Katrina Labra

stories

What Happens Tomorrow

Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and hit the snooze button. In the next 10 minutes, I will do so again and finally, open my eyes. ‘’Today, it is’’ I will say. I’d grab my backpack, bite on my granola bar while tying my shoelaces, run downstairs, and feed Nugget with her 2-dollar dog biscuits. When the door swings open, I’ll sprint as fast as I can. The wind will be on my shoulders, caving into the back of my neck. I will run into puddles and splashes of water will soak up the bottoms of my jeans. It will be cold and moist.

Tomorrow, I will meet you on the train station and you’ll be waiting for me in your black, over-sized sweater. My hair will dangle everywhere and my sweat marathons down the nape of my neck and through my shirt. In which, I will wipe them away hurriedly and carefully.

People sitting across, people running through. The lady announces the train’s departure. The blind man continues to strum his guitar.

Tomorrow, you will talk to me. While I catch my breath, my heart pounds a million times than it ever did until last year’s phonecall. You’ll continue to tell me stories and gossips. I’ll continue to listen.

The train will be packed. With I, silent. And you, indifferent.

Tomorrow, we’ll arrive to where we’re supposed to go. You’ll lead the way. I’ll follow. I might get a few scratches here and there, but the pain don’t feel as much, no more. You’ll rest your bag under the sicamore tree and say ‘We’re finally here.’

The birds will sing. While the time is ticking.

Tomorrow, I’ll ask you if you still think about her. ‘Her?’ you’ll say. ‘Whoever,’ I’ll reply.

Tomorrow, you’ll think. About her. About me. About whoever.

Tomorrow, I’ll know. You’ll know. But we’ll never say a thing.