Songs to Get Over You (Playlist #2)

by Jay E. Tria

  “Of course he has listeners.” Kim placed a pacifying hand on Nino’s back, thumping hard. He had been fielding this sarcastic question for an hour now, and to Kim’s credit, he’d been putting on a good show of patience. “What do you call those people who called in to request for songs?”

  “From the first two albums,” Nino put in, eyebrow rising.

  “Or called to ask what we were wearing?” Kim went on.

  “Inside our pants.” Nino sulked.

  Son burst out laughing, his loud cackles a stark contrast to the petulant look on Nino’s face. “Weird, super fun listeners,” Son managed to say through teeth biting down the straw of his banana milk. “Isn’t Diego awesome?”

  After an hour or so of questions, awkward answers, and five songs—unplugged and acoustic, yes; 11 songs, no—Trainman had rushed out of the studio, squeezed themselves into the first elevator, and walked two blocks until they found this cramped Mini Stop on the ground floor of an old office building. Two blocks and seven floors down should be enough distance between them and DJ Diego.

  They sat in a row on the narrow table facing the street, in full view of the late night Makati City traffic, the glass wall of the store the only thing separating them from the gray smoke and light rain outside. An assortment of junk food and Nino’s old drumsticks were spread out in front of them.

  “He makes DJ-ing look like you only have to be a jerk with an American accent to do the job.” Nino shook his head, his mouth full of extra spicy barbeque potato chip. “I can totally be a DJ.”

  “High five for a backup plan!” Son put his wide palm up. Nino flashed him a small grin, meeting Son’s hand with a loud snap.

  Kim hunched over, elbows sticking out of his folded arms as he drank his orange soda with a straw. “I really appreciate how you’re all making this promotional tour thing very easy for me. Thanks, guys.”

  “If it was easy, it wouldn’t be this much fun,” Son declared.

  “And if anyone was being difficult, that would be Miki.” Nino turned his chip-crunching and his sulky mood to him, dipping his head so he could see Miki across from Kim. “How hard is it to play a song that survived three years in your music player? You must really like it. I haven’t had a relationship that lasted that long.”

  “That’s because you’re dysfunctional, Nino. In your heart.” Jill beat a fist against her chest before throwing a tissue ball straight at Nino’s face. “We love you.”

  “Aww, come on, Jill. Stop.” Nino flicked a potato chip right back at her. “I’m pretty sure Shinta could be the jealous type.”

  “We were taking the piss at Miki,” Son reminded his partner in crime.

  “Oh right,” Nino agreed.

  Kim turned his entire torso to face Miki, effectively blocking the view of him from Nino and Son before they went at him again. “We’re going to have to play it soon, you know,” he said, using his leader-of-the-band voice. “It’s the title track after all.”

  Trainman had been making the rounds of radio stations, college organization concerts, mall events, and bar gigs the past month or so, promoting their new album. Their schedule was so full, Mars had to buy a new notebook so he could accommodate all the dates. It was exhausting but exhilarating work, and Kim (though stern by default, because he was Kim) knew better than to take their gripes to heart. Each person crammed together along this table was living the teenage dream, and was very happy to continue working for it.

  Miki was as thrilled as the rest of them, taking the stage and facing growing crowds with their brand new songs. He just wasn’t ready for that particular track to be on rotation.

  “Okay. I know. I just haven’t practiced it in a while,” Miki repeated to Kim, eyes on his hands. “I didn’t want to mess it up.”

  “You’ll be fine.” Jill squeezed his wrist and let go. “I love that song.”

  “You say that about every song he puts out,” Nino scoffed, and the potato chip and soiled tissue wars resumed.

  It was good timing too. Miki could grip his arm where Jill had touched it without anyone noticing. He stared out the grimy glass wall separating them from traffic outside, thinking about the lyrics that of course he had not forgotten. That of course, were not about Nino.

  He wasn’t sure why he held back sharing the song with the band for years, why he waited for their third album before he finally let it out, even while Jill continued to pester him about it. Every other song he had written after that was, well, also not about Nino. But he had vivid memories to match the lyrics of To the Moon. Each verse was a well-documented memory.

