Thursday, September 6, 2007

Dare to Take the Cartridge


It wasn't on my plan to go and make this place an exhaust of my feelings, just like what my Friendster Blog has become. I intend to keep it that way but somehow I need to be more rational in expressing out the details of this particular event.


I already had the vague feeling that I was to go onto that red walled room, like what I used to term it in Friendster. And so I went to buy my pad of paper. It was a mixed feeling of determination and genuine fear. Determination for it was necessary to go on and face each day virtually alone. And genuine fear for like the other things I consider fragile, it was an experience and event that I would never ever want to be erased out of my memory. Yeah, like a favorite movie that you can watch over and over again if you find the time.

Off I went to the room, with all those yellow arches to the left, to the right and above me. It was like revisiting and reopening an old wound. I tell you it was hard. Yeah, I couldn't help but give a look onto that small circular table, where we used to table tap and talk of stuff. It was a sickening thought that all of those might not be ever repeated again, judging from how cold things turn out today. And so to the counter I went, as if devirginizing a lonely memory, and took an order of the ice cream cartridge. It was a complete turn around, an about face like in scouting. I broke my vow to spend the next cartridge with her.

I could have cried. I could have lost myself and shouted amongst the late diners of the store. I could have approached our table and rehearsed the table tap patterns she taught. I admit I cannot remember any of them but I feel, I feel that taking my place would help me in remembering the steps. It was all but a painful memory of G. Louie.

She is the greatest triumph and defeat. A dream come true and now a frustration.

Anyway, I made my way home enjoying my ice cream cartridge, hot fudge as was always, and all the while thinking her and of her and of her. It was after all, all about her.

(DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, events, or places is totally a coincidence.)

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