Turning around, took his jacket, and slowly he got off from his black leather seat.
"Let's go home"
His stubble was so sexy, his cheeks were thinning, the jawline couldn't get any hotter than that.
So he walked straight to the door, waited for me at the hall while I put my boots on. When I was in the hall, he was already walking towards the exit door.
"You didn't wait for me"
"I wait for you. See, I am walking like a sloth"
"You are sloth, you know that?"
I took my hard hat, put on his head backward, and squeezed his cheeks. He was a charmer.
"OK. How does the meeting go?"
"So and so. Don't want to talk about it"
The sun on the far horizon was descending, leaving the sky with the thin clouds in dusky yellowish trail. Breeze was subtle, swaying my hair that were falling beneath my helmet. He didn't say a word, I didn't say a word. But I caught his glimpse once in a while.
The parking lot was almost empty when we reached there. Except at the other end of the hood, two trucks were parked side by side. Rayyan was warded, so I stole his spot just beside Liam's. When he started his engine, I got into the passenger seat, sinking self into his beemer. We stared into each others' eyes, and at the expense of breaking the silence, he brought out his phone, showing to me cars and what not. It came as a surprise that the wallpaper wasn't Sarrah, but a concept car from Nissan. Perhaps married men all like that, pasting picture of someone they love on the phone could reveal their vulnerability.
At the very last minute before I leave, I pinched his cheeks all over again. He smiled. Cute as ever. And when I was about to get out, he spanked my butt.
I smiled at him. He smiled at me.
We are not meant to be together.
For some strange reasons, I dreamed about baking a choc cake for you last night. And I placed a slice on your table, so early in the morning when everybody didn't come in as yet. And a tiny black box with a brown leather wallet just sat nicely on a crumpled silky smooth white satin.
I opened up your middle drawer, in between papers and books, and I saw my card that I gave to you were still there, hidden underneath your bills. I couldn't find anywhere more appropriate to hide it, so I put it in there.
The dream was halted while I was waiting anxiously for you to come over, I was dreaded to see you. I was dreaded to see you beaming with excitement or at least to witness a splash of happiness on your face.
But that didn't materialize. Abah woke me up for Subuh.
As I sat on the bed, with eyes still glued like I hadn't had my sleep for years, my mind wandered on the dream that was just gone stopped. I knew that I didn't think about him as much. I knew that. Perhaps I suppressed my feeling under my state of incongruity? I couldn't tell.
For some strange reasons, I think I miss you too much.
5th November 2011
Marco left a note on the table at the kitchen isle on the morning he decided to leave. It was a simple "Thanks, Goodbye. You take care" on a piece of stick-it note that I always keep on top of the fridge.
It was Monday. A usual Monday. My Monday means get up early, take my bath and off to work. His Monday means wake up late (usually at noon when the sun is pretty unbearable), wrap a towel around his waist and go skin dipping in the open ocean. He was as tanned as any other Malay guy by the second week he was here.
His lunch equals to our last night dinner. Because I didn't usually dine out, and he didn't eat take home food, so home cooking was the last option.
"I love your asam pedas"
"Damn your gulai lemak nenas kicks butt"
"Please make more laksa tomorrow"
"Zee, I miss pasta"
His appetite never seemed to shrink since Tiff left him. All help and hopes were engulfed in a huge plate of steamed fragrance rice with a super huge mackerel, and a dollop of sambal belacan. I didn't know turning someone white to brown was that easy. What seemed left was his friendship with me, and that, sat on a thin line as well.
We talked a lot at home. His journey from one end to another. Things that he found while strolling the beach. People that he talked while looking at the darkening evening. The butterfly he gotten in his belly when he thought of Tiffany.
Perhaps leaving this place is the best he can do right now. I won't be able to drop him a call, or say hi to him via skype. He doesn't even have a facebook account. So all in all, his disapperance is pretty much like smoke in the air. It disappears along the blowing wind.
I think I miss him.
The best political campaign is to make your party looks furnished and manicured with strategic viable planning, that is deliverable and realistic. The worst political campaign when one party mouthbitches about another party, and that alone signifies the type of leader that you are going to choose.
Stop mouthbitching one another. That doesn't make you look better. It just polishes the stupidity that you are trying to cover.
I just realized that I needed not to run away to gather the missing peace. I just only had to lie still on my bed looking out the window with sea breeze softly touched the overhanging mango tree leaves, listening to the sound it made when it ran into each other, and at the other time just close my eyes and let the chirping of the birds get into my head like a lullaby.
I don't have to run away. I just only need to let go.
I think I have most of my adult life wraps nicely in Facebook's timeline. Almost everything. My rantings, my quirkiness, my stupid pictures, my immature happiness, my sad moments. If I take one good moment going through the timeline bit by bit, I am pretty sure that I have grown up more than I could have imagined. Once I was someone else, and now I am someone else. Facebook records it. I experience it. You might see it. I don't want to let it go.