Monday dawn, Erik.
I board the bus, and there he is, Erik Santos, sitting at the second to the last row on the right, staring out the window. Pouting. And mad at me. I silently made my way down the aisle, down the rows of empty, shiny red seats. He looks at me. There's this pleading look in his eyes, like he did something wrong and wants me to forgive him. And I feel this overwhelming feeling of ... guilt. I sit beside him. We don't talk for a few minutes. His father then boards the bus. I turn to him to say, "Upo na lang ako sa kabila. So you can talk with your dad." He nods.
I sit at the other end, looking out the window, but really watching their reflection. Someone nudges me, it's Gary Valenciano. He leans over and asks, "Away ba kayo?" I whisper back, "No. Moody lang siya uli." Gary V. nods, understanding the situation. Then he says, "Patingin nga ng mini I-pod mo?"
Then I wake up.
First time I dream of Erik and we're fighting pa. Just my luck.