Who dat girl?

That long corridor with shiny terra cotta floor spanning both the college of nursing and engineering department housed in one building might as well be a landmark in my psyche. Actually, it is. Were it not for the roofed walkways on the ground that connected the admin building from the south and the arts and sciences from the north, I surely would not have gotten a glimpse of her. But I did, from the shade and into the light.

There were always these other bodies around her. Walking in synchronized cadence as if polished from the weekly ROTC training I had to endure every weekend. The only difference is theirs had a certain gait, poise and charm you might see on fashion ramps in Milan or Paris. I could have sworn they sported similar glossy hair style that just added glitz to their look. Day after school day I would sit strategically around three in the afternoon by the ditch hoping to catch the late afternoon show that has become my favorite pastime. Ogling.

So one day I popped the question to my friend, who by the way was also a member of this ogling club. “Who’s that girl?” Of which he promptly replied, “Which one?”

She was not the tallest in the group yet she stood out. I suppose that comes from an innate dramatic skill of projection. Bright and self-assured, she could sell you a whole wad of fund-raising raffle tickets leaving you feeling like a philanthropist. She’d look at you with those wide, penetrating brown eyes and you’d confess to having spent your semester’s tuition on cigarettes and booze.

One day we were introduced. Her dark, olive toned complexion was the perfect setting for those white pearly’s that twinkled when she smiled. Kinda like that old commercial on TV. Except in this scene, I was willfully looking at the painting on the wall because I could not bear the thought of meeting her gaze allowing her to see through my cool façade. I ended up getting branded as a snob for my desperate effort to say the least.

But fate would smile once again upon those who wish it the most. Remember the saying…”Careful what you wish for”…I would join her and my friends in reviving the institutions dramatic guild through some elective courses. So auspicious was the timing that we decided to produce several plays to be staged during university festivities.

I am not really sure what happened at this point to change her opinion on her first impression about me. Yes, it lasted a while. Could it have been the Vic Silayan aura I exuded on one play or could it have been the De Niro ambivalence I portrayed on another? Needless to say it started with an argument as she boycotted rehearsals for my directorial final exams. The argument ensued somewhere over a bowl of the blandest tasting noodle soup I would ever have in my entire life.

As I rode the bus home that night with the moon shining on my wind-swept face, I was still sporting the same catatonic, silly grin look just hours before I gave my girl our first hug and bid her goodnight with the promise that I’ll see her in the morning because we have agreed not to argue anymore.

After 30 years I find myself sometimes walking through those same corridors. That familiar tropical scent vivid as if they were yesterday’s mowed lawn. A rush of anxiousness and excitement rifles through my chest as I assume my vantage spot. Then all of sudden something catches the corner of my eye, I turn and as my eyes adjust to the soft morning light in the bedroom, I reach out to hug her and I say; “Good morning!”