Starcrossed

#126: Lonestar Cafe

I grabbed my wallet, my cellphone and my book. Those are the key things you bring when you’re about to lunch out on your own. Plus the skies were gray so I needed to bring my screaming yellow umbrella. And then, since I might want to scribble or doodle instead of read, I may want to bring a pencil. Plus a sheet of paper. No, make that two. One last look around. Maybe another soul with a bit of Friday Fun blood is willing to come. None. Great. This is going to be a Happy Friday lunch.

I called my ex-officemates earlier to check if I can meet up with them for lunch. They’re on their merry way to this hole in the armpit of Paranaque to get stuffed with dirt-cheap food. I should’ve joined them. Thing is, those kinds of lunches are the types you have to take with your boss because there’s no way you’re coming back to the office before 3p.m. Sorry, I’ll pass.

I called Silly Mano and he had already had his KFC. He’s not supposed to eat that without me. He swore that at least I crossed his mind as he was eating there. I called another group and they had already gone out with their Department Head. This other friend of mine had a meeting. Another one went to a chapel service. Okay, this is getting desperate. Who else in this world has trouble finding people to eat lunch with on a Friday? Is it just me?

Lunch was good though. I had the table all to myself and was mildly comforted at the sight of 4 other ladies and 2 other guys eating by themselves. Ah. So this is where the loners go. Mental Note: Now you know where to go, Gladys, when you’re doomed to lunch by yourself.

I remember talking to a newfound friend last week about that torturous lunch I had two blog entries ago. He said he’d rather be with people he didn’t like than eat alone because eating alone is depressing. I, on the other hand, would rather eat alone than endure a meal with people I don’t like. Really. The best combination is always good food + good friends. If I can’t have that, then at least leave me alone to enjoy the food.

Dinner was something to look forward to. I hadn’t seen this friend of mine since my birthday last year and I was looking forward to finding out what has been going on in her life. We met up at the newly-renovated Press Café (whose old interiors I preferred over their new look) and I thought that was a good idea because whoever gets there first can just wander around in Fully-Booked and gorge on the new covers. As expected, she gets there ahead of me and greets me with a face lined with consternation. Apologies all over. (I’m always late but it’s always about work. I’m gonna change that. Really. Soon. I promise.) She breaks into her signature grin after hearing me out and we ease into dinner.

I ordered Dog Days – this sausage cooked in caramelized onions and sandwiched in the softest Focaccia bread known to man. Before biting into it, I told her that she can get half of it because I wasn’t that hungry. After the first bite, I didn’t care if she still wanted it, I made a decision to keep the whole thing to myself.

She made me go ahead. It means she has a bigger story to tell.

I told mine in an animated way without punctuation marks to separate one sentence from the next. It must’ve been tiring to listen to me. I however punctuated it with eyebrow-raising and nose-wrinkling and goofy grins with vocal affectations to make sure I don’t lose her. She listened on, always with a smile, always with support, always with love. When it was her turn to tell her story, she started with a heavy sigh and a look that tried to conceal all she was carrying. I let her know that it was okay for her to reveal all or something or nothing. I looked at her with a smile, with all the support, with all my love. She was with a friend. She can feel safe now.

Safe as well in the knowledge that while we have lived very different lives, we have also lived parallel stories. Stories of people who have deceived us or manipulated us. Stories about losing our real selves and finding them again. Stories of dreams we used to have or dreams that we may now be living or dreams that we are still running after. Stories about stories that continue to give us comfort and assurance that despite the distance, the time differences, the differences in schedules and choices and strings of solitary lunches, we are not going through these things alone.

We are not alone.