forget me not series – The Romance of Ayin & Will
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was drizzling when Will came to pick her up at half past 7 pm that night.
Ayin found him deep in thought, quietly smoking under the acacia tree at the parking lot.
The tree leaves from above slightly blocked the light from the street lamp, casting shadows on his face, leaving her to wonder what his mood was.
She walked towards him without an umbrella on. She loved the rain and it was light enough to not stick on the clothes for long.
Seeing her, he quickly put out his cigarette and removed his jacket.
He put it above her head and around her shoulders and said, “Quickly, into the car.”
She breathed in the familiar scent of him from the jacket– that fresh, woodsy and musky scent that makes her think of leisurely walks in the forest, evoking in her a sense of warmth and safety.
He left her as he hurried to the driver’s door and slid inside, so she went on her own to the passenger side and got in.
Though she didn’t need it, she gave him three points for the jacket, but less than 1 point for not opening the car door for her.
He was kind, but obviously not a gentleman. She silently chuckled.
Bugoy, she thought fondly.
But… a cute bugoy, she added to herself.
He started the car, but stayed idle for a moment to shake off the droplets from his cap outside the window.
He isn’t bald after all, she thought dryly.
In fact, he has nice black hair in a semi military cut. She just saw it briefly as the cap went back and covered it again.
Just as she was about to offer the pack of tissues in her bag, he opened the glove compartment and wiped his arms with the white towelette she hated.
Saying nothing, she settled in her seat, wrapped in his jacket still. She was unwilling to give it back yet. It was cold with the aircon on, even set to 1.
Just then, the rain poured outside. Dismayed, she looked at him, expecting him to delay the session. “Should we wait?”
He answered, “No, this is perfect. Driving at night in wet conditions — that’s like hitting two stones with one bird.”
She snapped her head, ready to correct him, but quickly realized he was joking when she saw his big grin.
Him and his corny lines.
He said, “Kidding aside, this is great. The more challenging, the better.”
He glanced at her apprehensive look. She seriously didn’t think she was brave enough to try it now.
Thankfully, he put the car on drive and started to ease out of the parking lot.
She sensed a lecture coming.
Him, “You don’t really expect to drive in dry conditions all the time, do you? The rain will come when it wants, better learn how to deal with it now.”
He smiled, “Just be grateful it isn’t snow.”
On their way to I.T. Park, the lecture continued while he slowly drove on the outer lane.
“Eyes here. Let’s start with your instruments. Depending on rain volume, you can adjust this lever on the side to control the speed of your wipers. See?” She nodded.
“Then these are your beams,” He flicked it up and down. “See the difference?”
She could see better afar through the sheets of rain with high beam.
He then proceeded to discuss when and how to use the low and high beams, and cautioned her to use the latter sparingly or not at all when cars on the opposite side are approaching.
Just then, they were distracted by a bright light and two opposite SUVs on the inner lanes angrily honking as they passed by each other.
“What timing,” he said. “That’s what happens when you refuse to turn off the high beam when a car approaches. Road rage.”
Briefly stopping the car at a safe zone near the sidewalk, he continued to demonstrate the different kind of lights — driving lamps, signal, fog, park, brake, tail and hazard lights.
He even gave her tips on the common light signals used locally to communicate intentions, such as the double light wink to ask permission to go first and pass by safely.
He continued to drive, “In Japan, whenever another motorist gives way and lets you enter into their space, they say “Thank You” by tapping their hazard lights briefly, so the butt lights blink twice to be seen by the other driver.”
“Nice,” she said.
“But in the Philippines,” he grinned, “We roll down our windows to shout at another driver in thanks… or curse. Right in the middle of the road.”
She laughed. She’d seen some.
“At least some of us do. Don’t you ever, or else I won’t claim you as my student.” He said in a mock serious face.
She stuck her tongue out at him.
By the time they arrived at IT Park, the rain was back to a drizzle.
The 24-hour commercial block was flooded with warm lights from the various restaurants, street lamps and towering buildings.
