One Hundred Ninety Eight Kilometers and Back

Monsoon Midmornings
By M.A. Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
One Hundred Ninety Eight Kilometers and Back

A shadow flickers at my partly open car door as I listened to The Low Millions. Their lead singer was calmly singing about his love being every single song on the radio and being everypretty face on video. The shadow fully opens the door, and the woman who owns it makes the song something I can relate to. Incidentally, the song was titled “Here She Comes”. It was quite apt.

My universe opens up to endless possibilities as her face enters my field of vision. She has this smile I rarely see, maybe because she has become more than a bit jaded when you compare her to the rest of the swarm we affectionately call mankind. It was good to see it pasted on her face that much I am sure of. I strive to do it consistently, but the klutz that I amusually fails in the endeavor. “Hey” she goes, her smile staying with my fluttering heartbeats. “What brings you here?” Something flashed in her eyes, like a moment of inspiration or decision, and I find her in my lap. I am stunned; somehow, after all these years, she still has the power to surprise me. I saw she got her amusement out of my reaction too, as there was a mischievous glint in her eyes which now made her smile so downright disturbing. Then assuddenly as she was there, she was gone. The passenger door opens and shuts andthere she was, beaming. My goddess. Ivy.

She repeats her question and I realize I have not answered her yet. I get so horribly mangled around her it’s a wonder I remember anything afterward. If you’d see us, you’d find it hard tobelieve the cosmically retarded fellow she was with could actually write, much less speak. So out with the truth then, “I missed you bad enough it made me drive here”. Her face softens. “You’re not even supposed to be here. Will you be staying the weekend?” I shrug. “Nah, I’ll be heading back as soon as you go upstairs.” I feel pressure on my cheek and find her hand there. For the first time, I do not pull away. I accept it. I tilt my head to sent the pressure backand reply with my acquiescence. The touch turns into a gentle caress. She knows. I look up and meet her eyes. There is joy there. Is it because someone wants and loves her that much? Maybe. There is a heartbreaking sadness as well. Because? I do not even want to commit that to active thought. Yes, as with everyone around me, it is my fault yet again. That countenance is as familiar to me as my waking moments. Will it always be this way?

I talk about a conversation I had with a faceless stranger in this dream I had. He indulged me while I ranted, then made me think. It sort of went this way:
Me:There’s this woman I am madly in love with. She said she loves me too.

Stranger: So what’s the problem? Isn’t it a good thing?

Me: I do not deserve her. I do not have anything to offer. See, she’s this intelligent, sensitive,kindhearted and opinionated woman. She takes on life on her own terms. And, she’sthe most beautiful woman to ever walk the face of the earth.

Stranger: I see. And she said she loves you?

Me: Yes.

Stranger: So you feel that you do not deserve to be loved by someone like her?

Me: Yes! Aren’t you listening? How could she even begin to love someone like me?

Stranger: She said she loves you? Do you believe her?

Me: Yes. Yes! What has that have to do with anything?

Stranger: Well you’re lucky. You’ve dreamed and the dream loves you back. How about you make sure you do not hurt her, instead of all this rot. Maybe then you’ll hear it from her, and it puts your heart at peace.

I pause, the story ended. I raise my eyes and find myself wrapped in her arms. Our lips meet and time stands still. The world is silent, except for the sound and feel of her breath. The taste of her lips. The softness of her limbs as they envelop me and I return the intimacy. The warmth of her as she is pressed against me. The beating of our hearts; in tune with the movement of our lips. It lasts an eternity of moments, and I drown in it, unwilling to let it end. Finally we part and open our eyes. Breathless, she speaks three words that I repeat with four.Our lips meet again while the moon peeks from the overcast sky, and becomes a glare on my windshield. The eighth word is spoken wordlessly. Eight to infinity? Maybe. And may God help us both.

The Curtains Rise and the Show Begins

Monsoon Midmornings
By M.A. Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show
The Curtains Rise and the Show Begins

I.

The rains had just stopped. The droplets caught in the halogen orbs make the lamp lights hazy, yet enchanting all at the same time. The rush hour is at its tail end now, with the heavytraffic almost perceptibly idling down. Smoke was rising from car hoods as the last raindrops evaporate from the collective engine heat. The evening is covered with scents, sounds and lights and the hustle and bustle of city life.

