One Saturday


I went out last Saturday with this girl with whom I had recently been acquainted. I know this is such a cliché, but we'd decided to meet up at Starbucks Greenbelt for lack of any other ideas. In the end this would prove to be quite a good decision since we had no other plans for the day and the ambience was quite conducive to what would be a 4-hour conversation. We agreed to meet at three in the afternoon. I’d just thought up this time for no particular reason except with the weather in mind. I also thought that, in the event that the day didn’t go as smoothly as planned, the time would make a great excuse to escape.

I’d calculated exactly the amount of time it would take for me to walk from work to Greenbelt such that I would be there about 5 to 10 minutes before 3 PM. I thought she’d be there just in time since she gave me this impression of punctuality. But in fact she was 10 minutes late. Not that this really matters but that it’s just something to mention.

This date was something I had anticipated for quite a few days already. A few days before, she’d told me that I’d given her the impression that I was intellectual, sensitive (riiight!) and quite full of myself. That last one bore down heavily on me. While I knew in some twisted way she had a point, I could not accept it. However, this day was a day of reckoning. She said that our date would either confirm or refute these impressions. She did admit that she was primed, or should I say biased, because she had read my friends’ testimonials on Friendster. Ah, the wonders of technology.

(I am pretty sure that at this point, half of those who actually read this article have all been bored to death. And the other half would be dying in suspense or irritated by my dilly-dallying.)

So at 10 minutes past three, she sauntered along with a big smile, obviously apologetic of her tardiness. She had a classy sophisticated look to her - a mature kind of sophistication. Her gait suggested that she was wearing heels, and in fact she was. She did mention that she loved stilettos although she didn’t wear them that day. However, her clothes didn’t do her much justice. I didn’t like her shirt’s tutti-frutti floral design. While she also mentioned how much she liked Levi’s, her jeans didn’t do justice to her figure either. I also have this thing about girls not wearing belts. Nevertheless, she looked good.

She was, without a doubt, probably the most fidgety date I have ever had. She was uncomfortable, she admitted. It seemed such an understatement. We had to move tables because she couldn’t lean back on the sofa chair and that made her all the more uncomfortable. I was afraid she was going to hurt someone with her arms flailing around in large gestures.

One way or another, she seemed determined at keeping her poise. Though several times she looked liked she was just about to crash and burn. But it was all very amusing to me. I might have thought it was cute even. Her paranoia was getting to her. I was well aware beforehand that she had a predisposition to being overly self-consciousness but not to this extent.

I’d offered to buy her a drink but she gracefully declined, saying she’d rather get her own. I left her at the table thinking that that’d be ample time for her to straighten herself out. She seemed oddly out of place that time, lost even.

She spoke rather fluently, something that I find really attractive in a woman. Although she did have her slips, due mostly to her nervousness but these were all just something to laugh at or about. I admired the fact that she took to my laughter rather positively. She was such a good sport.

Most of the time we talked about her - her life’s mysteries, her quirky misadventures with men, etcetera, etcetera. This was perfectly fine with me because I was mostly interested in learning more about her. Besides, if she wanted to know something about me, all she had to do was ask.

Already she was getting more and more at ease.

It was funny how in the middle of our conversation she would interject with some words I couldn’t understand like “keber” and “chuvanescence”. Gay lingo, apparently. At first I thought “keber” was some pidgin or ghetto way of saying carebear.

She had graduated from a low-end school (forgive my prejudice) in Makati, something which came as quite a surprise because I would not have guessed it by looking at and talking to her. She talked with a flair and intelligence that would’ve suggested something more prestigious. And she also seemed all too introspective or internally cognizant as she so succinctly put it to have graduated from some IT related course. To say the least, I was pleased.

So we talked and talked and talked for what seemed to be four hours but was in fact just a little over three until we find that it was already past six and I had other engagements to attend. It was in a way a good date if not a great one. We went our separate ways in a more or less positive light. We knew each other a little better. If there was another date to follow, I would soon find out. And so we walked. And then we parted.