It Could Be Mine Too.

The Dream Date.

She knocked on his bedroom door and no one answered. It was already half past nine when she got to his almost empty house, the notes on the fridge reminding her that the folks were out for the weekend. Slowly pushing the door open, she was welcomed by a hanging cardboard with an arrow hastily painted on it. It was pointing towards the ceiling but when she lifter her head, there was nothing there, except for the brown marks drawn by the leak on the roof.

She looked around, trying to find any traces of him and there was none. It started to worry her, after realizing that it was beyond unusual for him to message “i need u 2nyt. pls drop by the haus asap… i mean, f u can. tnx!”, especially on a Friday, when he’s supposed to be out getting wasted with friends.

And then she heard a familiar sound- the strumming of a guitar, and it dawned on her that it was coming from the rooftop.

“Is he being emo again?”, asked her, while rolling her eyes. She has gotten used to his bouts of self-pity and depression, where he’d sulk in the corner of his room and do a CSI or Scrubs or House marathon. But this time, it’s different because he actually went on the roof and played the guitar. He was only 14 when he attempted to learn the instrument.

The rooftop was an unchartered territory for her. After thinking long and hard of ways to get on the roof, she finally decided to let it go and take the fire exit ladder, which she never even knew existed. And on her last step, she looked up and saw what would be her “true-love snapshot”, according to Mitch Albom.

He was seated on a plaid mat, hopelessly and tragically playing his guitar and wearing his favorite already faded “I SURVIVED SAGADA” shirt. The 2 lit candles, she recognized, were from the altar in the living room. He prepared chips, a thermos of hot chocolate and bought a box of cake. She loves cake.

Barefoot, she walked up to him and gave out a hearty laugh.

“Stop laughing at me!”, he said with that half-pout, half-smile expression that just drives her nuts.

“I’m not laughing at you, I’m just… laughing. Period. Is it a crime to laugh now?”

“Hey, you gotta admit. You didn’t expect this.”

She smiled, nodded and sat beside him.

“What’s the event? It’s not our anniversary, not our monthsary, not my birthday, not your birthday.”

“Well, nothing, really. I just thought I’d be cheesy and Dawson-ish for a night.”

“Dawson-ish. I like that. But you were never the sensitive Dawson, Mr. Pacey-Wacey, and let us not even go there.”

He laughed for a bit and then got quiet.

“Do you really want to know what and why?”, he said, looking down on his feet. “Three years ago tonight, something happened.”

She quickly tried to recall any monumental thing that might have occurred on February 27 three years prior but she was caught at a dead end.

“What?”

“You happened.”

Her heart tightened as he said that and she fought any urge to cry. They were never an emotional couple. No dramas, none of those scenes that make-up those melancholic Korean movies. She felt like she was being locked in that time, in that minute and everything was but surreal.

“I was on this rooftop, smoking, the night after I submitted my final thesis papers. And just out of nowhere, like a light bulb moment, it dawned on me that I wanted you. I wanted to be with you. After all that you’ve done, I just thought you deserve to hear it from my lips.”

He was looking straight ahead, as if lost in his own words while she inched her way to his side and rested her head on his shoulder. A few more minutes of crickets, breeze and silence, he felt the wetness on his shirt brought about by the streaming tears from her eyes.

“Hey, baby! C’mon, let’s drink the choco before it gets cold. Also, they ran out of Dunhill Frost so I just got you Morris instead.” and just like that, he snapped both of them out of that WB teen series moment.

“You do know I’ve upgraded, right? I don’t smoke Philip Morris anymore.”

“Okay, fine. I got reds. You want reds? Yes? No? I thought so…”

Their lovely night was spent munching on junk food, drinking Ovaltine, smoking cigarettes, playing cards, singing random 90’s pop songs and talking about life in general. Occassionally, they would cuddle, wrapped up in a blanket and in their PJ’s, watch the stars in their glory.

“Thank you, God.”, she whispered under her breath. “I’ll never trade this for anything.”

And with his arms around her body and her head on his chest, they both closed their eyes and drifted away to the music playing on his iPod. “I’ll stop the world and melt with you…”, sang Jason Mraz.

Kring's dream date. It could be mine too. =)