dead-poet (dead_poet) wrote, @ 2004-04-02 19:00:00

McGregor's
Sorry if I haven't been able to update lately. Been focusing on some certain things and confused, somehow... What am I saying?...

Anyway, I still have 3 stories to post, one of them being this "McGregor's." You might find it all rather redundant and the storyline cliche...

But oh well. Here goes.





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McGregor's
By Rychus Guanzon Cortina

I was late, I knew.
I rushed into McGregor's, a widely famous, semi-classy diner.
McGregor's has become a part of our lives. Everytime an important event would occur, my wife would drag me all the way into this restaurant.
All dressed in black, she was sitting all alone at the table in the farthest corner, where my wife and I first had our date.
And I can still recall that fine-weathered day, her laughter, her lovely and flowing pink dress, all the good food we shared and the fulfilling feeling of being with whom you loved most...
Memories...
I snapped off it and approached her.
I could see her dismay even if she was facing away from me. I wouldn't wonder if she'd slap my face off my head; I'd deserve that for being late by almost an hour.
I sat across her and began my litany of apology.
"My boss kept giving me tons of paperwork every second. I even got myself into a word fight with him, just to bail myself out of that hell of an office..."
I should have noticed she was not paying attention. As if I wasn't there before her.
She sipped a little and sat back, eyes dancing upon her porcelain cup as she stirred her tea.
"I'm sorry..."
She had let go of her teaspoon and contented herself watching the television past me.
"Or just please understand, at least."
I lost my appetite, thanks to all the running, and so I just kept quiet.
I looked in her eyes, but somehow I couldn't reach her spirit.
Her eyes were fixed onto the screen. That was new; she never liked watching MTV. It must have been really a big pain for her to disregard me for something she disliked.
We sat there for ages, both motionless.
And I thought I heard the song, "She." It reminded me of the younger days...
At last, the waiter arrived with our bill.
Yes, Raoul, he has become a friend to us. We invite him over to our table most of the time for a quick chat.
I reached for the bill with a "Thank you, Raoul," but he handed it over to my wife who finally woke up to her senses.
"I'll take that," said she, reaching for her purse.
And I looked at her. Only then did I notice some dark lines on her rigid face I have never seen before. It seemed a problem or two burdened her.
Or was it just because of me?
As she opened her purse, she quickly drew out a handkerchief and patted it gently on her welling eyes.
"Madam, surely, you miss him, don't you?"
"You just don't know, Raoul, how much I treasured him."
Now, I was sure there was something wrong going on, yet I couldn't say a word.
She handed him over some paper bills.
They were both silent for a while.
"My condolences, madam," and he walked away.
She sighed, straightened up and readied to leave.
Knowing neither what to do nor what was going on, I did the same.
The words finally escaped my silence: "What the heck was that all about, I mean why--"
"Hon," with watery eyes, she then whispered, "Happy 7th Anniversary..."
And she walked away briskly into the dark, a damp handkerchief in her hand.



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Hmmm, cliche, ain't it?

crimsonwaters 2004-04-03 10:58 (link)

Dead? Ahhhh. I had an inkling of suspicion from the beginning... :D If I didn't know that you wrote it, I would not have guessed. But then since I knew... hahaha! ;p Well written, as usual. As my lit teacher used to say, "Brevity is the soul of wit." You expressed so much in so little. I liked the format (no paragraphs!). It added a hint of poetry. Lol... here I go again! Nevermind. It's sad, isn't it? The possibility of not knowing if you're dead when you are dead. I guess no one really knows. Death is such an abstract idea, yet it can be so real. Like love and pain. I agree, it is a cliche, but the world in itself is a cliche so it doesn't really matter. Keep on writing, dude. :D (Reply to this) (Thread)

dead_poet 2004-04-04 04:05 (link)

Course, dead once again. Hehe... very redundant. Brevity? What does that mean again? Anyway, poetry? Nah. FYI: Got the style from my experience and inexperience... I used to write long stuff and no one would read. Parang Rizal or Balagtas. I figured that if I wrote short ones, people might have time to read... Then I started to write as simple as possible. Parang climax na nga lang kinukuha ko as plot e. And I use small words to convey the thought I want to say. Kumbaga, I don't need people who think and thus understand; I need poeple who feel and by feeling, understands. Yes, yes, death. You won't recognize its face kahit kaharap mo na. May theory nga yung classmate kong si Kudos. Have you ever experienced that odd feeling or sensation you get from sleeping for a millisecond and waking up as though nothing has happened. For that millisecond, you experience nothingness, emptiness, no emotions, thoughts, nothing and you know you're aware of everything that is happening (which is nothing)... Very odd feeling, very freaky. Extend that millisecond for eternity and you get a philosopher's perspective of death... Freaky diba? The world is a cliche. How very true... (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

crimsonwaters 2004-04-05 02:04 (link)

Brevity is being concise or short. Just what your style is. :D "I need people who feel and by feeling, understands." Haha! spoken like a true writer. ;p It's true, though. The world today is such an intellectual world. Nobody feels anymore. LOL. I think that Kudos guy thinks too much. Freaky concept... but that is if one does not believe in God. There's a possibility in it. Really interesting. Hm. ;p (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)