I don’t remember who started it.
I was looking out the jeepney’s “window” (if you could call it that), gazing out at the not-so-unusual Alabang-Zapote Road traffic when it gets near the default mall when this woman crossed the street and happened to look straight into my eyes.
Normally, I would turn my head from such a meeting of gazes or simply dart my line of sight in some other direction, but tonight I didn’t. And I hoped that she would’nt get into my jeepney (yeah, because I might get a slap in the face, that’s why!).
But she did, and sat directly in front of me.
Since the not-so-unusual traffic crowded the spacious two lanes that fits four vehicles side by side, we spent much of the ride exchanging glances, an occassional looking up and down, as if we were sizing each other up for a heavyweight match (no, she isn’t fat, but I think a couple of pounds more and I could pass myself off as a flabberweight), sometimes looking away when our eyes meet, sometimes holding that glance long enough to try and read one another’s minds.
In an alternate universe that was my brain, I would’ve told her that she was attractive and she had an interesting way of looking at people and I would’ve asked her if she did that regularly to people looking out jeepney “windows” and asked her if she could see beyond the glare of lights against the lenses of my eyeglasses.
But no, we are in reality, and the more real thing to expect from me is to stay there, keep looking or staring or glaring or looking her up and down, quiet and passive.
There were quite a number of situations running inside my head.
But to make a connection inside a jeepney in a jam where people easily notice almost every passenger’s movements and words would be like asking me to do the impossible.
Even if you change the setting to a bar with dim lights and ice-cold beer.
Asking me to make the first move is like having a fish ride a motorcycle.
this post is brought to you by:
Winston Lights Filters
The Original Jamaican Patties
And the numbers “4,8,15,16,23,42”