Loop

7

"Ladies and gentlemen, kindly straighten up your seats and pull your window shades up. Please also put your seat belts back on as we will be landing in about ten minutes. On behalf of CebuPacificAir, this is Captain Fortich, thanking you for flying with us. We hope to see you in one of our future flights. Salamat and welcome to Manila."

RJ opens his eyes and turns to peer at the darkness outside his window. Manila is nothing but a blanket of a thousand yellow and red stars beneath him.There is no more turbulence, no more panic, and no more flickering lights. Despite a heavy heart, he manages a sigh of relief. This is no longer a dream. Home. Finally, I am home.

He glances at the seat beside him.

Empty.

He checks the seats behind him and finds them empty as well. The last flight from Cebu to Manila is as sparse as he remembers.

"Miss?" He motions to the flight attendant who has just strapped herself in her own seat.

She looks up at him and beams. "Yes, sir?"

"Yung babaeng katabi ko...asan siya?."

She arches an eyebrow, amused. "I'm sorry, sir, pero ikaw lang ang passenger sa row mo."

His gulps. "Sure ka, Miss?"

"Yes, sir. Seat 1F is your usual, pero wala po kayong katabi."

"Oh, ok. Salamat, Miss..."

"MJ po. Trainee niyo po ako dati."

"Thank you, MJ."

"You're welcome, Mr. Faulkerson."

An inexplicable wave of sadness washes over him. He suddenly misses her, his heart aching for what never was and will no longer be. He runs his hand through his hair, trying valiantly to bring his thoughts to the cold reality of the present, but fails miserably. How is it even possible to miss someone you never knew?

He slumps back into his chair, exhaling loudly as he tries to forget the last thirty minutes of his life. I'm here now. This is reality. Everything else had been a dream. All of them horrible dreams. Maine, the bracelet, the kisses, the ring...all figments of his imagination. He makes a mental note to check with the company doctor as soon as they would land. But if I'm going to go out of my mind, it'would be all right as long as she'd still in it, he realizes sadly.

The plane lands smoothly despite the rains. He glances at his watch to see that it is still stuck at ten minutes to midnight. Great, he thinks. Sira pa 'tong relo ko. He turns his cellphone on and texts Timong, his usual cabbie, and instructs him to wait at Bay 8.

As soon as the cabin door opens, RJ stands up and grabs his bag from the overhead compartment. He strides down the quiet tube, fully determined to go straight home and get some much needed sleep. He would sleep for two days straight, probably filing a vacation leave for the first time this year just to do so. His soft, warm, dark bed called to him, and he planned not wake up until everything was back to normal-- that is, if he still knew what normal was.

But as soon as he gets to the end of the glass tunnel, he finds himself pausing to scan the faces of the passengers walking past him, hoping to see a brown-haired girl and her smile.

She is nowhere to be found.

RJ, get a grip. He shakes his head and turns his heels. Maybe things would be clearer in the morning, and if he were lucky, maybe he'd forget everything by then. No one wants to remember a story as painful as that.

In this rain, he surmises that it would probably take him half an hour to get out of the airport grounds. He starts to make his way through the familiar corridors, trying to shake off the dull ache in his chest. The white, sterile walls of NAIA close in on him as he runs his fingers over its stainless steel handrails. He looks at the wide expanse of fluorescent lights over him and feels that everything has shifted. The walls around him are no longer welcoming, the hum around him alienating. This airport now feels different. The joy he usually feels upon stepping into its wide open spaces is no longer there.

Up until he met her in his dreams, he had always thought he was entirely happy. The knowledge that he had reached the top somehow left him assured, but not satisfied. He may make it in the future as a senior vice president, but now, even that seems empty, almost trivial.

The airport no longer feels like home. Now, the very first time in his life he sees his workplace for what it truly is: lonely.

He sighs and walks out of the sliding doors, into the quiet of the empty waiting bays. Timong, his regular cabbie, is waiting by one of the columns with a smile. "Good evening, sir RJ."

RJ opens the door of the cab and crashes into the backseat, his heart and body exhausted in ways he didn't even know was possible.

"Wala na pong naiwan sir?" Timong asks.

Find me again.

Her voice again. He closes his eyes as he contemplates a world without her.

Find me again.

"Timong, um...teka lang. May naiwan ako sa loob."

"Hintayin ba kita, sir?"

Find me again.

"Wag na po. Pasensya na, kuya." He grabs his bag and bolts back into the airport. The guards let him back in without question, amused at seeing their head trainer hasten through security like a man on fire.

He finds himself furtively studying every inch of the ground floor, looking for anyone with long brown hair. He rushes past the passengers pushing their trolleys and other tired souls sleeping in the corners. Some of them glance up in surprise as they watch this handsome, well-dressed man sprint from one end of the airport to another. He scans the faces of people in the corridors, food kiosks, escalators, and shops. He remembers the book: eleven universes, eleven possibilities. Never in his life had he desperately wanted a physicist's mad theorem to be true. So maybe, just maybe, there is a brown-haired girl with a silver bracelet here. And I will find her again.

After nearly half an hour of searching, he pauses to catch his breath. She is not in the corridors or in any of the employee lounges. She is not in any shop or boarding area. There is no trace of her from Gates 110 to 135. He hasn't seen anyone resembling her at all. He gulps as he realizes the futility of his attempt.

Pucha, RJ. Get a grip. Really get a grip this time. It was all dream. Just one big, elaborate dream. You won't find her because she doesn't exist. Even if there were eleven universes, she isn't in this one. Go home.

There is a world without her, and he is living in it.

He finally pays heed to his rational thoughts and slumps down on an empty metal bench, burying his face in his hands. Now breathless and exhausted, he finds himself praying for his sanity to come back. I really need to see a doctor. I really need to see dad. I really need to sleep.

I am going out of my mind.

Suddenly, he hears a soft, uncertain voice behind him.

"Sir?"