Matt stretches inside his car, stuck three wide and seven deep on a two lane city block. No wonder we’re all hung up, he muses we are so like crabs caught in a basket. In our hurry to get ahead we all stay put. He chuckles, shakes his head and turns the stereo volume up. He might as well enjoy the wait. He sits back and starts to hum, tapping his steering wheel to the beat of the song. The graphic equalizer bars sway like clockwork, in perfect cadence to him. The car is not tinted and there he was singing for all he was worth. Reflected in the soft dashboard lights; a man in his own universe drinking the moments of his life. A few drivers andpassengers noticed and some had taken to staring. Wondering maybe. Those who were women tilted their heads and smiled. He was unaware, caught up in his own mind.

Ivy was tying up her day and closing shop. Well that was figurative. Tying up almost two hundred people to their schedules and breaks, that’s what it was. All her reports were alreadydone too. Which made her a very happy camper; sort of. It was a long day and she was tired and worn out. The joy was from meeting the excellence she required from herself today. Plus she’s getting to spend time with her man, who is also about to conclude his day. She looks at him, seated with his back to her; working. She can’t help but smile at the sight of him. It’s allshe can do to not run up to him and crush him in her arms. Ivy was pretty sure he would enjoy that too. Life was good. In certain stretches. Willing herself back to work, she glances at the desktop screen to check intervals and resumes her floor walk. She moved with an easy gait, her billowing hair complementing her high cheek bones and almond eyes. Everyone taking calls breathed a little bit easier. She was wearing a smile on her face

Afternoon At Where It Leads To You

Afternoon At Where It Leads To You
by M.A. Martin

I got lost and somehow, I got found
driving in an overcast morning in the pouring rain
saw myself standing - on soaked ground
wishing I can hold this pain

Eighteen steps to the fenced off door
Twenty two acts before I'm rid of it all.
Bereft.I walk away, my back to you and forever more
the beat a fading echo. As I have left,

my heart, my soul, my dreams complete.
On the curb that leads to your street.

Overmatched

Monsoon Midmornings
By M.A. Martin

Matt and Allie’s Journey
Overmatched

Matt hazarded a hand at the elevator door before it closed. The sensors detected it and the gears retracted the doors. He stepped inside, looking so smug in the knowledge that some poor soul who was running late would probably be grinding his teeth with exasperation. He was still smiling when he looked up to survey the damage, and froze. Stunned to his proverbial boots.

Allie was there, standing in the deep left corner, looking oblivious by staring blankly ahead. Yet with an almost imperceptible twitch of her brow and flaring pupils, she betrayed her grudging acceptance of this intruder in this most confined space. He stood there dumbfounded, cursing his ill luck. “I just gave her another confirmation of her hunches.” Matt rued silently to himself. He always had this innate talent of managing to put his foot in his mouth in the most inopportune of situations, and this was no exception. Without even knowing it, he had a smile pasted on his face. She was more attractive when she was irritated, that’s for sure.

Another thing he was sure of was that if karma and rebirth were true, he was some sort of flying insect in his previous incarnation. How else can he explain his predilection for flying onblind instinct, and his obstinacy in hitting walls, backing up, and then rushing headlong in the same direction yet again? It looks like he’ll be doing it over and over again in Allie’s case. The phrase “or die trying” came to mind and he shrugged it off with mild disgust.

He glanced up at the lit number indicating the journey’s progress, and he sputtered. Three? What the? He thought he blanked out longer than that. Matt did a quick double-take; yes, shewas there alright. He was not having one of his comic strip slash dialogue episodes. Is this fate? And a second ice cold thought surfaced immediately. That he was a blithering idiot. Of the cosmic and cataclysmic variety. They were workmates. Of course they would bump into each other on occasion. Jeez! To even think that the universe would revolve around him was downright preposterous. Matt caught himself at that moment. He was ripping himself to fine shreds and he hasn’t even said “hello” yet. “Here’s to rushing blind” he muttered and sidled to where she stood.