  Of Jill and him dancing to the set of a New Wave revival band inside a tiny bar in Katipunan. Jill tipsy from one tequila shot too many, pirouetting on the curb, his hand on hers keeping her upright. Jill on the hood of his car, crying because of a fight with Kim. Her falling asleep while he was still talking, trying to tell her things she needed to hear.

  “I’m pretty sure the stupid song isn’t even that good.”

  “What are you mumbling about over there?” Jill nudged Miki’s rib with a sharp elbow. Looked like her war with Nino was over. “I think I need to raise that banana cue to a cup of instant noodles. Hold on.”

  Jill bolted up, stumbling on her first step and almost flattening her nose against the convenience store’s door when it flew open.

  “Oh God. I’m so sorry.”

  The bold, vibrant voice jerked a knot at Miki’s navel.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. I’m just…a klutz.” Jill grunted out laughter. Then she seemed to have recognized Ana too. “Oh, hi! It’s you! Hello, um…”

  Or maybe just her face.

  “Ana,” Ana supplied. Was that an ironic note in her voice? Her eyes quickly found Miki. She flashed him an open grin as she grasped Jill’s hand.

  “Right. Ana. Sorry.” Jill gave her a sheepish little smile, returning Ana’s grip for a quick shake. “I knew that. It’s just that I’m really terrible with—”

  “People,” Miki cut in.

  Miki had never moved that fast in his life. He almost topped his stool over, hitting his shoulder on the shelf of imported pretzels and local tortilla chips as he went, sending a few bags of junk food to meet the floor. It seemed really important that he reach that space between Jill, door, and Ana at the soonest possible instant. Now he filled that space, trying to lean casually against the magazine rack as Jill glowered at him.

  “Names,” she said. “I’m terrible with names.”

  “She’s terrible with new people, actually,” Miki amended, turning his wide grin from Jill to Ana. “But she’s really great with old ones.”

  “I’m sure.” Ana’s eyes were twinkling in a way that Miki had missed. In the two seconds it took for him to realize that, Ana had stepped forward to touch his cheek a quick kiss. “Hello there, stranger.”

  “Hi,” he mumbled back, the knot in his navel jerking again.

  Ana kept a soft grip on his arm as she turned to wave at the rest of the band. “Hi guys!”

  “Hi Ana,” Kim, Son, and Nino chorused.

  Miki could feel the guys’ gazes burning a hole through his shirt. Or maybe it was his face that was on fire. He wasn’t sure; his brain was too knotted to figure it out.

  “It’s been a while,” Ana was saying. “I heard you guys on the radio.”

  “Wasn’t DJ Diego awesome?” Son cheered, clapping his hands.

  “He gets more and more obnoxious each night, but I think he asks all the right questions.” Ana beamed right back.

  “So it’s true?” Nino blurted out, eyebrows in the air. “He has listeners?”

  “Sure,” Ana confirmed with a firm nod. “Strike 11 is a good resource for your kind of music.”

  “You make it sound like we sing in an alien language,” Kim deadpanned. He stared Ana down, both elbows propped on the table, chin on his hands.

  “It’s just that Ana prefers R&B and pop,” Miki burst out, recognizing Kim’s leader-of-
the-band voice again, tuned to its full-on defensive setting. He returned Ana’s warm grin with a small smile. “And Zedd and Sheppard types, right?”

  Son slapped a hand on the table, sending crumbs flying. “I love that kind of music too!”

  “Don’t worry,” Jill said to Ana. “Who knows? We might be sprinkling some of that mashup on our next album. Wait for it.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Ana went on, looking at them all in turn but zooming in on Kim. “I mean, your music is a good resource for your kind of music.”

  “Nice backpedal.” Kim gave her a curt nod, lifting his can of Coke in the air. “Cheers.”

  “To your good health,” Ana returned, giggling. “Anyway, if you must know I actually tuned in to catch you guys when I should be concentrating on my tax deadlines. Then I stalked you here. What else do you want from a fan?”

  Nino and Son raised their drinks to the air for a cheers too, grinning back at Ana, and Miki had a full view of the leer they soon flashed at him. He had forgotten to be annoyed though, because Ana’s hand had slipped down his arm to meet with his, and it was a perfect fit.

