a long walk back

she caught up to me, panting. her cheeks blotched from the sprint.
"i changed my mind," she said, "i'd walk with you."
i smiled.
"want me to carry some of your books?"
"no. it's ok."
the street was quiet. the kids had already been fetched up and the bus just rounded the bend.
"it's gonna rain soon. your dad may not like to see you go home soaked."
"they always treat me like i'm still their baby. i hate it."

we walked, pleated checkered white and green skirts clinging to legs. black shoes, white socks, white shirtjack, dark sky, green grass, white cogon flowers.

thin drops of rain fell. i looked at her. she was looking up at the sky.
"you knew it's gonna rain. why did you want to walk home?"
"i love taking walks. my mind wanders free. besides the air smells cleaner when it rains."
i stretched out my arms. "see? free!" and laughing we ran for the nearest shed.

in those times love came easy- in the tear-shaped drops of rain, in the laughter blown by the wind, in the rustling bamboo leaves.

last summer i went back to that childhood place of ours. many years have passed and too many things have come between us. i stood at the head of the long, winding sidewalk, where she caught me that day. i stared and tried to see
pleated white and green checkered skirt clinging to legs, white socks, black shoes, green grass, white cogon flowers. the bamboo trees across the first bend on the road looked the same, the trees lining the sidewalk, even the sky and the sea smells and the silence of the late afternoon.

i turned back and decided to take the bus.
somethings cannot be brought back.