By Jing Villamil
HAVE you been loved more than you loved back?
She did not kneel to Saint Jude and tuck Him a note, to send her one to love. Nor did she ask kins or friends to search the world for her, for one to love.
In truth of fact (oh ha? may truth na, may fact pa!), she did not need, nor want, a male in her life, at this time. Cross her heart and hope to die. Err; to live! Her eyes did not plead, her lips did not mouth the “please” word.
Her feet did not stomp the ground “give me give me!” And her “id” – deep where it lodged in her brain – did not steam, much more scream, for one to love!
But then, he came. He saw. He won. And he is with her to stay.
It was love at first sight. For him. Not for her. And if she had a choice in this tale so true, she would have none of him. A long time back, she had stopped to count the deaths she had died, and the new lives to which she was re-born.
That was why, when his eyes first talked to her of love, and all that la-di-da, she shrugged, she shook her head. She sighed “let us see, let us see”.
So he let her, he made her – see! And feel! When he hugged her, he would stand tall, more proud than he had a right to be. And how he hugged her! He wrapped tight his arms round her.
Then he would hold her head firm and keep her still. Then he would kiss her – wet and soft and sweet licks – on her lips, face, neck. (Cut here; not for kids.)
And not only did he hugged and kissed well. Oh, how he served her!
From work, she would faint straight to sleep, face flat, on her bed. This sweet male would teeth off her shoes and socks. Then he would punch on the cool air.
He would wait for her to stir, though the wait would take most of the night. He would lay spread out a good inch from her. Or he would sit on his haunch on the floor to watch, that he might drive out her ghosts when they come. His hulk must have scared them. They let her, and him, be.
When she woke up, he would be first to greet her back with a smile as big, or more, than the rest of his huge face. And soon, he would lay, too, on the bed with her. On her! To pat, to nudge, and to plop a plump damp kiss here and there. (Cut here; not for kids.)
When they took a walk, eyes would pop and watch where they go and what they do. The girls gape; their Moms gawk. The boys wink a wish, but grown men shied in fear. How could he have won her? She was so pint-sized; he, a great dark hulk!
She claims she is king of her fate. He proves her right. She is his king. For a while. This while. A long, long while.
In case you have not grasped this yet . . .
Her lab is her black Lab-ra-dor.
(WRITER’S NOTE: This is the monosyllabic version of “My Lab” written & published in 2009.)
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