Some people, like her, didn’t mind the light rain and milled about the sidewalks – jogging, crossing to cafes or restaurants, or going to work.
“Let’s switch, you drive around the block,” he said as he stopped and quickly got out of the car.
So, for the next 30 minutes, she did just that, turning round the different blocks under the night sky, just faithfully listening to his calm, steady voice and following his instructions to “slow down, turn left, turn right, speed up and go.”
It was dinnertime and most streets were lined with parked cars. But going around, they found an almost empty strip at the far end, where he told her to stop and prepare for parallel parking.
It was a blessed time when IT Park did not collect parking fees yet on the streets.
Just like the last session, he took out his mini white board and marker and started drawing to illustrate the various car positions, distance guides, and the direction she was supposed to go.
Several minutes later…
She hated parallel parking, she decided.
She was too poor on distance estimates and angles. She blamed the rain and the lack of daylight,too.
When he called for a break, she groaned, closed her eyes and leaned her head back to the chair, muttering, “I will not just go here at IT Park. I will just eat in Ayala since they have vertical parking.”
She opened one eye to look at him. “Can we stop now?”
“No.”
Then, for added measure, “You will not graduate until you accomplish at least two tries.”
She just groaned more loudly.
“Okay, time’s up. Again,” he said firmly.
To his credit, he never lost his cool when she complained and cursed nonstop. He just laughed at her.
He did not leave her side, too, coaching all the way inside the car, guarding the mirrors and car edges with her.
Finally, after about eight tries, she scored two full parallel parks. That was more than enough for her.
Never mind that she suspected her first success was slightly due to his timely braking on the instructor’s pedal and assistance on the steering wheel. At least, she got it right herself on the second one.
“You said just two!” she told him before he could speak. “You can’t make me do it again. My head’s throbbing.”
He just chuckled and shook his head. He didn’t disagree with her this time though as the rain started to pour again.
“Alright. Congratulations, this ends your basic course. If you want to do a refresher on your parking, just contact the office. We have packages. I’ll give you a discount.” He winked at her.
She grinned at him, upselling like a true businessman.
Then, remembering, she wrinkled her face. She didn’t want to think about parallel parking again just yet.
In silent agreement, they rested quietly for a few moments, listening to the radio, as a blanket of rain enveloped the car.
Her heart thudded as she was reminded that this was her last session. Does this mean it would be the last time she’ll see him, too?
She stole a glance at him.
How do you say goodbye to someone you like?
Her mind drifted to fairy tale icon Cinderella who at least had until midnight to say goodbye.
She has long suspected that the girl did not accidentally drop, but purposely left her shoe behind, as bait for the prince.
She bet Cindy didn’t want to say goodbye that soon, either.
In sympathy, she wished the girl could just have been more honest with the guy before the stroke of midnight. Then, she wouldn’t have had to sacrifice that lovely shoe.
Instead of singing about dreams and wishes, she should have crooned these to him instead — “When Will I See You Again,” or “Call Me, Maybe”, or… or… what was that song again…?
Just then, the radio DJ introduced the next song — the 1985 hit “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” by Scottish rock band Simple Minds.
Yes, this is it!, she thought as she shifted excitedly in her seat.
Rather than goodbye, this song made popular by the American film “The Breakfast Club” encapsulated what she really wanted to say and ask him in that moment:
“Hey, hey, hey, hey
Ooh, woah
Won’t you come see about me?
I’ll be alone, dancing you know it, baby
Tell me your troubles and doubts
Giving me everything inside and out and
Love’s strange so real in the dark
Think of the tender things that we were working on
Slow change may pull us apart
When the light gets into your heart, baby
Don’t you forget about me
Don’t don’t don’t don’t
Don’t you forget about me
Will you stand above me
Look my way, never love me
Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling
Down, down, down
Will you recognize me
Call my name or walk on by
Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling
Down, down, down, down
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Ooh, woah
Don’t you try to pretend
It’s my feeling we’ll win in the end
I won’t harm you or touch your defenses
Vanity, insecurity ah
Don’t you forget about me
I’ll be alone, dancing you know it baby
Going to take you apart
I’ll put us back together at heart, baby
Don’t you forget about me
Don’t don’t don’t don’t
Don’t you forget about me
As you walk on by
Will you call my name?
