drowning in the chatter at an unplanned dinner among work acquaintances tonight, i suddenly miss a childhood friend.
he took me fishing one day in his father's outrigger. the sun was naked and the sea fulgent. he rowed and rowed without talking. until we reached a cove no map perhaps could name. i was awed by how he knew where he was going, listening only to the songs of the waves.
we dropped our baits and dozed while waiting for fish to bite. i remember the warm water nibbling my left hand, the one i dangled from the side of the boat.
must have been hours later, he patted my head like rousing a crabby child from his siesta. then, he pointed at a fin, a strangely mottled shark's fin, spearing the suddenly glassy surface of the sea.
he shushed me when i must have said something, anything to rinse away the tremble bubbling in my chest. then he rowed and rowed without talking. until we could see their nipa shack on the coast line looming like a green shadow from another world.
and i remember the coldness of sweat sluicing down my back and of my friend saying things i don't have any understanding of.
