Happy Sunday, Georgina

“How do you build a character?” Marion asked me as we sat on the wrought iron chairs
situated in the roof deck of their four-story home. It’s more of a building, rather. Five
floors high, the third to fifth levels used as residences of extended family members,
which is typical in their part of Tondo. Well, with real estate costing a fortune in Manila,
how else can you make more room for a growing brood?
“I still haven’t fully understood what that master class was about,” I confessed. “I guess
because I’m not a writing major?”
“But in a nutshell?”
“Hmm,” I sighed, my mind carefully choosing the words to use. “It’s like this. Let’s say
you have a story and you have someone in it. You build that someone up by unraveling
bits and pieces about him-or her until the story comes to an end.”
“And?”
“By the end of the story, your character should have moved from one point to another,” I
continued. “Not necessarily physically but, in a way, your character should have
experienced some sort of change.”
“What if the character didn’t make a move, what will be the story like?”
We all make a move, I wanted to say.
Attending a master class on basic creative writing was perhaps my biggest achievement
so far since the pandemic started. I mentioned it to him a few days ago, but my
enthusiasm was quickly overshadowed by another episode of his tumultuous affair with
J.
I’ve never met J. But based on Marion’s stories, he is special. Extra special to the point
that my friend would break curfew protocols just to pick J up from Pasay to Cubao so
that they can spend a week together, doing nothing but play mobile games on their
phones while listening to the likes of Allmost or IV of Spades.
But J has a girlfriend. And Marion knows about her.
He knows, and he also knew that despite the sweetness they shared, they will never be
an item.
It’s over, Mariion called me up two nights ago. I ended it.
As calm as he said those words, it only took a split-second before he finally burst out
and cried.
Five minutes of nonstop crying. Over the phone. Pure, uninterrupted outburst of
emotions, and being at the other end of the line, in the middle of curfew hours, there
was nothing I could do.
I hate it whenever he cried like that. Marion seldom cries, but whenever he does, it
means the cuts are deep.
It took me two days before coming to the rescue, or at least to share my condolences
for a love affair that died -even if it never was.
“He forgot his driver’s license,” Marion said. “You think I should go to Pasay and give it
to him? Just for all this to be over and done with?”
I looked at him and squinted my eyes. Come on.
“Just tell him to message you when he needs it delivered,” I answered dryly. As much
as I wanted to throw verbal jabs at Marion that very moment, I couldn’t. I know he was
hurting. It wasn’t the time for me to be my usual adelantada self and tell him ‘I told you
so.’
In silence we watched over the Tayuman skyline. The sky was gray and the weather
was breezy -just the right ambiance for our gloomy hearts.
“How’s your prospect doing?” He then smiled at me. “Have you told him you like him
yet?”
“We’re not talking,” I chuckled. “We’re both busy. With our respective lives. We both
have work. We’re…”
“There, there, Esther,” he called me using one of our favorite monikers, that of Jordan
Peele’s character in the skit ‘Two Church Ladies vs. Satan,’ alongside Keegan-Michael
Key. “Just be patient. He will come to you.”
For weeks now, I’ve been praying to God that this guy I met on a dating app would be
the one. I’ve wished so long for someone I could talk to about my whims and issues,
someone I could collaborate with in my writing adventures, someone I could share my
recipe for space brownies with, or one I’d be happy to serve spanner crabs smothered
in aligue sauce. This person I’ve met during online during ECQ checked all those boxes.
And yet, not a hint of romance has appeared in any of our conversations so far.
What we have are an exchange of stories, grayscale photos, selfies with pets, writing
lectures, lists of movies to watch, and plots of our dream film projects. How I wanted to
tell him that I am tired of being single for the past three years, and now I wish to share
all these adventures with someone I could sleep beside with at the end of the day.
And more importantly, I wish for that someone to be him.
Marion and I spent another hour staring at the skyline, given how clear the view was
sans the smog. Then we got up and left, walked to a Chinese diner for mami and
siopao, and afterwards took a cab to Cubao, where his office and my apartment are
located.
In the cab Marion told me he has decided to just send J’s license via a courier later that
evening. My heart too had made a choice, and that it would hold on to Marion’s words:
that my prospect will come.
In the cab neither of us moved. But we did.
“Happy Sunday, Esther,” Marion gestured a beso before we parted ways after alighting
from the cab. “And thank you for keeping up with me.”
“No worries,” I shrugged and reciprocated her gesture. “Happy Sunday, Georgina.” #30
Author bio:
FC Marie Esperas, 34, is a freelance writer and occasional radio show host. She lives in
Cubao with her cat, Ramon.