Life rewards the courageous few, Matt reminded himself and plunged in, to waiting and foreseen disaster. “Hi. How were your calls yesterday” Was that the best he could come up with? Matt groaned inwardly, this was totally lame. Allie barely tilted her head and the smallest of curves played on her lips. It was so small and fleeting it was almost imaginary. He was there anyway, so what’s a little more humiliation? Against his better judgment, Matt pressed on, tossing pitch number two. “So how was the closure rate?” There were tempests in those set of eyes, but the voice that came out was cool, composed and collected. “Ok.” He was clearly out of it. So that constitutes a reply nowadays? Marvin Albert was droning in hishead by now, “One more pitch and it’s a ballgame ladies and gents. It’s pinch hitter Allie at bat, and let me tell you she is looking good!” What the hell, crash and burn right? Matt throws the last question. “So how about you gather the updates for your team and then forward it to me?”

The elevator chimes their arrival at the designated floor and the doors open. Allie flashes a faux smile worthy of Khrushchev and mumbles a “Yeah. Sure.” Then steps out into the hallway. Matt is left rooted to the spot, mouth agape as Allie walks away. He managed to close it when he tasted dust gathering in his tongue. Literally. A few words came into mind. Overmatched. Road kill. Routed. Annihilated. He scratches his head, glances at his feet and couldn’t help but smile. Would hitting her in the nape with a baseball bat change her views? He chuckles and follows her out of the elevator, into his early morning shift.

An Introduction to Complication

Monsoon Midmornings
By M.A. Martin

Matt and Allie’s Journey
An Introduction to Complication

She caught my eye as I stepped into the production floor after that long drawn business review. She was one of the newer reps on the floor, and one of maybe my top ten eye candies. I’ve been wondering about that since I first laid eyes on her as she came out oftraining and into production. There’s something about her I can’t place.

See I’ve always been partial to women with fairer complexion and Caucasian or East Asian features. Credit goes to my mother for that, as she had drummed in me this insane mentalconditioning. She wanted non-Pinoy looking grandchildren. Yes, from le-hippie-zee-rocker herself, who of course is married to a blond Viking. She keeps trying to hook me up with daughters of friends, and winds up more frustrated than ever if we decide to be just friends. Which reminds me of this excruciating blind date with a minor baroness from Heidelberg almost a decade ago – oh wait, I’m sidetracked. Let me get back to the matter at hand.

So back to this young woman and the tale at hand. Allie. She is about five foot four with a mass of jet black hair almost to her waist. Normally I’d kid someone about that, like ask if shekept coconut oil in a carabao’s horn at home and if she sprouted bat wings when the moon was full. In her case, she pulled it off splendidly, She had a face that was kind to angles, which made her breathtaking to look at in any profile and frankly, made the fact that she always kept her hair neatly pulled back a huge treat for the beholder. She dressed well too, and having the kind of body that she was gifted with, oh brother! Kiss your soul goodbye mate.

The clincher for me was her eyes. She had this pair of wide pools that hinted of mystery and an expanse of knowledge. They seemed confident and reticent all at the same time. Plain, yetfull of mischief in one go. An unwary person may lose himself in those eyes for the rest of his life. Smart, sharp, and calculating. It made her look so much like a resting feline. She was beautiful, majestic and extremely dangerous. This was what Tim Burton was angling for when he cast Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman. Selina Kyle is brown skinned; you best believe that.

The catch? I know her. Or more like I know the back of her head pretty well. Her nape is a good buddy of mine come to think of it. It also means she’s usually walking in the same direction as I am. Only she’s about ten paces ahead. I tried talking to her once or maybe a couple of times and she was polite. Which I think is because I was a ranking officer in theaccount. Otherwise, there were swirls in her eyes and she looked like she was about to lose the fight with her rising eyebrows. Like, “Oh. Yeah. Right. Now get out of my face loser”. To think I was asking her about work related matters and not attempting small talk. Oh, I’ll be honest. I was attempting. Moses on a rotting charley horse! This woman was going to fit perfectly as a New Yorker!

This is in all probability going to feel like rushing blindly and headlong into a concrete wall. Yetlike a deer caught in an oncoming headlight, I am stuck. Transfixed. I will get to know her. If it is to be under the pain of constant embarrassment, then so be it. I have a strong hunch that there is more to her than meets the eye. I just hope that I last long enough to see her turn around. So unfounded aversion is true after all. Or unbridled dislike at the outset. I just did not expect to be at the receiving end of the barrel when I found out. I take one more glance at herand go on my way.