by FRANCIS MIGUELL S. STA ROSA
OR SO he recalls, there was almost zero visibility when he was driving along MacArthur Highway. The wiper was already on its highest setting, but quite absurdly, Bocaue is still passable.
He just went on a date with someone. They ate at a dim sum place near the Chinese Village. She used to eat there with her family when she was young. Afterward, he bought her coffee—no dairy. She’s allergic to milk, and he very well took note of all these things.
It was indeed a joyful day, but a day is never long enough. He drove her home, hugged her farewell and let out a sad smile.
“Bye, Pa,” she whispered. As he waved goodbye, her mother came out of the door, and they locked eyes for what seemed like an eternal glimpse. He drove away with haste, and the clouds started to get tinted. Little droplets started covering his view, running faster and faster down the windshield.
Before long, a hagad behind him started blaring its sirens. He pulled over, realizing he was already eating up the lane of the oncoming traffic. He took his handkerchief and wiped the raindrops away.
“Sir, kanina pa kayo gumegewang,” the enforcer said. His alcohol levels were then checked, but the results were normal.
The rain, albeit torrential, drenched only his heart. It was a scorching day at the MacArthur Highway. F