  “Hem.” Jill’s eyebrow was cocked in a dangerous angle, but her mouth was holding in a smile. Her gaze followed the trail as Miki pulled Ana’s hand to hide it behind him.

  “What?” he muttered.

  “What?” Jill echoed, eyes wide and innocent, twinkling in a way that Miki knew very well. She turned back to Ana. “I say you deserve some instant noodles too. Hold on.” Jill pivoted and skipped away, leaving the limbo she had been sharing with Miki, Ana, and the door.

  Now Miki was left with Ana, the door held ajar, and the muffled sound of the rain pattering on the pavement outside. He stumbled, the back of his thigh hitting the hard plastic of the table where Kim, Nino, and Son could hear the next awkward words he knew he was about to utter. There was nowhere to go in this cramped, fluorescent-light-happy space, unless he moved his arm that connected to Ana’s hand and headed out the door. But Miki’s sneakers insisted on being planted on the dirty floor.

  They couldn’t leave yet. Jill was getting them instant noodles.

  He lifted his eyes to meet Ana’s. “Hi.”

  “Hello again,” she returned.

  Now that he was looking at her properly, he thought there was something different there. Her brown eyes looked the same, still with that glint that always seemed to find something amusing when she looked at him. Her full lips curved into that small, secret smile. And then—ah. “You cut your hair.”

  Ana’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, her free hand raking through her locks, now skimming her shoulder. “Look at you. A boy who notices details. I knew you were special.”

  Miki heard the distinct sound of Nino and Son snickering behind him, underscored by a muffled chuckle from Kim. He ignored them all. “It looks good on you,” he said. “But what are you doing here?”

  “Like I said, I heard you guys on the radio. My office is just around the block.” She rocked on the soles of her shoes, looking unsure, but she held Miki’s gaze. Ana was very good at that. At looking at Miki.

  “I can’t seem to find a good horror movie for you yet,” she went on. “So I thought a convenience-store-stalker situation was my best bet to see you.”

  “I wasn’t avoiding you.”

  “Of course you’re not. You only ignore my texts.”

  “Hey I reply as soon as I can!”

  “When I ask you when you’re free to meet up,” Ana continued, her eyebrows crossed. Her smile had left her lips. Miki backed another step, but there was nowhere to go.

  “We’ve been busy promoting and stuff,” he tried to explain. “Mars and Kim make us go to all these things—”

  “Don’t drag me into this, man,” Kim muttered behind him, the warning clear in his tone.

  Ana turned her eyes to the occupied table, to the half empty potato chip wrappers and crushed cans of soda that littered the narrow space. Kim, Nino, and Son stared back at her, unashamed of their unintentional eavesdropping. Son gave her a friendly wiggle of his eyebrows, pulling a long, noisy slurp from his carton of banana milk.

  She turned back to Miki, one hand on her hip. “Well, are you still busy now?”

  Miki didn’t know why it was so hard to say yes to this beautiful woman. “Uh. I—”

  “So their microwave oven is broken and they don’t have hot water.”

  Miki heard the loud patter of Jill’s soles against the floor before her voice broke through his bubble.

  “They have the tuna sandwich that you like though, Miki. But it kind of smells funny now—”

  The door opened to meet her face.

  “Watch where you’re going, woman.”

  The new, low voice pulled a different knot in Miki’s stomach, yanking up and out and twisting it hard.

  Jill let out a choice expletive. “Shit. Son of a—”

  “Stop right there before you hurt my mother’s feelings.” Shinta stepped inside the store, bringing in drops of rain and a humid breeze, his long shadow obscuring Jill from Miki’s view.

  “Shinta,” she breathed. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I told you.” Shinta’s arms were quick to snake around Jill’s waist, pulling her against him. “GPS.”

  This Mini Stop was really tiny, and the fluorescent lights too bright. It was impossible for Miki to not see as Shinta swooped down to take Jill’s mouth with his in a slow kiss.

  “Oh wow,” Ana murmured, eyes glued on the same scene.

  “Hem,” Miki muttered as the scene progressed, but it was Son’s long whistle and Nino’s drumbeat clapping that got Jill to wrench herself away from that extensive, extended, very visual display of public affection.

