bopis

Reming’s warnings were up when the three Aguinaldo men went out to watch Casino Royale. One bought the tickets, another shelled out for snacks, and father took care of coffee. I imagined that such a night won’t ever happen again, a night of tropical depression laughter and the nostalgia of elementary school day floods. We made jokes, one about how the storm was more spiritual than anything else. Laughs about the common stupidity: no one brought an umbrella. Then we ran in the rain, laughed some more. But of course, I thought, we had a sturdy roof to come home to. Even if we didn’t catch a jeep or cab and had to walk the whole way, we would have gotten nothing more than chill troubles and fun. What was the place of such a thought as those about the unroofed and suffering at such a good time? It was a night charged with the thrill of some threat yet the solid confidence: we’ll get through, see, we’ve done it when we were younger. Bond always wins. As for this film, one of us liked it, another was disappointed, another half-loved it. Or was it half-hated? I wondered: how would a fourth would find the movie? My son or my brother’s, I mean. Would he ruin the future possibility of such a night, mute our laughs, slow our steps, endue us with much more caution than was happy? Then it occurred to me, maybe we three already achieved some Euclidean equilibrium with the night and the weather. Possibly a balance that a next generation Aguinaldo would have ruined. Still I asked myself: when would we have the young one? Even with the thought of a possibly perfect stretch of years with such movie nights offering a silent spine to us three, I still want this fourth. No matter where it will come from. Even if maybe from the sisters. Maybe better if so. Even if maybe this fourth would drain us of such moments, maybe deprive us of a night as that last with the proper care of the running elder, the ready ear for each other, the well-placed disagreements. Three of us were silent desires. Our fourth, if captive of the rain with us, would have become our center. Our only concern. The fourth would come home the least wet, the most tickled. Great how an unborn possibility could have such bright prospects.

Etiquetas: woman19