Sunday afternoons
(Author’s note: To all those left behind by love, and to those still searching for it — may your heart find what it’s looking for. God knows mine still is.)
On a calm, dreary Sunday afternoon I found myself staring at the used pillows I bought from the flea market down the road. I never really knew what there was about Sunday afternoons which made life seem so mundane and useless, but I do know I’ve gotten rather used to it.
In fact, Sunday afternoons happened to be one of my favorite branches of the week — wherein all I needed to do to pass the time was gaze absent-mindedly at a cheap, newly-acquired possession, or sit back lazily watching the latest “Pinoy scandal” on DVD. It was until recently, of course, when the charms of that blasted moment took a metabolic turn towards agony and despair.
I guess the drowning forces of the other sex have set me back yet again. Sad, I know… But when you’re in a bewildered state, much of what’s been happening around doesn’t really matter much anymore; and you desperately try to make some meaning out of the whole lot.
Needless to say, Candice and I never had that trouble when we were together. I had been involved with a few gold-digging pigeons, while she herself was thrown into these unimportant, superficial, run-of-the-mill cock roosters — whose only motives were to peck their way into her pants. Not that I could really blame them, for Candice was blessed with the look of a Roman goddess — soft, beady eyes and cheekbones that complemented her ski-sloped nose and wide, sad lips; not to mention her body — hips swiveling like a professional belly dancer as she walked with natural ease.
Character-wise, she proved trustworthy. And despite her occasional outbursts because of my cigarette smoking, our rapport was actually pretty sweet. There was the time my car broke down on EDSA and she left an important office meeting to pick me up; or the night my pet Eggbert got sick while I was out of town and she nursed him till he got better — despite her hatred for dogs. It was a give-and-take relationship, of course, and I made sure I reciprocated her bouts of kindness by cooking her favorite meal every week; and even taking care of Fangs — despite my hatred for cats.
But the most memorable moments always took place on Sunday afternoons, when we would just lie around the sofa, listening to Beatles records and snuggling between the sheets. Sunday was “our day”; our time. So naturally, when it came time to popping the question, it was only natural to do it on that very day. Granted, my father talked me out of proposing via airplane skywriting in the clouds, but I was able to get a reservation at Fon du Lac — one of the more sophisticated and pretentious eateries in the city.
“Hi, Candice, sweetie! Everything all right with you?”
“So far, it seems…”
“I’ve something to ask you, darling.”
“So do I,” she said in a manner that meant she wasn’t to be interrupted for anything.
“Yes, well, this is far more important.”
“No, this is… I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve fallen for a fool like you. It’s not something to brag about, of course, but I do feel that it’s time to take our relationship to the next level. What do you think?”
“I know what you mean,” I said as my eyes started to light up even more. “And that’s why I’m gonna ask you to…”
“Y’ see, we have to be more honest with each other. I know you have with me, but I believe you have to know more about my needs and desires, what makes me tick, and if you would be fine with it in the long run…”
“I know I will, honey. So I wanna ask you—”
“Really?! I mean, for real? Wow, that’s just wonderful, Matt! I think I like you even more! I’m still a little shy about bringing it up, but there’s this silly idea of you and me in a threesome with my neighbor Mike and…”
“Waitaminute!” I could’ve sworn the champagne just turned into pee as I drank it. “A what?” The change in my emotions for this girl-of-my-dreams creature was actually pretty subtle at first, despite hearing such an odd request. But as she went rambling on about how “good-looking” Mike was and how she would “never, ever be in a threesome with a girl,” my thoughts on her grew clearer; and my brain registered fewer and fewer references to Candice’s pending perfection.
It was when she later suggested adding her ex-boyfriend into the mix that the emotional change became less subtle. And it was pretty sure after that. I had stayed quiet for much of it, more from shock than anything else, but I did have to come up with an answer when she finally let me talk:
“So, what was it you wanted to ask me?” she said with a grin while eyeing me coolly behind yellow spectacles. For the first time in a long while, I didn’t find it necessary to expound on her virtues. And I was already thanking Dad in my head for talking me out of that airplane skywriting thing.
“Uh, I just wanna ask you if you would mind cutting our Sunday short this week? I feel a headache coming on, kasi.” Even in the worst cases, I try to throw in a little truth with my lies.
The following month, while I tended a major hangover, I braved another call to Katherine — a sweet, rather nutty, level-headed female I’ve known since the days of Seinfeld. It was a spur of the moment thing, after I’d gotten tired of staring at the used pillows I bought from the flea market down the road. Never really expected her to swim around it, yet…
“Hey there, Kathy, long time, no hear!” I said.
“Likewise! How are you? Everything dandy, I suppose?”
“Definitely. Perfect as a rose. Listen, yayain sana kita mag merienda man lang diyan sa labas minsan, eh. Uh, you up for it? Y’know, for old times’ sake?”
“Yeah, why not… I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out for some time now, to be honest. Are you free this weekend? How about Sunday, 3 p.m.?”
“Of course,” I gushed and casually wiped the sweat off my brow. “But if you don’t mind, can you make it Saturday at four instead? I hate Sundays.”
* * *
Just wanna give a shout-out to my brother who’s celebrating his birthday today. Too bad I’m not there to give you your annual hug, Lawrence. Happy Birthday.
* * *
E-mail: estabillo_rt@yahoo.com.
