my french classes ended too early yesterday (yes, i am taking french lessons just for the fun of it) since my teacher had a student right after our schedule. usually, nobody takes a later class than us (avec mon amie, jan). then, we could extend french class for two hours. i was kind of disappointed having the class cut short than usual but there was nothing we could do. to ease out that little disappointment, instead of going straight home, we decided to drop by at the small resto just near where we had our french classes.
The Wine shop (the resto's name) is a cozy little restaurant that serves spanish dishes and of course, spanish wines. What i had in mind was just to have a few pica-pica (as i was hungry) and maybe a glass of drink(vodka maybe, or a glass of house wine). Since it was just the two of us, we were seated by the bar when we saw the barista mixing a pitcher of Sangria, which they sell for 290 pesos. Cheap, huh? After asking him about the mixed drink, he was kind enough to give us a taste. Great red wine, and a sweet after taste. We would have loved to have a glass of it, but the restaurant is only selling it by the pitcher. I always get sleepy after a glass of red wine, so i decided not to go for it. But my friend was game about the drink, so we decided to call any available friend who might be game to have a few glasses of sangria with us on a week night. Unfortunately, only one was available. So, there was just three of us with more than a bottle of sangria to drown on.
as we try to fill ourselves with the fairly sweet and strong beverage, we jump from one topic to another. i was surprised with how much we had to talk about even if my friends and i see each other almost everyday of the week. or was it just the alcohol in us?
one topic that i could not put to rest (even up til now) was when my friend mentioned the deal with kf and i. He was the friend who introduced us in new york. i thought i have buried kf in the past. but when my friend showed me his number (since i have long ago deleted it from my phone book, and i refuse to remember his number though i know i still memorized it), the memories just went back.
*******
i was dialing those familiar numbers.... for the nth time. I bet that even without telling my finger which number to dial next, it would make it's way through those sequence of digits on my phone's num pad. then i press 'call', and my heart was beating a little faster.
kkkring.. kkkkring.. kkkring..kkkkring...voicemail. "Leave a message", in a deep, low, and sexy voice was all i heard on the other end.
"Why is he not answering my calls?", a question i was asking myself a thousand times.
The voice that i used to spend hours of talking over the phone, and the voice that i was starting to miss terribly, has now become an impersonal voice mail machine message.
*******
and now my friend is asking me to call him. i almost choked on my drink.
kf is, and probably will always be, an unfinished chapter in my life. i can't help remember the nights i'd spent dialing those number and with only a dead line on the other end. i found it difficult to believe then how he didn't want to hear from me anymore. I only gave up when i could not bear seeing his number registered in my monthly phone bill. It was just a proof of how pathetic i was becoming. And now, it has been a long time since i last tried to reach him. I guess i learned to simply put down that unfinished chapter in my life. i guess he was merely a part of those stories with hanging endings.
i stopped pushing for a happy ending for us after that. past is past, as i've mentioned in a previous blog entry. i have accepted the fact that, that was all there is to kf and me. and the taste of sangria on my lips is how I will remember him - a strong, sweet blend with that lasting impression.
Then i finished up my last glass.
