A Change

Dream Sequence: I was rushing back to my hotel after a late night dinner outside. My vehicle only got me up to a certain point. Then I had to walk past the queue of tricycles to get to the hotel gate. It was a full moon night and the clear sky cast a soft glow on the tricycles' clunky metal bodies. Everything looked blue-gray, but luminous. A few drivers watched me walk by. I was wearing a red, knee length, short-sleeved, A-line cotton dress, buttoned from the waist up, with tiny white polka dot prints, and this made me doubly conscious. I sauntered past the gilded gates and skipped up the stone steps leading to the lobby. It was a wide expanse of stairs, eerily like the steps in front of the Daraga Church. There was an event at the lobby and a dozen or so people spilled over from the grand entrance but still faced the stage, attuned to the program that seemed to be winding down. It was surprisingly quiet; no shrieking emcees or loud music. No raucous laughter. A few steps up, I noticed an old man, thin like a hanger, with longish graying hair jutting out in upturned waves from his ratty baseball cap. He was standing a meter from me, looking out in the direction of the gate but at nothing in particular and singing Sam Cooke's "A Change is Gonna Come". A few levels above him, I stopped for a second and looked back. He wasn't blind but he didn't seem to notice me. For a split second, I had the urge to speak to him but I didn't want to disturb the soulful way he was singing the tune. I considered staying a while but it was late, the words of his song rattled in some hallow part of my gut and I felt spaghetti and meatballs rising up my esophagus. Anyway, I reluctantly made my way through the throng of people to the elevator and punched my floor. The old man's voice clung to my fingers like sticky honey.