  “Okay, which one of you squealed on me?” Jill shot them an accusing glare in turn, her cheeks burning.

  “Don’t act like you don’t like it, Jillian Marie,” Nino scoffed.

  “Konnichiwa!” Shinta said, turning to them with a giant wave. “That was an awkward radio interview wasn’t it? But the live set was amazing. Oh, hi.” He had turned his grin to Ana. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “She’s Ana,” Jill said proudly.

  “And she’s correct.” Ana looked flustered, but she returned Shinta’s smile and took his extended hand for a shake. The hand that wasn’t busy tracing the band of Jill’s jeans. “Hello. Shinta, right?”

  “Shinta Mori,” he beamed with a little bow.

  Miki noticed that Shinta’s hair was drenched and sticking out in places. He turned to the view through the store’s glass walls. The rain was playing a drumbeat against the pavement, coin-sized dollops of water spilling from the dark sky, explaining Shinta’s wet look. Miki turned back to him, noting that his white shirt had turned transparent and was clinging to him like second skin. Miki bit in a scowl. Show off.

  “Um. Jill,” Ana began. “You’ve got tuna on your shirt.”

  “What? Great.” Jill glared down at the mess of mayonnaise and fish staining her shirt, and the rest of the trail that led down her jeans, to the floor. She turned her glare to her boyfriend. “See what you did? What did we say about surprises?”

  “That I will get better at them, I promise,” Shinta murmured, his palm running circles down her back. “Whoa. That tuna smells funny. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  “So that’s how you do it, Shinta?” Nino called from his seat, Son catcalling beside him. “Classic line. Might have been overused. But it looks like it will work.”

  “Shut up, Nino,” Jill growled. “Hold on. I have to get Miki another one—”

  “Go.” That sounded harsher than it should have. Miki could feel Kim shooting him a look. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Go on,” Miki managed, working a smile on his face as he landed a steady gaze on Jill. “I’m not hungry anyway.”

  “Well, if you’re sure.” More stale tuna dripped from her shirt to her jeans. “Ugh. Ew. Okay Shinta, you win.” Jill gripped the back of Shinta’s shirt as
he led her out the door. “We’re going. Later, guys.”

  Miki’s gaze followed them outside. He watched them skip puddles and run through the pounding rain, Jill’s shirt getting soaked from her first step. He thought it was thoughtless of Shinta to not bring an umbrella. Wasn’t he used to the erratic weather in this country yet? He’d been here enough times to score himself a gorgeous girlfriend. Or maybe that was his plan all along. To get Jill cleaned up.

  “You look hungry to me.” Ana’s voice and her hand in his pulled Miki back.

  Miki returned his gaze to Ana, catching the frown drawn on her face. The knot in his stomach jerked in a new direction, his heart beating a different tune. A loud yes sparked inside his head like a match. “You’re right. Let’s go eat.”

  November 10, Friday, three years ago

  “Who broke your heart?”

  “What?”

  Miki’s fingers slipped through the strings, breaking the chord. The next words to the lyrics were left hanging in his mouth.

  They were sitting on the concrete steps at a far corner of the College of Economics building. This was their secret spot, one that they had claimed since their freshman year. It was hidden from view of their professors and fellow students by a tall flowering tree and a collection of trash cans (Recyclable, Biodegradable, Non-Biodegradable). Their Labor Economics class had been dismissed only minutes ago, and they had an hour or so to spare before the torture that was more commonly known as Mathematical Economics. Jill had bought them one stick of banana cue each and a soda in can to share—their brain food combo of choice since freshman year.

  She had finished her sugar-crusted bananas while Miki played his old acoustic guitar, singing the new song that he had finally finished the night before. Banana cue gone, Jill was free to give him that look. The one that was openly curious and mildly accusing. Eyebrows crossed. Head bent, the better she could flick her eyes up at him. Dark, wide, intense eyes. Lips pursed, slick from Chapstick.

  Miki liked that Chapstick. It didn’t look sticky, and it smelled nice and fruity. The swipe on Jill’s lips looked like a new color though. He swallowed a lump in his throat.