We were sitting by the station plaza munching down our McDonald's burgers and fries.
"Ever see a ten in your life?" he ventured.
"Many, many times."
"There was one in my macroeconomics class," he said while shoving down some fries in his mouth. "We sat across from each other."
"How far did you guys go?"
"We just talked," he mumbled.
"You know I once went on a run with a ten across a bridge," I said. "Around junior year in high school. She was a ten, no doubt. Pretty obnoxious but a price I could live with. But then my impression of her changed completely after this one little thing."
He froze before taking another bite of his burger and looked at me straight in the eye. "What happened?"
"It may ruin your appetite."
"I don't care."
"We took a break after we went across. She blew her nose. Without a tissue."
His mouth was wide agape. "What the hell."
"I know. Her beauty drastically went down after I saw her do that. Now every time I think about her she is nowhere near the level of attractive at all. Didn't really matter since I never saw her again."
"Man that's a shocker," he said.
I nodded. "What about your ten? What did you guys talk about."
"Ah, just small talk."
"Lame," I blurted, taking a long look at my uneaten burger. "Should've done something. Gotta expand, take things a step further."
"Nah, I like to take my time."
"Life is all about timing. Next thing you know she gets married to a rich man as they decide to live in a luxury condo in Bali."
"Bali?"
"Just an example."
He nodded while he took a bite from his double quarter pounder.
If someone were to ask me what I've accomplished over the summer, I'd have no concise and reasonable answer so far. My summer days this year hasn't been the most eventful or the most memorable. June has past in a blink of an eye, America's birthday has passed and so has mine. July is approaching its end. I've met with some of my friends (none of whom were from my high school), read a decent number of books, wrote a bunch of unfinished stories, and trained at the dojang from time to time. Driving lessons here and there. My initial goals were to get my left ear pierced and get a job at my local bookstore. But my lackadaisical mindset only delayed those tasks. But my primary and ultimate goal for the summer is to earn my license.
Recently I've been spending my days watching movies at home. One by one, at least two a day. But one day, midway through a movie, on an impulse, I had the urge to go to the airport. The thought dawned on me, in the most random moment. Perhaps I wanted to fly, I had no idea myself. What was the point if you questioned your own thoughts? At that moment all I wanted to do was go to the airport. Not to depart to a city, but to just be there.
So I tried to grab a cab. Hailed one no less than a minute. I knocked on his window as he pulled it down. I told him I wanted to go to the airport.
"No good," he said.
I hailed another but the driver, with a bluetooth device hooked on his ear, also declined with a disgusted look on his face.
Losing motivation, I gave up.
I was leaning against the door on the train when a blonde entered through the opposite door at the next stop. She sat down on the seat closest to the door, literally right next to me. She began to incessantly stroke her silky hair with both her hands, the fragrance of her soothing conditioner wafting around me. Nice long legs and a slender physique. For a second I though she was someone I knew, but subtle features gave it away. I resumed to stare ahead of the door across from me, my emotionless face reflecting from the glass.
I bought some clear noodles at a Korean food court and a can of soda for the beverage and plopped myself down on a random bench outside. Getting tan from the sun, I munched away while taking in the city scene: your usual metropolitan drone where bustling cars and taxi cabs honked their horns, airplanes from above roared their Rolls Royce engines, metals clinked and clanked from construction, and police cars zoomed their way through the road with their sirens. Adjacent from where I was sitting food vendors were furiously arguing in their own language. Traffic officers were checking whether the cars were properly parked by the curb, and a pack of tourists all in identical colored shirts were slowly walking by the sidewalk, looking left and right at the buildings and pretty much every little detail you could imagine.
