IN Gray and Black Striped

Guerilla blouse, black skirt, juan leopard heels, ebbi tempura and maguro sashimi, and A Story

An hour and five minutes, I think of names on lists and how distant we’ve all become--- separated by screens and glass. Like now, on 35 floors I can see the Laguna Bay--- near and can be touched. But this height, this concrete glass, separates me, us, from that, from each other.

35 minutes later, he laughs to them, “How Saint Aoux…Go on, finish what you start. I don’t think there was ever a saint named Aoux! Though St. Aquinas was a badass before he became a saint…”

I laugh, thinking of the Panning For Gold approach in critical thinking, How Saint Aoux Flashed The Pan

Just before 2:00 pm, sleep comes--- the light of siesta lulling these eyes to close, close, close and go far away. It comes everyday. It returns now, this light--- I have flashes of our younger faces as my eyes swim, fighting sleep: I now have fish eyes.

I am waiting for that break, to drink coffee, to sound happy and smiling while kissing grounding feet, reminded:

ä is called Italian A

ó is circumflex O like core, that wall

ú is short, you look, pull

ü is you long to move, a tool

aú is now

ói is coy, that poise

that schwa, that slur, err, the pillar, blur

(The reminder is a threat to my own language of symbols.)

He asks them, “How many true friends, real friends do you have? I know I only have three and one of them is---” and points to me.

I smile, And you are one of the truest, and heckle, “Awww, and for the record, we didn’t have sex with each other.”

Then for about fifteen minutes, he and I just laugh--- laugh--- we just heard a human turkey laugh from a small Cherry. Flushing, tearing, stomachs aching--- we laugh. It was a joyous laugh, one I have never heard from him in the ten or so years we’ve been friends.

He says, “You go and teach tomorrow. Test it. But don’t tire yourself preparing slides and stuff.”

I nod, time to go home, sitting on the steps, waiting, someone stops, says, “Ma’am?”

I look, recognizing the face, and smile, “Hey!”

He holds out his hand and I shake it, asking, “I’m sorry I can’t seem to remember at the moment--- but what’s your name again?”

“Sherwin, Ma’am.”

I laugh, “Ah! Mr. Fuentes! My, my, how you’ve grown! How are you?”

He tells me where he works and that one of his classmates also worked there as I listen to the flow in his syntax (and for his p-f / v-b problem), finding them smoothened by foundation and time. He asks where I teach now and if we could go out some time to talk. I get his number.

The car arrives and stops on the driveway, he helps me up, says, “Ma’am, inom po tayo minsan ha?”

I laugh my consent, thanking him for remembering his once 27-year-old College Speech Communication teacher, a long time ago.