Gray, Whispers and Smoke

I. the heart is chained down while the thoughts ran free

It wasn't a necessity then, and it probably still not one, but the man sitting across him wore a mask. His eyes were downcast as one hand tapped on his phone while the other clung loosely on the handrail. Two schoolgirls rode shotgun, conversing about the afternoon series they missed. As the jeepney finally moved another inch, Gray went back to reading his book.

Reading is not something he always does in such a place. Most of the time, Gray would rather sit there with watchful eyes, as if he found the traffic worth watching. On occasions, he'd be listening to Aline's seemingly endless stories. That is, when he got the chance to ride home with her. However, Aline isn't with him. This lingering thought and the bleak afternoon's drag compelled him to do otherwise. So Gray skimmed through the pages of the familiar book, rereading sentences like a distant memory in replay.

As Gray continued to read the 9th chapter, thoughts, questions, still ran at the back of his mind. At the rate things are going, what time would he get home? Which homework should he do first? What would he do after a few minutes of rest? Would he be able to rest at all? The thoughts grinded on, until Gray flipped to the next page, and the hum of the engine, the roar of motors jetting past them, all faded from his consciousness.

So where do I go from here?

Gray stares at the words for a moment, heaved a sigh, and closed the book. He's done reading, he decides. The jeepney once again stopped and the driver cursed in between gritted teeth. The traffic isn't coming to an end anytime soon and skies were made darker by the ominous clouds. Gray excuses himself and rides off for an aimless walk.

It wasn't exactly aimless since Gray is supposedly headed home. He's headed home. But as the words flashed in his mind again, he's not exactly sure anymore.

A violent cloud of smoke from the grill blocked his eyes. Gray steps aside for a moment as he allowed his vision to clear. Just then, a group of people in varying ages walked past him from the opposing direction, looking down as they tried to evade the same smoke. Out of ten, he counted six people with plugs in their ears. He reached into his pocket for his earplugs and phone as he was compelled to do the same.

Listening to music is not something he always does in such a place. Most of the time, Gray walks with long, sure strides, his senses alert to his surroundings, like he had a set objective from his very first step and nothing can stop him from reaching it. On occasions, he'd walk leisurely in silence as he follows Aline's petit figure and small steps. Aline, of course, isn't with him now and his nails dig into his palms as he clenched his fist at the thought. Gray selects a Coldplay track and continued his walk with hesitant steps.

It's infuriating and at the same time quite comical to see how the sidewalk rush progressed more than the highway's. It's as if one could actually reach their destinations faster by feet. The skies had grown darker and a flash of lightning momentarily splits them into two. People rushed. Umbrellas opened like sunflowers ironically blooming at the absence of sun. Gray was torn away from his aimless walk and was forced by the rain to seek shelter in a familiar coffee shop.

This coffee shop, he realized, is Aline's favorite.

It's staggering how memory dictates immediate decisions.

Gray ordered a cup and settled into the usual booth.

It's been a while.

How long does a while usually last? Gray couldn't find an answer, so he sat there, looking at the seat across him until the line between his memories and the reality faded enough for him to see Aline sitting across him just like any other night.

Aline, the girl who lives next door, was his friend. The one he'd consider as the closest to the point that people teased them about going out with each other. He had known her for a while and if Gray was to be honest, he had thought about it, about dating Aline. It wasn't that he's not brave enough to lay the question down. It's the claim Aline had made.

"I know love," she said as a matter of fact. "I know love and I am interested in love in all of its forms. But romantic love—I just couldn't say anything for sure. I mean, I know that I love my family, and I love you as a friend, and I love everyone else in the same manner you love others ordinarily. Romantic love, however," she trailed off before laughing at herself, for the time it took her before saying anything, and for all of the romance novels she had read and she still had not figured out if she would ever have romance for herself. "I just don't know. Is it something learned? I wish I could learn that."

This was the same coffee shop where Aline gave him the book he had read a while ago. The book of, as she had quoted, "A writer of who's an outcast to the literature of his own language." And he could bet his lunch money that Aline could defend why. She won over him on most of their debates. Not that it was their intention, but most of their talks end up into debates, and they found nothing wrong in that.

It was when his coffee was finally served and he realized his solitude when his mind selected a certain memory to unfold before him. It was the night when he appeared to be just as alone. Aline wasn't with him, but she called him out of routine, and he listened to her voice through the same earplugs he's wearing.

"And you know something amazing about art?" She asked rhetorically. Gray hummed, encouraging her to go on, and thus she proceeded, "Art allows for us to let our monsters loose in a way that doesn't damage others, and neither does it damage you. And really, monsters should be let loose. They're not something you'd be happy to keep around, nor should you keep them inside you."

A question forms but Gray shuns the idea as soon as he had it. He's done listening, he decides. His coffee left unfinished, Gray headed for the terminal. The rain had turned into a soft drizzle, but he still opened an umbrella as he crossed the street. He rides the first tricycle and was expecting to reach his apartment in a matter of minutes, but the vehicle comes to a halt too soon. Gray is once again stuck and was left with no choice but to wait.

Inevitably, the words came back to him.

So where do I go from here?

Gray bit his lower lip. Why does a single question from a book he didn't own bother him so much? It was just a work of fiction from a man he barely knew and yet there he was, feeling lost more than ever because of a sentence. His chest was simultaneously hollow and dragged down by a dead weight within. Perhaps, it wasn't exactly because of the sentence. It had always been there, and the words only emphasized its existence.

Cramped in the charity seat, he stared at the horizon, his thoughts running free. The words caught him of guard and the question came.

Was art not enough?

He'd like to ask Aline if he had the chance. If art was a way of letting ones monsters loose then wasn't it enough for her? Gray caught himself and so he stops, and the rest of his question lodged itself in his throat.

He takes a deep breath. 

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