Of all the surprises I was bound to face, I never thought the place it would happen would be in Recto.

Saturday. I was supposed to come to a certain ball event over at the Town Center when the need to divert attention struck. So with just a split second decision, I boarded the next available Taz Transit and shoved P30 to the ticket guy. After the significant unfortunate event that happened last week involving a wallet, an ATM card and this certain bus line, I still didn’t hesitate to utilize the same vehicle. After all I don’t have any more wallets to lose, and my ATM card is still somewhere in this universe.

It was somewhere between the orange eggs stand and the crack near the first eskinita on the right. There, in almost what seemed like a hallucinatory form to rival the heat of the cluttered pasillios, stood…

Her.

It was easy to tell it was her, but I did not let my instincts get carried away by a mere suspicion. But she was a lot more nourished than I am. Her skin, reddish due to health and by the mere sun rays, emanated a certain glow on the sides. She was less pale than I imagined her to be. Her eyes bore the same non-smiling shape, but it was less tired.

She was wearing a simple pair of denim jeans along with this certain pink shirt and black rubbers, both of which she have loved for some time. Couldn’t be any more predictable, I remember thinking. Her hair, a little shorter than it used to be, obviously came about from time added unto an originally shorter bob. The only thing we shared, it seems, was the smug grin which spread across her sarcastic face. Only hers had less shock than mine had.

I felt the black bits from the smoke of the next random jeep pelt unto my skin. Everything was numb except me. The cover of the thin blackened aluminum canister from the nearby carinderia clanged on the stove top. Someone’s spoon scraped on the plastic container bowl that had orange bits of flour and egg floating on spiced vinegar. A wisp of smoke from someone’s mouth came into the distance, mimicking the cluttered way the owner’s mustache had gone unorganized on his upper lip. The tiles glued on the floor cried at every shoe that passed by. A small coin stuck on a space near the pocketbook stand inevitably lost its markings after the rainy days. It had accumulated small dust, after which some of them flew when a small book fell unto its open, dirty face.

And yet, she wasn’t moving. But I could hear the distinct sound of the air entering her chest, even if it wasn’t visible from the small distance we stood apart. And then slowly, my lips started moving, my voice forming a sound which seemed inaudible to her, but such a whisper haunted my reverie. It was foreseeable.

Hi.

It was all she needed. She ran towards me, hugged me like the prized possession she has been looking for since she lost it sometime in her youth. I initially recoiled, and then slowly found myself wrapping my arms all over her. We stood, amidst the noise of Recto, hugging each other in the middle of the pasillio.

She slowly moved me in front of her and looked at my face. I just showed a tired smile.

You look gaunt, she remarked.

Thank you, I whispered. I think death does that to you.

What have you been doing to yourself? What have you been doing?

I don’t know, I honestly replied.

You can’t keep on doing this, you know. This isn’t you.

What IS me?

She found herself hushed. She wasn’t able to procure an answer.

I missed you, Jayce, she instead muttered. She sounded like she meant it. I started to quiver but got hold of my self before I almost let go.

I missed you too, JC, I silently cried. Take me away.

She nodded. The smug grin slowly becoming evident on her face.