As you walk on by
Will you call my name?
When you walk away
Oh will you walk away?
Will you walk on by?
Come on, call my name
Will you call my name?
I say:
La la la…
When you walk on by
And you call my name…”
Yes, anything but goodbye, she thought as the song faded away.
How about a ‘Thank You’, instead?, she wondered. But how do you say it without using such a common, offhand phrase?
She thought about it and remembered his lecture earlier about how the Japanese say thanks when another motorist gives way on the road.
On impulse, she pressed the hazard button.
He turned to look at her and finally broke the silence, “Why are you playing with the hazard lights?
She said, “I want to say Thank You.”
He actually turned around to look if there was someone or a car behind them. “There’s no one there. And, we’re not moving. That only works on the road when…”
She interrupted him, “I know. I’m saying it to you. You know, like a special thanks with lights and feelings. You taught me so much… You get what I mean.” She shrugged.
Him, smiling, “Hm.”
“You’re the coolest teacher I’ve met,” she told him.
He laughed. Then, with a serious face, declared, “Of course. I’m one of a kind.”
Bugoy, she thought with a smile.
Aloud she said, “As a thank you, let me treat you to a drink.”
He nodded once, not even trying to protest. Then he added, “I want food, too. Let’s go there.”
He pointed to an acoustic bar called Cafe Ecila at the corner of the block, and said, “You drive.”
Once again, she admired the straightforward, no frills, decisiveness of this man. Some might call him brusque or thick-faced. There was no shy bone on his body. But her, she just found it refreshing that the man knew his own mind, and that she never had to guess what he wants or read between his lines.
She parked at a side street near the cafe. A perfect parallel, mind you. She turned to look smugly at him.
Shaking his head in resignation, he gave her a look that said, As If. There were no other parked cars yet on that street.
On cue, they ran under the rain, covering their heads with his big jacket that’s still with her.
They dried themselves at the cafe bar’s alfresco area protected by a light roofing.
The cafe bar was normally flooded with people around midnight on weekends, when the band played more upbeat music. But it was yet a couple of hours before and the dinner crowd had long left, so the place was relatively empty.
The acoustic band in the main hall was still preparing their instruments for the first set.
They didn’t go inside. They sat on stools at a high round table for two at a corner alfresco, far from the music stage and where they could see the car. Earlier, he had stored the driving school’s removable signage at the back in the trunk.
When the waiter approached, they ordered burgers and crackers on the side. Then, a tequila rose for her, and a light brandy for him.
Their orders arrived just as the band played the first song.
As usual, he was quiet while eating.
As she nibbled on the crackers, she let her mind wander with the music and contemplated the falling rain which looked like it was on its last cry.
She bet the night would clear in the next hour.
“Where did you graduate? What course?” He broke into her thoughts.
She looked at him and saw he had finished his burger. She was barely halfway.
“MassComm. University of the Philippines, here.”
“UP, huh? You must be smart.”
Like him before, she just nodded with a straight face. “Of course.”
He laughed.
He pulled out and fiddled with a cigarette stick, but did not light it yet.
“You?” she asked as she took a big bite.
“I was supposed to join the military, but I injured my arm during training and got sick. Later, I took up Criminology at my hometown in Dipolog.”
Surprised, her eyes flew to his face. Interesting.
That explains his snappy, take-charge, commanding presence.
She eyed his broad shoulders and imagined he’d look very good in a uniform.
“So you’re not Cebuano.”
“I am now. My business is here. This is my home now. Settled here about 10-12 years ago.”
“Why?”
He shrugged, “Long story.”
Seeing that she’s finished with the burger, he lit up his idle cigarette, a familiar stick of black Marlboro menthol. It was the same brand she was smoking in her past life.
He asked the waiter to clear the table, then ordered a plate of peanuts and another set of the same drinks, with a side of ash tray.
“I’ll pay for the next round,” he told her.