Now let me drift aside a little bit and talk about my thoughts on tourism. In general being a tourist is a wonderful thing. At first, especially if you come from another country, things may seem off, or, somewhat uncomfortable. You might not even be able to speak its native language! I know since I've been in that position before. But that didn't really matter. To me, it didn't matter really much where you were going or what you were going to do; just being in that specific city itself brought joy. And although there can be some haters, a.k.a, the locals, it's best not to mind them at all. Locals tend to detest tourists since some feel they really get in the way and become a 'nuisance' to them but wake up locals, tourists are one of the reasons why we are able to gain funds for our city!! We can't hate on them! They are what keeps our city in great shape minus the capitalism and all of those hidden transactions going on. Anyways, no matter if you are in a random alleyway in Boston or climbing up one of San Francisco's rolling hills, tourists are happy that they are actually, undoubtedly, there, finally standing on their own two feet at the place they dedicated a whole chunk of their time planning to travel to. It's a sense of accomplishment. That 'we did it guys!' kind of feeling. At least, that's how I felt.
And I guess you don't have to be a tourist in order to feel that way. I wanted to go to the airport for no reason at all. If I wasn't going anywhere, and I wasn't picking anyone up at arrivals, and I wasn't sending anyone off at departures, and I didn't work there, what was the point? It was the joy of being there, taking in the airport ambiance, where we hear flight announcements from the speakers and the portmanteaus rolling against the ground along with the planes taking off and landing every minute while hearing its loud engines rumble against the windows. Those airport vibes.
Once I finished eating, I dazed off a little bit while sipping down a can of ginger ale that was beginning to feel lukewarm. With nothing much to do, I lit up a cigarette and kicked back, blankly staring at the car parked in front of me for reasons unknown. After a few puffs, I glanced at the clock on the statue. 1:30.
I dialed the girl from college. Four rings was all it took.
"What, another moon?"
"Am I speaking with Ms. Lunatic?"
"Jerk... How's tricks?"
"Same as ever. Scorching hot here in the sun."
"Uhm why don't you chill in the shade?"
"What's wrong with tanning?"
"Twenty bucks says that you're going to dehydrate."
"Say, you got any time for me?" I ignored.
"Who do you think you are, hunh?"
"A man."
"More like a little baby."
"More like a man who is holding on to his youth."
She snickered. A beautiful little laugh. "I got a few hours."
"How about I meet you at the station plaza in a half hour?"
"Sounds like a plan," and she hung up.
I went to a nearby Lawson and bought a pack of gum. Perhaps I had an oral fixation. I lingered my way to the magazine stands. On the cover of one magazine was a Japanese actress I've never seen before and beside that a pop magazine with Selena Gomez smiling adorably on the cover. Curious, I flapped over them, eyeing over some of the latest gossip. Not anything worth noting in the celebrity world. Of course, next to all of that were the latest installations of Weekly Jump.
I ended up buying a Hemingway short story collection book. I sat on the bench some more and hummed various ballad songs while thumping through the pages of Hemingway. The girl lived pretty near from where I lived yet no so near that we could see each other every single day. A fair distance.
Time passed and at one point, a loud voice came out of nowhere with a mildly aggressive thump on my back.
"BOOO!"
Seeing my terrified reaction, she laughed.
"Wutchu reading," she asked, playing with my hair from behind.
She was wearing a sleeveless white shirt that had a vintage image of a row of palm trees at dusk, and tight blue jeans. A cream colored handbag was loosely hanging on her arm. Oversized shades. To complete the look she wore a fresh pair of black Tom's. Bangs pinned up. Her same woody fragrance lingered around me.
"Hemingway," I responded.
"Eww. You're such a bookworm." she sat down on the chair across from me. Elbows propped on the table, hands resting on her chin, gazing at me as if intrigued by my appearance. In sheer reflex, I shut the book and placed it on the table. The more I looked at her the more I began to realize how long I have missed her.
"It's been a while, Sean," she smiled. "It's been a while since I've seen that baby face of yours."
"Ashley," I rasped. "You look great."
"Don't even say it. I look like such a bum today. But thanks," she scratched the edge of her nose. "You know those days where you just can't decide what to wear?"
