.
A moan of a cat under the clothes startled her out of her reverie. She knelt down and the blanket around her formed an ocean in which only her head stays afloat.
"Hi," she said softly when a kitten came out of the closet and nestled itself under her. "Hmmm." And she revealed her hand and caressed its ear. The kitten looks up to her and she sensed a mild enjoyment from a brewing friendship between them.
"What is his name?" She asked later, and she smiled when she actually waited for the kitten to answer. Then her gloom self weakened and disappeared; and her usual high-spirited personality took over.
"Okay, enough. Help me pick a dress instead. Jeans perhaps? No. I don't think hers will fit me. How about this? No? Ahhhh. This. What do you think? I think so too." She sighed. "It just occurred to me, I haven't spoken a single word to him yet."
It took him only ten minutes to take a shower and another five minutes to get dress. What happened? Is a recurring question. He is attracted to her. That is already settled. He believes that if a dance is an extension of the music, then one's motion is the extension of the soul. And that is what attracts him to her. Her elegance and the fluidity of her motion are like a river to him. Overflowing with its abundance of energy and determination to succeed. Succeed in what, he still doesn't know.
He got out of his room, went to the living room and took the key of his father's car from a shelf, and knocked on his sister's room. He waited for her permission and opened the door. He stopped suddenly when he saw her. She was wearing a light-dark, thin dress that hangs freely just a little above her knees. It was so thin that it almost served like a second skin, undulating each time she moves. He stopped not because it surprised him, he already knew how beautiful she is, he stopped to take a moment to admire her—and to also remember.
His intent eyes bothered her although not fully. Somehow she already knew how he would react. Not just to her, but to everything. To everything he sees. He needs to examine everything he sees.
"It's a little short," she said her first words to him.
"Nonsense."
"Do you think your sister would approve if I borrow this?"
"She's out of town, and I suppose she wouldn't mind."
The silence that followed gave him enough moment to decide. He walked two steps toward her and kissed her abruptly. His kiss lasted only a fraction of a second. Not enough time for her to react.
"Come on. I'll take you home."
He led her outside the room and found his parents half-eagerly waiting for them in the living room. She asked them their forgiveness for the inconvenience she had caused them and thanked them amply for their kindness. Then he leads her outside.
It has already started to dark and the rain has subsided. She can hear grasshoppers crying as if in rebellion against the rain. For the first time she found comfort in his pace of walking. She felt a queer feeling as if she doesn't want to leave.
"Why did you kiss me?" She asked without stopping to avoid that if she did she would have to look at his face.
"Because I may never have a chance again," he answered as if the question hasn't bothered him--and it hasn't.
"What made you say that?" She soon regretted the question.
"When do you think can I get you alone inside a room with me again?"
"How about next week?" It gave her pleasure when he stopped, surprised. Obviously, it wasn't the kind of answer he would expect from her.
He watched her as she went around the other side of the car with a smiling face. Her eyes glowed more beautifully. Her now dried hair sprung to her side when she turned her head to him with delightful energy.
"I was only joking."
The streets are now deserted. People have resorted to staying at home rather than outside. The rain has subsided yet dark clouds are constant reminders that it hasn't finished yet. Though people welcomed it for the cold air that it brought.
"Forgive me. What is your name?" She asked later. She plans to ask him when they reach her home but decided to do it now for the sake of conversation. And of course, how will she thank him when she doesn't even know his name? She saw him smile and look at her, and then returned his eyes on the road after he answered.
"A while ago you said: Dear Joshua. What do you mean?" It was his turn to ask, and it was her turn to smile.
"It's a long story."
"Take me as far as you can."
"Well, my father's name is Joshua and when he died...."
They stopped in front of a beautiful, large house. From outside, he can tell that it has been standing there for a very long time yet, in some ways, it looked so strong as though it was made to last forever. A door opened and a lady as old as his mother emerges.
"That's my mother. How about you come in for a minute or two? I'll introduce you to her. It will make it easier for me to explain why I got home looking like this," she referred to his sister's clothes.
He agreed. He stayed for a moment long enough to know her mother's name and decline when she offered him to have dinner with them. She walked him back to the car (this time she used an umbrella, the rain has started again) and waited for him to get inside. This time it was he who wished he accepted the offer so he could stay. When he turned on the ignition, the engine only barked. He tried it again but nothing happened. One more time and still nothing happened.
"Dear Joshua!" He cried. He tried again and the engine started droning. They laugh. Just before he left he said: "That's the last time I will call him. I don't like competing."
"I do."
Then he left.
She waited for his car to take a right turn and disappear. Then she was left of a feeling of a renewal of a love lost. They say that life is nothing but a series of humdrum routine, of endless days of work without pleasure, of anticipating for the better, but it is not; her true life happens during unexpected twists and turns. When, suddenly, out of nowhere, something emerges and it jolts her. A discovery of something unusual, may it happen in work or somewhere else, it doesn't matter. She remembers every twists and turns of her roads, every steep mountains, every rocky roads, every rushing rivers, every deep oceans, every green field she's been to, every bridge she saw built and destroyed; she remembered them all--but never a straight road. These are the times when she is fully alive. Fully alive and fully awake.