Feathers whisper stories and poems of life before.

Feathers whisper stories and poems of life before.
Feathers lie in the cold, it tell stories of life before.
Showing posts with label Valentine's Day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Valentine's Day. Show all posts

Sunday, August 11, 2013

Valentine’s Day Am bay!

I stood stock-stilled in the forepart of a half-size, decrepit mirror in our household.  I opened my eyes wide, forehead wrinkled and then dragged by an immediate right-eye-close wink. How many times I did this - I was unaware, and how long I looked my image in the mirror, I was oblivious. I estimated the frequency of this ridiculous action five, eight, ten, thirteen...  more, many a time more, and that piece of feeble reflector looked murky as the sun outside gradually went down. I raised my left hand, mopped the mirror dry with my palm, and hoped that clarity comes back. It did no good; instead, darkness overpowered the light all over the room.

 I switched the light on and continued my dogged practice. It was the most important sign I must master repeatedly and again, in my noiseless room. Still in front of the old scruffy, looking glass, I strove hard and made the sign perfect... once more, and two days before the significant date.

Unconsciously, I performed the ritual half-naked, my six-year-old nephew giggled as he sneaked in my spine. He saw my toothbrush and toothpaste carelessly slipped in the left back pocket of my pants. The toothpaste was almost empty; the paste oozed out and fell down flat to the floor. Accidentally I capped it loose when I got out of the lavatory and the tube nearly went flat in my pocket.

"What’s in your eyes Uncle Mel?" Emman asked. His snigger stopped.

"Nothing." I replied. I swung my hand like a pendulum at my back pocket and made it look neat again. 

"I saw your eyes winked shoo... many times, something... caught up your eyes, uncle? I will look...,“ he insisted. He winked his eyes as I did a copycat one.

"It’s nothing," I said. "I will tell you about it when the right time comes but I assure you nothing hurt my eyes." I said gently.

"It ne...Ver. Hurt?

"No. Go now! Find your picture books and read."

"Yes uncle," Emman responded. " 

I felt no better on following morning. It was February 13, 1995.  The memory I got three weeks ago agitated my head in a tailspin. I felt giddy. I took a seat in a divan at the back of the divider. It was near the front window overlooking at the sharp curve of the main road. There, I whispered a sigh and I hardly controlled a tear shed from my eyes. That niggling squabble was surely to blame. It never occurred even once since a couple of years we met in a kitchenette a few meters from the seaside.

Two years went by; I stomped my way to the vacant table with the heavy bag dangling in my left hand. She noshed with her friends. Accidentally I trod on her right foot. I sensed she was badly hurt, but then, still she looked amiable. I did not give her time to open up.

“Oooops! I am so sorry of my recklessness...miss, I did not see that foot out of the table legs," I said in a low tone conscious of sudden sparks might fly.

"Never mind, it took like this to happen and we realized were younger than anyone else around." her words were thought provoking. "By the by...sir, why not we reverse the situation. Is not my foot improperly placed?"

 She talked with a philosophical flair, though lenient enough. I was not overly attentive to some of her words. Her curvy naked lips, her a glowing intelligence nailed me wordless before I fixed things in proper perspective.

"Uhurm, shall I say sorry again miss?" I said in a tone of deep respect. I stoop low....
"No, no please-never mind that, it is all okay." she said and blushed.
The situation worthy of reproach became an environment of praise.

My senses abruptly returned by the quick dive of chasing cats in the roof. I grabbed the phone frantically- this was my second call one week past.

"Hello, good morning! Madz?" I talked with excitement. "How was that...?"
I felt suspended in the cloud of uncertainty though a good chance flickered to me. I gathered all hopes and threw away all fears. This was my chance, nonetheless, not the last- but a gambled one.

A few seconds after the call, I made haste for an all-out preparation. Face and bath towels, bath soaps, shampoos, conditioners, a set of underwear and new attire, all dumped into a convenient place. Soon as necessary, I could choose fast. I called up my favorite flower shop and made reservation order for a bouquet. I placed the phone in a nearby nook where I could readily grab the handle. In addition, I did not mind anybody talked to me.

Ten minutes before nine in the morning, I took a bath in haste and enjoyed the superb music as my dreadful voice blended with the hissing sound of water.  It did not take one minute when the thick lather from a foul smelling soap plastered my entire body, and there followed,  Krin… mg, Krin…. nnng, Kri… ng. The soap suddenly slipped out my hand and it briskly rolled around before it peaceably settled at the drain. I carefully grabbed the phone’s handle and greeted tenderly the other end. “I’m… still here.” “Taking shower… thirty minutes before I think.” “Bye.” That was the date. I gambled in the winning side.  The investment I have bloomed.

 Contingency squeezed all things and rituals in just a less than an hour. When for the final moment I found myself like a stump watching the copycat in the front of mimicking mirror. I opened my eyes wide; forehead wrinkled and then trailed by a quick right-eye-close wink then, walked out the door.

Then,   I greeted my mother, siblings and Emman.

“Will you now tell me about… d eyes uncle,” Emman said  

"I will tell you about it when the right time comes but I assure you nothing hurt my eyes." I said gently.

 I bade good-bye to all and took leave.

With only twenty-five minutes before our date, I trotted along the sidewalk where a friend of mine displayed his craft as a florist. In time, he handed to me a stunning bunch of handsome, multi- colored of his masterpiece. It comprised of red, orange, pink arranged with a pack of chocolate.

“She’s so precious, Mel.” My friend said.

I looked at him intently.

 “No, no I mean your Valentina, precisely.”

“Yes she is.” I beamed at him warmly and took leave.

I took off from the taxi exactly four minutes before ten in the morning. I sauntered along the curving driveway of the Fort San Pedro kitchenette. The flowers in my right hand were lively and they flapped as if they greeted everyone I met.
The establishment was a few meters from the seaside and about four blocks from the then famous Rotary Park. I was surprised as I approached to the kitchenette.

The vivid scene of two years ago still existed when that accident happened. The color of the dress and the style of cut it was sawn, except for some features that was modified; the right leg that was out of place. They were there not a mere flashback of memory.  She looked beautiful and her manners desirable. She noticed I stood with her back, when slowly… I stepped on her right foot.

"Uhurm, shall I say sorry again miss?" I said in a tone of deep respect. I stoop low and tenderly touched the part in her foot, once painful. I did not hear a word from her as two years ago did. Moreover, as I rise, I gave to her the Love Bloom with Fererro and she gently took it from my hands. She looked straight into my eyes and grinned. I prepared to do the sign but she opened her wide, forehead wrinkled and then followed by a quick right-eye-close wink