He cogitated with total delight at his coffee corner flirtations with Kate at the office, and at how she could fall easily into his little play of words. Images past flashed in slow motion, at how his phone conversation with her went on, seconds before he left his flat. He smiled to himself with pleasure.
'You missed something,' Kate said.
'Did I?'
'You didn't bother to say goodbye.'
'Oh, I'm sorry, Katie. I will make it up to you on my return.'
'Hey, the boss said that you should call immediately on arrival. And that our man at the bureau will be waiting for you at the airport. Don't forget.'
'I won't. Don't worry.'
'And thanks for that lunch.'
'No problem. It was nice and besides it gave me some insights into my stupidity where you're concerned.'
'Why do you say so? ' asked Kate, her voice soft.
'For a lot of things.'
'That leaves me to thinking if you could give me an example,' she asked, prodding.
'I feel nice inside when I'm with you. And that makes me stupid for wasting it away.'
He slipped. He knew he shouldn't have said that.
'I don't understand quite clearly.' Kate knew what it meant, but preferred to pretend. She wanted more explanation, more clarity in that ambiguous statement.
Good thing he was quick to retract. 'Sorry, it's not easy to say it in words, more so on the phone. I'll make you understand as soon as I return home.'
'Alright then.' But she was very eager to hear it, to feel his voice saying those three words. There was silence.
Frank Sinatra's refrain was stressed with full force. 'Wake up to reality, use your mentality . . .' And before long he had heard himself saying goodbye.
'Don't forget to call, okay? Take care of yourself JC . . . Bye.'
'See you.'
He knew she understood. Women easily understood any signs, manifestations, or insinuations men give, he pondered with satisfaction. I think she's so naïve to be thinking that there's something ahead of us, naïve that someday I would say that I love her and would bring her home to my family. Yes, I won't deny that I like her. She's a very desirable lady and any normal sane man would easily succumb to any of her flirtations. But this is not love at all! It would complicate matters if we had an open relationship based on something else. Someday she would learn to detest me. And that's the last thing I would want to happen.
Aside from that, he had seen that she was overly nice to anyone she thought would be available. This cooled him off. He told himself never to be caught in the trap. His reservations always stood in the way. He had his reasons. Work was one. He thought it should not be mixed with some serious emotional ties with the people he shared the office with.
The taxi wound its way through busy streets until they finally reached JFK airport. He paid the driver with a tip, jumped out, and got his things out from the hood.
"Thank you," JC said. "Your country is beautiful; don't you know that?"
The driver simply nodded, happy to have received the fare and the tip. "Thanks to you, sir," he said, bowing his head to show his gratitude.
JFK airport was the center for travelers from different places, going to and fro, mostly businessmen in suits. Attaché case in one hand, most of them tugged along belongings in wheeled Samsonite bags. JC strode up to the reception desk with his luggage to show his passport and ticket. After checking in, he headed to the pre-departure area, passing through duty-free shops. One hour to wait and he'd be on the plane. At the pre-departure area, he sat on one of the benches in front of the television. The world news was blaring, most of them he already knew. He felt uncomfortable, so he pulled himself up and stretched toward the window. At the far end, he saw window cleaners hanging on ramparts. It was a good view of the tarmac, where he could see activities going on.
He took a glance at where a row of Western Airlines jets was parked. Protruding jet bridges attached to their sides reminded him of his accordion at home. He admired the technology, the invention of jet bridges, and these big birds to which they were temporarily connected, transporting so many people and so many cargoes at a time, so proportioned in size and utility that he wondered who their inventors were. He noticed airport personnel milling about on the tarmac, hauling cargoes, and directing traffic unmindful of the passengers waiting in the departure area. It was an excellent view from where he was watching. Outside, the wind rammed gently against the thick glass window suggesting the inseparability of both worlds
He left the window and sat in front of a big TV screen and watched the news. One caught his attention. The senator, his subject was having an interview from his hotel room in Taipei before his departure.
"Sir," asked the anchorwoman holding a microphone, "aren't you afraid of proceeding, with all the threats to your life?"
The senator, who was worried on his face, answered her, "I will be wearing a bulletproof vest. I think this will protect me from any snipers if there are any," he said. "Be ready with your cameras because this action can be very fast. In a matter of three or four minutes it could be all over, and I may not be able to talk to you after this . . ." he continued, obviously facetious to lighten the mood and brush away some of his fears.
Brave indeed, JC thought.
Boarding was called and JC proceeded to Gate four. There was a long line of people who must be going home from a short vacation, seeing that most of them were having large hand-carried packages with branded labels on them. He had the business class. After receiving the greetings from the stewardesses, he took the first seat on the right facing the window. Most of the passengers were Japanese and Chinese students on their way home from a tour. He heard the clicking of seat belts one after the other. He relaxed.
Once seated, he closed his wearied eyes to rest after that long ride but was aware of the pilot's welcome address. One of the stewardesses explained some basic safety measures in a memorized fashion which he perhaps had heard a thousand times. Boeing 747 was comfortable with large spaces in business class. Drinks were passed around on trays and he picked a glass of gin tonic with peanuts. When dinner was served, he chose beef with a glass of wine. He slept almost to his destination, occasionally getting up to make himself comfortable and stretch his legs. It was a long flight with one stop-over in LA. Four hours passed. The flight across the Pacific was longer still.
It's too late for me. I should have been on that plane from Boston and tracked him down to Singapore and Taipei, then to Makati. He wondered how these people got the tip. He looked out of the window. Clouds slipped by. Their slow-motion movement made him feel how fleeting life was. Until this time he was still blaming himself for Mary's death in that fatal accident. From somewhere deep inside his memory came a voice, one that had been quiescent while he was occupied, and turned active every time his mind was idle. He tried to brush it away. If Dad hadn't remarried, life would have taken a different course. I was young and the changes were too much . . . I felt neglected . . . I rebelled. If only I hadn't sought solace from other people . . . I shouldn't have searched for attention and love somewhere else . . .series of events . . . from mom's death . . . It was painful . . . if she hadn't died earlier, our family would still have been together, dad wouldn't have remarried and I wouldn't have been going out with Mary . . . and fallen in love with her . . . Who should I blame? I can't blame him. I can't blame mom. I can't blame any of them.
The accident was your fault, JC. The little voice pestered him continuously, turning his thoughts into turmoil. He wrestled it out of his mind. In hopes of muting the voice, the scenes outside the window down a hundred miles below were the answer, so he peered out. A little distraction from reality was what he needed. He focused on the thousands of pale lights twinkling like fireflies in the dark. This unique scene in the middle of darkness at once released his mind from the pestering of the voice. Like watching something on TV, he would flip it to another channel or leave it where it was, for he had the liberty to choose. He had different choices to take, and he took one to brush the voice away.