May 2nd, 2005
“fling” (def.) n. v.
They barely make it together to the complimentary breakfast for two that morning. He watches her carefully while sipping his coffee–cold by the time he started. Watches her lips silently chew, her eyes glancing at him expectantly and questioningly at the same time.
His coffee seems to last forever, enough time for him to reflect on the past two months events. An unexpected dinner, an unplanned movie, and the accidental kiss during an impulsive trip out of town. A flurry of situations culminating in a night of furtive and hesitant passion. Like a shooting star’s pin-prick in night sky.
Emptying his cup he shakes his head slightly. He still does not know this woman beside him.
They finish in exactly seven minutes.
Quickly packing, they leave the hotel speechless–check out without incident. He toys with that idea while driving–about how all the hotel’s inhabitants, guests and staff alike, seem to naturally avoid eye-contact. An unspoken pact to remain unspeaking.
With a quick kiss on her cheek, he drops her off quietly. The alley of her apartment looked much different in the daytime–shy, it seemed, guilty of some thought, some knowledge.
On EDSA, the traffic is mercifully light on his way home. He reaches his house thirty minutes later. In another ten he is lying on his bed, back down, face up, eyes to the ceiling, mind in denial.
‘Fling’ as a noun, denotes a good time, a party, an indulgence. An excess, however brief. As a verb, it is less poetic: to fling means to throw, to pitch, to hurl, to dump.
To fling oneself is merciless. Helpless.
Fully mindful of last night’s activities, he knows the best thing to do is to get some sleep. He tries to lull himself to a fitful slumber.
He imagines twin pains on his back. Deep and bleeding, right at the shoulder blades.
Fallen angel. Welcome to the dark side.
