† One Sunday afternoon, the family decided to clean the house up. A general cleaning was being executed for dumping the old stuff that's been stored for ages. Then somewhere, I was to throw this old notebook that looks like my niece's grade 4 notes. Thinking that it's still important, I flipped the pages and saw this writings. I was amazed to see 3 compositions having a short story ( really really short ) that was written in connection to the next composition, a sonnet; and a poem which I allegedly written dated way back 2008. I remembered somewhere in my lifetime (also somehow stated in the short short story) I stopped writing. Maybe, I may consider this one to be one of the reason for me to write again. And I'm putting this here for preservation. Hah! I might have lost this one forever. †
*******
[Heartbeat]
"... so cold..."
[Heartbeat]
[Sound] [Beeep.... beeeep... beeeep]
"It's dark... where am I?"
When my senses came back, I found myself walking in a corridor with yellow dim lights. I continued walking hoping I'll be able to get to the end. A couple of steps more and I saw a door. Curious, I observed. Reached for the knob and turned the door open. And a stream of light slices through the yellow dim light that my eyes, blinded by the bright light, shut close.
"For the second time, you're late." the man on the room said.
"Late? for what? Where am I? Who are you?" I asked hurriedly.
"Yes, you are late! for what? For an interview; Who am i? The interviewer; for what -- " He paused and get a couple of questionnaires on top of a table in the middle of the room. The only table in there I saw.
"-- It's for me to know and for you to find out." He continued.
I gazed at the room. It's more of a preschool classroom. Letters of the alphabet on the walls, numbers, blackboard, and pictures of different things. I walked near on the window and saw a beach and gentle wind soothes up my face. Peaceful.
"Are you ready?" the interviewer asked.
"Huh?"
"Are you not listening? Are you ready?"
"For what?" I asked back.
"For the interview! Geesh!" he answered irritated.
"Why should I take this interview? what for?"
"Because the boss asked for it"
"Who is the boss?" I asked.
"First question: Who are you in the four mask you're wearing?" he ignored what I'm asking.
"I am the four mask... I only -- HEY!!" I stopped because I was really surprised by the question.
" -- How did you know about the masks? who are you?" I followed.
"I don't know about the masks... the boss do." He explained.
"Who is the boss?"
"I'm the one who's asking questions here" He said calmly.
"You don't really talk about the masks... don't you?" He continued.
"No, I don't. But I'm able to talk about it with others selectively."
"Why?" he asked.
"I don't know. Maybe it just unlocks somethings about me that I myself don't know."
"Do you believe in fairytales?" He questioned.
"Does this doesn't look like one?"
"This is the truth, boy. There's nothing fairytale-ish in here." He explained.
Then suddenly, I heard whispers.
"Wait! Do you hear that?"
"Hear what?" The interviewer asked.
"The whispers."
"It's normal in here."
"Why do I hear these things suddenly?"
"The whispers are here since the first time you touched the knob and opened the door. You just don't listen."
"But why?"
"It's a connection of you and the boss. Somehow, you got to hear the words that you shared, talked and listened."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"How?" I asked amazingly.
"I don't know." He said.
After a couple of seconds, the whispers came back.
"There it is again." I said.
"Try to listen -- " He told me. "-- That's the boss reading a poem."
"It's a sonnet. A literary form with 14 lines."
"Whatever. You know too much." The interviewer was annoyed.
"The sonnet is nice." said I.
"I know why."
"Why?"
"Because it's yours. You wrote it for the boss. You wrote it for her." He said.
"I did? or did I?" I asked surprisingly.
"Yes, you did."
"But I don't write anymore. Not in a long period of time."
"That's what makes it nicer. She made you write again."
The interviewer smiled at me.
"Where are we?"
"Inside the boss' mind."
"Really? So, she's thinking of me?"
"Some of the time. And this moment is somehow part of that 'some of the time'. And as you've guessed it right, this interview is about you. She's trying to know you, you know?"
Again, I gazed at the room and observe.
"Your boss' mind is a little bit childish."
"No, it is not."
"But what about the alphabet and the pictures and the colorful shape --"
"That's the same thing the boss asked when I got to interview her when she is in your mind."
"My mind?"
"Yes, your mind." He confirmed.
"You get to interview her inside my mind? Do I think of her too?" I'm puzzled.
"Oh, sure --" he said fine. " -- you both have a childish part in you still." He continued.
"Oh no, no. Your boss is what? 18? 19 years old and still have this alphabets and dolls and fairytale books in here?"
"And you are 25 and still, my boss, saw pictures of Bugs Bunny, Road Runner, and Mighty Mouse in your mind."
I got quiet.
"What's your boss' name?" I asked.
The interviewer answered but I was not able to catch the name for the whispers joins the interviewer's voice when he utters the name. But somehow, I recalled the piece I have written... the name is in there. Somehow, the piece is owned by the name and the name is the piece.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
"This is your boss' mind, is this?"
"Yes, this is."
I picked a chalk and write something in the board. When I finished the writings, the interviewer asked something.
"What did you do?"
"This is you boss' mind, right? So, I wrote a message. And the message will stay here. Since she think of me some of the time, she will be able to read the message I left her mind." I explained thouroughly.
"But I don't see the message you've written." He said with a confused voice.
"You're not the boss. It's for me to know and for her to find out."
[Whispers]
"I think I need to go." I said.
"It's okay. The interview is done." He replied.
"Did your boss get to know all the things she wanted to know?"
"No. But this wouldn't be the last time we will meet." He smiled.
"I understand. How do I get out of here?"
"You don't. You will stay here as long as the boss wants."
[Whispers]
[Heartbeat]
[Reality]
"Hey! Wake up! your phone is beeping"
"Oh! Sorry, mom. How long am I sleeping?"
"Silly you. You just hopped to bed after lunch. You just closed your eyes for about... hmmm... 10 minutes. Having dreams already?"
******
For Aia
A drop of happiness in a petal of blue,
Reaps out the pain out of the dawn.
And the morning mist clear out this voice,
Makes me hum a familiar melody.
As my hands start to sway, the clock start to dance,
Ending the misery for a second or four;
Under a spell of a familiar line I bow.
As the first minute pass, the magic blooms out through,
Unending sunlight beams out to my soul.
Sleeping joy laughed, beamed towards the sky,
That once trapped by the darkness and pain embraced,
Ressurected and renewed by the name of the faced who's named.
I am of a dessert sun of a leaf withered and dying.
And to spell out your name is a phrase that is worth speaking.
