Between Stations

There is something with the way the bearded man's eyes are taking the whole inside of the train, he decides as he seats himself in one of the blue benches. Two beeps, the train doors closing by themselves, the train lurching forward, leaving Ayala station in the stifling darkness behind.

He tries concentrating on his copy of Business Today but would always find himself staring at the bearded man every time he looks out the window at the end of a paragraph. He is someone who pauses a lot when reading, as if his perpetually distracted mind could only take a sentence, a phrase, a word at a time. And numerical figures need to be savored before swallowed.

The bearded man reminds him of Jude Law in Cold Mountain. Long slender arms opening a backpack, producing a bottle of mineral water. He is also someone who likes long slender arms in a man. But Jude Law does not drink, just holds the bottle in his hands. Aren't mineral water bottles banned in the MRT?

In his mind, he imagines Jude Law (seemingly) casually shaking the mineral water bottle, imagines how the froth of the liquid inside would look. Then Jude Law would suddenly flick out a cigarette lighter, an explosion, and the train would be on fire. Or perhaps that is not the way these explosives work. How do you murder about a hundred people?

How to plan escape, if escape still is possible? Send perhaps an alarm signal to the train operator. But that would make everyone, including Jude Law, panic. Wrestle the bottle away from Jude Law, maybe. He thinks of the instant when their bodies would touch, rub, one forcing the other to its will, that moment of violent intimacy. Will Jude Law overpower him?

The train nearing Buendia, entering darkness akin to the cold blackness of untouched coffee. He waits, but when the train finally stops, Jude Law still has not moved.

The rush of passengers getting off the train reminding him this is his station. He gets out, vaguely sees Jude Law drinking from his bottle. Then a blurred nothing.

In the noise of the leaving train, he could not hear a young woman, calling towards him, waving her arms frantically. All he could hear is a well-worn sigh. Because after that familiar anticipation of something, in the end there is only disappointment. As always.

"Hi, honey, dearest. Can't you hear me there? I've been waiting forever. Was it the merger again? I told you many times already: you should drive, yourself." ■