Rick

"So, anong pangalan mo?"

"Ryan," was my automatic reply.

"Totoo mo bang pangalan 'yan?"

"Hindi."

He laughed at my brutal honesty. I laughed, too: It was easier to tell the truth than coming up with a made-up name. It's not that I wanted him to ask, or to get interested with something so trivial a name even, but I simply knew what to do when the moment does come, like what it did last night. I gave a fake name. I lied. It felt so natural, because it was but natural.

We walked through the shadows, making one for each of ourselves along the sidelines as we did. He introduced himself as Rick. I felt obliged to ask, in respect of how conversations naturally flow, or of how information is expected to be given in exchange of another. But I opted to ask, because in light of what transpired earlier that night, the tongue was only supposed to wrap, to lick, to suck---not to talk much. But at that moment, talking can't be avoided, or else we'd get swallowed by the darkness of our own shadows.

As the lamp post highlighted the glow of deceiving innocence in his face, I tried my luck one last time.

"Tara, check in?" I let my gaze fall onto the direction of the several motels lining the road parallel to ours.

He laughed once again, this time with a tinge of excitement mixed with apprehension. He previously shared how such places make him extremely uncomfortable. He preferred the saunas, but its high temperatures amplified by the heat of our own bodies won't make him hard enough. It won't make me hard enough, either.

Several buses came into view as we reached the end of the road. It was time to say goodbye.

"Well, see you when I see you," I said.

"Yes. Thanks ha. Ingat." He offered a fist bump.

He took a bus and I took another, traveling the same road but never intending to see each other again.