So there is a next round, she hid a smile.
When he didn’t seem to have any plans to elaborate on the “long story”, she didn’t push it.
For her, a “long story” usually means a painful past or breakup.
So she asked instead, “How come you’re in this business? It’s a far cry from your college course.”
He chuckled, “It’s meant to be. I like driving. It’s my passion. I’ve been driving since I was 12.”
He recalled it was his grandfather who gave him the keys to his classic car. He drove around town, running errands for him. And because his grandfather was a prominent lawyer, and as is the nature of small towns, no one dared to apprehend him while he was driving without a license at such a young age.
“Tsk, tsk, such a delinquent,” she said in mock horror.
“I’ll tell you a story.”
She nodded eagerly. She loves stories.
“This skill — driving — saved my life.”
He paused while the waiter arrived and arranged their new orders at the table.
As the waiter left, he continued. “It was the lowest point of my life. I had no definite plans at that time, but I wanted change. I was determined to leave Dipolog.”
“When I came to Cebu, I only had 1,000 pesos in my pocket,” he smiled at the memory.
“For awhile, I stayed at a relative’s home, but I knew I couldn’t stay there for long. So I started looking for a job with free lodging.”
He took a sip of brandy. “I searched the classified ads at a local paper and saw someone wanted a family driver, offering free lodging.”
I figured, why not? I can drive. So with the newspaper still in my hand, I went to the address right away. The next day, I moved out.”
She nodded for him to continue.
“Eventually, I became familiar with the city streets. After about a year, when I had saved enough, I decided to shift to driving a taxi.”
“I liked being a taxi driver,” he mused.
“I could control my time. Once you’ve reached the boundary (the amount you pay for a 24-hour taxi rental), it’s up to you how much more you want to earn. The longer you work, the higher you earn. But I could stop and rest anytime I wanted to.
Good thing for me I had many suki (regulars), so it wasn’t too tiresome looking for passengers. I had fixed routes in the morning and evening when I picked up / dropped off clients from their home to work. Then, there were bookings also for long drives outside the city, hometowns and tourist spots and such. It was fun.”
She smiled, fascinated by his experience. “When did you start teaching?”
“A fellow taxi driver sidelined as an instructor in one of the driving schools in the city. He recruited me to join him. I was game for anything, so I did.
When I started to learn the ropes, I discovered I enjoyed being a driving instructor. I loved teaching. So I decided to go full time with the school. I worked there for more than four years, until I decided to set up my own.”
He said fondly, “Thankfully, the owner was generous enough. As one of her longest running instructors, she gave me her blessing. I owed her this experience so, as a thank you, I served for an extra year. We’re still good friends up to now.”
Her admiration for the man grew by leaps and bounds.
Here was an authentic self-made man, who didn’t step on anyone as he progressed in life.
She loved that there was no shame in his voice when he shared about his humble beginnings.
“So, here I am, 5 years running, with 5 training cars. I’m an ambitious man so my dream is to double, nah, to triple it.” He laughed at himself.
She grinned in approval.
To get him talking more, she offered to order and pay for the next round of drinks.
“You know what,” he said, “Why don’t we just split the bill after? No need to go back and forth for further rounds.”
She laughed and agreed. This was supposed to be her treat.
When their drinks arrived, a sudden thought occurred to her. “Oh no. Who’s going to drive home?”
Understanding her meaning, he said, “Let’s just leave the car here. I’ll have someone pick it up in the morning. Let’s take a taxi home.”
That worked for her.
He wasn’t worried about the car since it was on a lighted area and they have 24-hour roving guards at the park. It seemed like he had already thought it out way before her.
This means, they both could still drink some more.
Wrapped in their own bubble at the little corner, they were oblivious to the people coming and going, and even to the changes in the music tempo.
She was suddenly grateful at that moment that she was no Cinderella.
The training car didn’t turn into a pumpkin, either.
Who cares about midnight? She wasn’t saying goodbye.
The night was long and so were there stories.
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Chapter 9 – Midnight Blues
Ayin Quijano 
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