This Kent Be Happening To Me!

To fully know who Kent is, listen to the May-December Fabcast, part three. Go ahead, listen first if you haven’t yet. I spent hours producing the damn thing; perhaps you could set aside around 30 minutes of your time to listen to it.

* * * * *

Kent and I were texting each other before I left the house for Bed. I was inviting him to join me, but his parents wouldn’t allow him out of the house. I wanted to dance; he wanted to dance with me. In the course of our texting, I had to remind him: “If it becomes a problem to you at hindi mo na kaya, just tell me. Okay?”

While I was trying to dance, I received the following text from Kent: “I realized I can’t continue na yata whatever we have. I like you that much… maybe a little more and I’ll fall for you na. And I know I shouldn’t cuz I’ll just break this whole thing.”

Well! Try dancing with that on your mind.

I was trying to compose a reply when I bumped into P. He’s my officemate and since we’re the only two who are openly out in the office, he’s become a good friend of mine. I couldn’t help it. I had to show him Kent’s text to me.

“OMG! Who is this?!” P yelled at me above the thumping music.

“The more interesting question is, ‘How old is he?’” I replied.

“Lemme guess!” P volunteered. “Uhm… 19?”

My eyes grew wide. Damn, he got it on his first guess. “Korek!” I yelled.

P couldn’t help but scream. “OMG! He’s so young! He’s not yet mature!”

I tried to defend myself, saying that I made it clear beforehand to Kent what my expectations were.

“Still!” P yelled at me. “He’s still not that mature! And you’re the older one!” Hmmm, P’s got a point there.

Then P joked, “Lucky you, you get to have 19-year olds! Me, I don’t have any!” I slapped him on his shoulder. “Hey!” I said, “This isn’t easy for me, you know. Be thankful you don’t have any problems.”

P shook his finger at me. “Basta he’s just 19! He’s not that mature yet! And you’re the older one!” he repeated.

So I moved off to one side and sent Kent the following message: “Honestly I felt sad when I got your text. I really like you too, although I’m not looking to jump into a relationship as immediately as you. But I appreciate and respect your feelings. And I’ll even help you move on.”

* * * * *

More than an hour and a bottle of San Mig Lite later, there was still no reply from Kent. I was dancing by myself near the ledge when a guy passed in front of me and, out of the blue, turned to me and said, “I really like your blog!”

The music was so loud I didn’t quite hear what he said. Besides, he looked cute. So I yelled back, “Excuse me? What did you say?”

“I said I like your blog!” he repeated. Damn, he’s really cute. And like always whenever I’m faced with someone cute, my inner torpe kicked in.

“Thanks!” I yelled back, and patted his shoulder as he moved off.

“‘Thanks’?!” I thumped myself mentally on the head.

A few minutes later he came back with his two friends. I smiled at him as he passed by; he smiled back. I picked up the courage and blurted out, “Do you blog too?”

“Nah,” he replied.

My inner torpe proved difficult to shake off. “So how did you stumble upon my blog?” I asked. Jeez, Joel! How lame.

“I think from MGG,” he replied.

I just nodded. He went back to dancing with his friends. So I decided to just block off everything and just dance.

After several songs, he and his friends decided to go to get drinks. As he passed in front of me, I grabbed his hand and said, “Sorry I didn’t quite get your name.” He told me his name. And I said, “Next time leave a comment on my blog.” He said yes and moved on to follow his friends at the bar.

* * * * *

I went to the bar area to get myself another bottle of beer. I saw him and his friends around that area, drinks in hand. His two friends moved away a bit, which gave me an opening. I went up to him and said, “Cheers!”

He smiled and we clinked bottle to glass. He looked adorable.

Then he turned to me and said, “You look adorable in person.” Good lord, and he even beat me to the punch! “Thanks,” I said. “I don’t get that a lot. In fact, I’m often told I look masungit.”

I had to get one thing out of the way first. “How old are you?” I asked. “Guess!” he said.

I looked at him closely. “You look young,” I said. “22?”

He smiled and nodded. “23,” he corrected me, and my mental calculator immediately went to work. A 20-year age gap… eep! But at least our age gap was smaller than the number of years he’s been in existence.

“So what do you do?” I asked him. And we continued our small talk until I spied his friends coming back. During the lull in our conversation I saw P, who was seated near the bar. He looked quite tipsy, so I excused myself for a bit and went up to him.

I placed my hand in front of P’s face, with one finger up. “How many?” I asked. P just grabbed my finger and shook his head. “I wanna go home!” P said. Then he stood up and approached me, wobbling on his feet. That’s when P came face to face with him, who had moved closer to the table to put down his drink. I don’t remember now who talked to whom first; the music was so loud I couldn’t hear them speaking. But all I remember now is P saying something like, “Oh so you play there too?” or something like that. Apparently they had something in common. From their body language I could tell they introduced themselves to each other. And that’s when P’s friends swooped in and took matters into their own hands. One of them grabbed him and P by their shoulders and pushed the two together. I heard P’s friend say, “He doesn’t go out much!”

I made a hasty retreat and stepped away.

I looked at the go-go boys and other shirtless dancers on the ledge. I tried to keep my eyes on them but after a while I couldn’t help myself and turned around in their direction.

He had his arm around P’s waist, and they were talking animatedly, their faces close to each other. I looked away again. I got my body to move to the beat. Lady Gaga was singing, “Just dance!” and I heeded her call. But after a few minutes I just had to look back again.

He and P were kissing.

I moved away and tried to finish off my beer in one gulp. My mind was on overdrive, thoughts racing one after the other: how much closer their ages are to one another; they are almost the same height; they look good together; how presumptuous I was when he first approached me. One phrase kept coming back: “connecting people.” Hello Bed, I’m McNokia.

And that’s when I made my decision.

I went to the DJ’s booth. DJ Brian had already left, and DJ Toy was the one spinning. I kissed him on the cheek and said, “Just paying my respects to the DJ!” Then I said goodbye to couple of people I know.

Lastly I went up to him and P, who were now holding hands. “I’m leaving,” I told them both. He was taken aback that I knew P. I shook his hand first then I leaned forward to whisper in his ear: “P’s my officemate and friend. He’s a good guy, you’re in good hands.”

Then I turned to P, who was surprised that I knew his companion. I pulled P a short distance away and said, “There! You asked for it, you got it.” And I punched him playfully on the stomach, little too hard though—P doubled up in surprise.

I think P was still reeling from the alcohol, the kissing and my sudden punch in his stomach. “Is he the 19-year old?” he asked. “No! Of course not!” I exclaimed in shock. P looked relieved.

“O sha, I gotta go,” I bid my farewell.

* * * * *

In the car I kept my emotions in check. Then it occurred to me: Hey! I have the right to have my dramatic crying fit too, you know. I can do emo! So I tried to feel bad and let the tears flow. But then it occurred to me that I looked stupid hurtling down Roxas Blvd with my face all scrunched up, so I stopped that nonsense.

Then I received Kent’s text message: “I don’t know if what I texted you was the right thing. Ngayon ko lang nabasa text mo.”

Good lord. Kent and I really need to talk.

* * * * *

Thank god P does not watch this show. And you, you know who you are. I know you’ll read this, so please do me a favor. Kindly don’t tell P about this episode, okay?