Wanna See You Tonight

Episode 002

֍ CORELIUS ֍

“You …” I whispered, locking my gaze at the familiar lady in front of me.

As she stumbled backward, her eyes widened in a fleeting moment of shock, but she swiftly regained her composure. With a flurry of movement, she swooped in to gather the scattered items, even plucking the ones I had already retrieved from the floor.

Her apology was murmured, her gaze fixed on the ground, as if the tiles held some secret she was desperate to uncover. "Sorry about that," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I echoed her sentiment, my words tumbling out in a hasty apology. "I'm sorry too. I didn't see you." The words hung in the air, a fragile attempt to bridge the awkwardness between us.

With a curt nod, she hastened away, leaving me to ponder the strange encounter.

I returned to my shopping, the mundane task a welcome respite from the unexpected collision. As I reached the checkout line, the cashier's bright "Good evening!" was a warm balm to my frazzled nerves.

She chattered away, her words a gentle hum as she scanned my items, but I responded only in monosyllables, my mind still reeling from the earlier incident. Yet, I found myself casting furtive glances around the store, hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar face.

It was then that an elderly woman behind me piped up, her voice laced with a knowing glint. "Looking for your girlfriend, young man?" Her smile was a curious thing, a mixture of kindness and mischief.

I turned to face her, my response polite but firm. "I don't have a girlfriend, ma'am." I paid the cashier, my movements brisk, and made my escape.

As I loaded my groceries into the car trunk, a shiver ran down my spine. It was as if unseen eyes were trained on me, watching my every move from the shadows. I paused, my gaze sweeping the parking lot, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Shaking my head, I dismissed the feeling as mere paranoia, but the sensation lingered, a nagging sense of unease that refused to be shaken.

Monday came, and I finished all my readings in the library, the musty scent of aged paper and the soft hum of fluorescent lights my sole companions.

But the tranquility was short-lived, for during the lunch break, a whirlwind of excitement swept in with the arrival of Sade and Ate Brielle. The latter, her usual scowl a poor disguise for the sparkle in her eyes, playfully ruffled my hair as she plopped down beside me.

"I've landed us a spot at the Clark Aurora Fest," she whispered, her voice husky with restraint, though her gaze danced with unbridled enthusiasm. "Isn't it simply amazing?"

I turned to Sade, who had taken a seat across from me, his face aglow with a goofy grin. He shook his head, as if still disbelieving the news, and I felt my own excitement stir, like the first whispers of a summer storm. I set my book aside, my fingers lingering on the cover as I turned to Ate Brielle.

"Seriously? But we're cutting it close – the festival is mere weeks away. Can we really pull off a performance of that caliber?" My voice trembled with a mix of trepidation and thrill.

Ate Brielle's eyes narrowed, her tone laced with mock accusation. "Is that a no?"

Sade's giggles erupted, a joyful contagion that threatened to engulf us all. "Oh no! Looks like he doesn’t want to, Ate Brielle."

Ate Brielle's eyes rolled heavenward, her expression a perfect blend of exasperation and amusement. "Better start concocting an excuse to slip past your keepers, then."

As the week's chaos subsided, I found myself face to face with Kuya Augustin on a tranquil Sunday morning. Our paths converged like gentle waves, and the silent walls of our home bore witness to the long-overdue conversation that was about to unfold.

I entered the kitchen, where the savory aroma of a slow-cooked meal enveloped me, quenching my thirst and tantalizing my senses. I grabbed a chilled water bottle from the fridge and perched on a stool beside the island counter, my eyes fixed on Kuya Augustin as I waited for him to acknowledge my presence.

Lost in the meticulous dance of seasoning and garnish, Kuya Augustin was a master chef orchestrating a culinary symphony. His gaze, like a summer breeze, gently rustled the leaves of my anticipation, and his eyes, pools of quiet curiosity, locked onto mine.

"What brings you to my side tonight?" he asked, his voice a soothing melody that wove itself into our shared space. I sensed the unspoken questions simmering beneath the surface.

"I'm a musician, Kuya. I’m a part of a band." I said, a hint of defiance in my tone. "You know where I was last time, don't you?"

Kuya's response was curt: "Get to the point, kid."

I took a deep breath, and the words tumbled out: "We've landed a gig at the Clark Aurora Fest. Will you stop me? Will you tell Papa?"

He froze, his gaze fixed on me as he turned off the stove. The sudden silence was oppressive, heavy with tension. His hand rested on his hip, a gesture of defiance, as he shot me a scorching glare.

"You're so stubborn," he spat, his voice low and menacing. "Papa has eyes and ears everywhere, and I'm willing to bet he already knows about your antics. That's why I'm here – to deliver a warning. The first time we disobeyed him, it caused a grave mistake. Don't test his wrath, Lius. Just obey."

I shook my head, incredulous at the absurdity of their logic, my mind reeling with the implications of such blind obedience.

"Whatever!" I exploded, my defiance echoing through the room. "Let Papa rage all he wants. You're a fool, kuya, if you think I'll be bound by his suffocating rules."

With a fierce toss of my head, I stormed out, the door slamming shut behind me like a declaration of war.

As I emerged from the concrete jungle of Manila, the sun-kissed landscape of Clark, Pampanga unfolded before me like a canvas of promise.

That morning, I executed my great escape, slipping out of the condo like a whispered secret. Kuya Augustin sat enthroned on the living room sofa, his gaze fixed on the morning news as if mesmerized by the anchors' plastic smiles. His indifference was a carefully crafted mask, a poker face that refused to betray even a flicker of emotion. I lingered, my eyes locked on his, waiting for a glimmer of reaction, but he remained as impassive as a granite monument. His indifference only fueled my determination.

My heart pounded with excitement as I stood on the cusp of my dreams. The unknown beckoned, and I was ready to take the leap.

As we spilled out of the rented van, Otis's voice pierced the air, "Ready?"

The question hung like a challenge, and Zevon and Garth, their arms entwined like vines, responded with an infectious enthusiasm, "Ready as ever!" Their exuberance was contagious, and I felt my own excitement surge, like a wildflower blooming in the desert.

As the day's exhaustion finally relinquished its grip, I emerged from my room, feeling like a shipwrecked sailor stumbling onto dry land. Sade's guitar, a siren's call, beckoned me with its melodic whispers. His fingers danced across the strings, weaving a spell of tranquility that enveloped us both.

He looked up, his eyes locking onto mine like a magnet, and asked, "Heading out?" The question hung in the air, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of my curiosity.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, my mind still foggy, before nodding in assent. "Just for a bit. I need to shake off the lethargy and breathe in some ocean air. Is dinner ready to be devoured?" My stomach growled in anticipation, a reminder that I was still a mortal man.

Sade's response was a laconic "In a while," which only fueled my restlessness.

Without another word, I slipped out into the balmy evening, leaving the soothing guitar melody to fade into the background like a lullaby.

Our Airbnb, courtesy of Ate Brielle's meticulous planning, was a cozy haven nestled among the beach resorts, its proximity to the ocean a tantalizing promise of adventure. I strolled to a nearby beachfront bar, where the sound of laughter and music mingled with the salty scent of the sea. I ordered a light drink, and as the live band on stage began to weave their magic, I found myself composing a song in my mind, the lyrics and melody swirling together like the colors of a sunset on the horizon.

As I savored my second San Mig Light, a figure slipped into the empty seat across from me, their presence as unexpected as a shooting star on a clear night. It was her – the petite, enigmatic woman I had encountered at 13Cent Records and the supermarket, her features etched in my memory like a whispered secret.

"Don't go tomorrow," she said, her voice low and urgent, like a warning whispered in a crowded room