Counting When You May

1

Night

The designated driver was late; he had a couple of beers while he waited. I wanted to snap at him for being late--- I was two hours late already for the dinner with the sister who just flew in (courtesy of another long interview for my junior’s slot even after the long hours of work). Prospective junior was a waste of time, not jiving enough with my or the bassa’s taste.

I hated it that I had to wait: You don’t make me wait.

I hated it that the designated driver had to wait: You don’t mind waiting.

I hated it that I couldn’t snap at him: I snap at you; You let me; I hated it.

I hate it.

Rushing to dinner--- Arrived--- I cried after several bites, several tears. I said to sister, “You read his dedication to the parents? He thanked them for showing him what it means to love your family. And he thanked Ma for bringing me into the world.”

They all said, “He’ll be back soon… He’ll never leave you…”

I felt your absence as you flew farther away--- not a sting but this gaping space that brings tears.

I finally slept at 2 am, after speaking to sister of love and how to read such things--- like when to wait for love and when love is patiently waiting. She said, “You’re so wise.”

I lived through these things and it all made me feel stupid.

2

Whole Day

Work is the usual mill and the designated driver and I speak of mills--- History. I don’t remember much of the conversation except the dinner we had and the two pitchers of gin-grape and bottles of beer. We went home at 2 am.

I didn’t want to go home knowing that you’re not there.

3

Hung-over, exhausted, hoarse--- I am this machine forging minds and mouths for nine straight hours---

I apologized to the designated driver this morning for keeping him out late, giving him a bottle of water: He looked like a zombie.

I had laughed, “Imagine the exhaustion he lives with everyday.”

For 12 years.

Then I told him, “He has cigarettes, sometimes juice, coffee, and water ready in the car every morning. And an extra hanky just in case I forgot mine...”

I trail off: I hate myself everyday for exhausting you.

The designated driver is not you, far from being you. This makes me laugh again though I feel this sting but I thanked him for being there and doing this thing, being your proxy.

--- After nine hours, I still could not go home; had to interview another prospective junior. Prospective junior is female, a year or two older--- still a goddamn baby--- and her so-called “assertiveness” according to the bassa was actually “abrasiveness” to me.

I know the type: Obsessive. Compulsive. Stiff Ass.

I was right.

And so I asked, “What did they tell you?”

She said, “That you’re interviewing me to see if we could jive---”

I laughed, “Yeah, it’s all special that way.”

Because you would be replacing a friend.

Because if I don’t like you then I won’t teach you how to re-map human language programs.

Because I could make your job hell if I don’t like you.

The bassa’s sales pitch: writer and loves dogs, like you. See, Prospective Junior apparently was in the same program at the same time I was a long time ago; not so long ago to me. I had called Dude, “Dude, does this name ring any bell----” The Dude said Nope. I said, “I thought so, too” Therefore we don’t know you: you’re not cool.

Hiring vote: What is your favorite book? Author? Sidney Sheldon: Not hired… John Grisham: Not hired… Paulo Coelho: Not hired…

I asked, “Do you still write?”

“No.”

I said, “A pity.”

“Do you?”

I laughed, “Of course…Poetry, huh? Who’s your favorite?”

“Sylvia Plath.”

I laughed, “Of course…Next favorite?”

“Anne Sexton.”

I laughed some more, sighing through a smile, “Of course. Any other favorites, perhaps from the latter part of the 20^th century? Or even the 21^st? Have you ever heard of Philippine English?”

“None…No.”

And so—

Points for candidness but still not excited.

The bassa said, “I want her. She has your----”

I sighed, “She no longer writes. And I no longer have a cat or a dog.”

The bassa frowned, “What’s wrong with this one---”

I mumbled, “You want me to train and manage a suicidal bomb----”

The bassa insisted, “Sign her.”

I sighed, “Wait, I'm exhausted and I can’t think anymore---”

The bassa said, “Give her a chance.”

I sighed, “Fine. I’ll come on Saturday, walk her through the program.”

Fuck this shit.

I went home, encoded reports and soaked my tired feet in salt water.

The house was too quiet with your absence.

4.

It’s all blurred, the days, the nights, the hours, the time.

Life could be lived but it was on pause because I was waiting for you to come back.

All I knew was that I missed you.

To tell you "I miss you " was inadequate.

I stopped my heart from feeling it because it hurt.

How I felt, in your absence, could not be put into words.

So I couldn’t tell you.

So I didn’t tell you:

You didn't come back.