Before I even opened my mouth, she barked. "Who am I kidding. I'm asking a dude... A tee shirt and shorts and you're pretty much good to go."
Exactly what I wore.
"Easy stuff for you."
"It's not just that," I said. "You gotta make sure you match. Obviously you gotta be conscious that colors don't clash. But sometimes you have so many options yet you just can't find that perfect combination. Like Starbuck's and their frappucinos."
"Oh my god I could totally go for one right now. Plus I'm dying over here. I don't know how you can manage to sit your ass down here in this killer heat."
Whereupon we made our way to a Starbucks and ordered to our leisure. Feeling uninspired, I had a green tea frappe while she had a Neapolitan frappe. Tempted to see how her's tasted, I took a sip from her frappe. And, just for the hell of it, she took a sip from mine. We plopped down on a table and took a breather. A Teruo Nakamura-esque fusion jazz song was playing on low volume from the ceiling speakers. Finding the right moment, I began.
"Remember when I became your alarm clock and told you to take a look at the moon the other day?"
"The invisible moon, in my case," she emphasized. "Of course I do."
"Well it seems it's playing tricks with me too."
"What do you mean."
"I'm in my apartment and the moon was clearly visible, I go outside and it's gone."
"Maybe a cloud was covering it for a brief second?"
"Thought so too but it wasn't the case."
She was mixing the whip with the straw of her frappe and began to laugh. "You sure this isn't a dream?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"The things you do late at night," she shook her head. "Why didn't you just shake it off and go to sleep?"
"Couldn't sleep. That's how I found out about the moon."
She leaned back on her chair and adjusted her sunglasses that sat just above her forehead. As usual, she had on little to no makeup.
"The moon's just fed up with you distracting my sleep," she said. "A girl needs her sleep and the moon knows it."
At that moment there was nothing I could do but just stare at her.
"That's right, take it. It's tired of you staring at it all the time, unlike everybody else who just ignores it most of the time. You put it on the spot and make it feel uncomfortable. Think about the other side of the perspective for once. God, Mr. Lunatic, how could you."
I blushed, the edges of my mouth slightly smirking.
"But hey, cool story bro."
I smiled at her, then at the ground. We both took a moment to let the music catch into our ears. One by one customers entered and exited. In sheer reflex, I checked my watch. Almost half past three.
"Wanna watch a movie?" I suggested.
"I can't," she pouted. "I gotta be back in an hour or so for class. Then I've gotta attend my sister's party. I'm all yours tomorrow."
"How is class going for you?"
"It's going. Just numbers, numbers, and more numbers."
"Descriptive."
"Right? Call me the next Austen."
When the time came, we split off at the intersection where I was again left alone with my green tea frappe grasped in my hand. Once I finished sipping the dregs of it I headed home and washed my face with soap. The streak of hot weather was unbearable especially when it came to waiting for subways underground. Time then relentlessly scurried away. I read the paper, watched an episode of an old drama (clueless as to what was really going on), ate some rice crackers, listened to Jay Z's latest album, and lolled around on my bed. Before I knew it the sun was sinking. Never thought two hours would fly so quickly.
Nighttime arrived and I found myself outside in the streets amongst couples. In addition a group of women were loitering around the block. Women in wedges, women in floral and bright summer dresses, women with their boyfriends and fiances. The headlights of a parked car shone a little butterfly fluttering its way around. Nearby bars were filled with drunk men. Locals were walking their dogs. With no plans, I sat down on a bench a little walk away from the block. Right then I figured that I was in a Philip-Lorca diCorcia photograph. I can imagine him walking up to me, no, from a distance, taking candid snapshots of my figure, using the neon-lit deli sign as the backdrop. My right leg would be resting on my left, cigarette would be slipped between my fingers, arm would be resting on the bench. My eyes slightly narrowed, deeply reminiscing and fantasizing about life in a solitary scenery.
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