“What’s a delicate, fragile, little thing like you doing in a place like these?” he asked reeking with booze. He had had extremely huge fills of liqueur. His tongue hung like it was beat from those couple of hours drinking. His left hand, holding the liqueur glass, also looked like it wanted to retire. But his droopy eyes are fixed on that petite form of Isabela.

Isabela tried to smile. Her lithe body changed position by shifting her left thigh and leg over her right thigh and leg creating a crossed leg position. She looked around the bar before articulating the words. “What do you think might be the reason?” fixing her eyes on his droopy eyes. She was sick and tired of this whole thing.

“Oh, the hell! What do I know? Perhaps you are one of them,” putting in his tongue as he suddenly realized it was hanging. “Perhaps you are one of these chippies, ” lifting his seemingly heavy arm and hand, trying to point at the girls in the bar. “How much?”

“To tell you the truth, I do not get paid. I just wanted to have little fun. But poor you, you are not even a candidate in that state. Ha ha.”

“So, what are you then? A sex fiend? A loose woman? They are all the same! How can you be different?!? It’s all the same!” He sounded angry though he was not, radically pounding the bar table. Suddenly, as if the booze effect had all gotten unto him, he dropped his head on the surface of the table, never able to lift it up again.

“It’s an experiment. And you wouldn’t even know of it.” Her lips curved with an impish smile.

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Nine-year old son: We studied procreation in school.

Mother: What did you learn?

Nine-year old son: I already know how you had babies.

Mother: (Nervously) And how?

Nine-year old son: The sperm and the female egg meet together and form into a baby.

Mother: (Contently) Ah, yes…

Nine-year old son: But I am just curious… where do the sperm and the female egg meet and how?

Silence follows…

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Young foot: How come I am almost as big as you?

Older foot: You’re not.

Young foot: Look, we are almost the same size!

Older foot:  No, we’re not.

Young foot: Yes, we are.

Older foot: Okay, maybe in a couple of months, we already are the same size. But you have to be clean when you grow.

Young foot: You are not as clean as I see you.

Older foot: I am.

Young foot: You’re not.

And the talk went on…

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After two years, her friend sent her a message. With a jolly thought, she answered and the exchange of messages lead to a phone call. She was very excited because it was such a long time she had not heard anything from him.

They told each other stories about what transpired the two years they had seen each other. Then the stories went back to the times when they first met each other. They recalled the times and their impressions. Out of the blue, her friend hesitantly told her, “You know, when I first saw you, you really caught my attention. I really got attracted.”

She was taken aback by the sudden confession and though it had nothing to do with her anymore, she felt a little excited, “Uhmm… so what happened?”

A burst of laughter came from the other line, “Then I saw your foot and your sandals! Where do you buy those sandals? They are so outdated. And your feet, bwa ha ha ha, they looked liked unwashed ginger pieces. I was really turned off.”

She banged the phone and promised herself not to talk to him anymore.

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It was a text message that flashed her friend’s name greeting her a happy new year. She was puzzled why the name still appeared. That name and number was erased from her phone book a long time ago. But the name was there prompting pain from a memory of a taken for granted friendship.

The next morning, and it was the first day of work, a gay co-employee greeted her along the pathway.

“Tita Betty, did you erase my number in your phone book? Why did you ask who I am?”

“Oh, so it’s you. Sorry, Allan, I may have erased it.”

She felt guilty telling a lie. The incident made her recall that it was not his true name that was recorded in her phone book. It was an a.k.a.

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