by Jay E. Tria
“Ow! Okay, torture much?” She smacked his hand but sidled closer to him anyway. Miki closed the small gap between them, roping his arm around the bench, his fingers inches from her shoulder, waiting.
The skies in Cebu, tonight, offered her some stars, blinking pinpricks of light against the supple gray sheets of haze and clouds. She spoke to them instead of to him.
“I guess I was expecting things to be easy, because it’s Shinta, and everything with him felt like it was only a matter of time and choice. He was someone waiting to happen. And now he has, and we’ve made the choice. And it wasn’t supposed to be…”
“Difficult?”
“A fucking challenge.” She laughed, a weak sound he barely heard. “Not like this.”
“Why? What’s the reality?”
“The reality is that I’m dating a hot celebrity. One who lives leagues away in a place where he’s ravaged by fans and paparazzi, and surrounded by fellow celebrities who are, may I emphasize, also inhumanly beautiful. Like him.”
Miki scowled. “How could you have missed that?”
“I know, I’m an idiot!” Her giggles came out a few notes short from genuine laughter. Miki locked out the impulse to grab her shoulder and shake her, or else pull her to him. Then, “I haven’t even told him I love him yet.”
It took a skipped heartbeat or two before Miki could answer, but he managed to choke out the words. “But you do? Love Shinta. You love him, I mean.”
“I do.”
“So quickly?”
“I didn’t meet Shinta five minutes ago.” She rolled her eyes, nudging his shoulder with hers. “I’ve known him almost as long as I’ve known you.”
Miki dropped his gaze to his lap. How powerful words are, he mused, feeling the impact of a train barreling against his chest for the second time in two days.
“I can’t tell you how to do that,” he told her, speaking with the kind of honesty that scraped scars on bones. “How to tell someone you love them.”
Jill raked her fingers through her hair, tugging at the strands, channeling her energies to the idle task. “You’re not here to give me answers, Miki. You know that.” She scrunched her brow, swiveling her head to glare at him. “You’re not supposed to be here at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hello? Gorgeous girlfriend in the front row. I’ll say it again. You don’t leave your girl with your crazy friends. She might change her mind and leave you.”
“She knows I’m with you.”
Jill narrowed her eyes at him. “Girlfriends don’t like that, you know. When you go running off with the next girl with a relationship problem. Best friend or not. We’ve talked about this.”
Teasing Miki about his romantic deficiencies seemed to cheer her up. Miki was glad. Jill rested her chin on her knee, her words mumbled when she spoke. “When will you learn, Mikhail?”
She looked so tired, eyes drooping as she tried to hold his gaze. Seeing her up close after what felt like so long, Miki could see the shadows on her face, of fatigue and other worries. Was it not even two months ago that he was studying her face, his heart relieved that all traces of sadness had been wiped away? Her mouth formed into a small yawn, and Miki wanted to say that she was not just any other girl. Never to him.
“I don’t know, Jillian Marie,” he said instead, resting his hand on her bowed head, his fingers going through the long tresses in slow motion. “You see, I’m the real idiot.”
***
There was nothing wrong with being there for your best friend. With being able to read more from one look, one averted gaze, than what you can gather from a long stream of rants and woes. Ana thought there was something magical about that, the kind of connection built over time, from mutual trust and affection.
It wasn’t just wonder though that filled Ana when she saw Miki sitting there with Jill. They were alone on that bench outside a closed restaurant, surrounded by darkness, spotlights from the concert casting shadows on their faces. They were sitting close but were hardly touching, yet it looked like there were invisible threads connecting them, strong, fluid, and intricate in design. It was beautiful to look at, this world for two that Miki had built with Jill. But it was terrible too, and for the most part, it hurt.
Ana knew this of course. She had noticed Miki first after all, before he ever turned his gaze to see her. But she thought with a little prodding, a dash of persistence, and a bit of time, he would be able to keep his eyes on her.
I guess Miki and I believed in the same delusion. How selfish we are, Ana mused.
“Why is it so hard to find a 24-hour lechon joint in Lechon City?”
Nino’s voice broke through her bubble. Ana unlocked her limbs and turned to the sound, catching Nino and Son striding towards her, Kim not far behind.
“We did already. Stop it with your old man grumbling,” Son scolded him. “Hey Ana, let’s go. Get ready to clog your arteries! Oh good, you found Miki.”
“Jill found him first. Or is it the other way around? Miki found her. He always does, doesn’t he?” Ana felt her face twist to a grimace. She tried to fix it, willing the tears to stay put, willing her voice to remain even. She blinked and fixed her hazy gaze on Nino, her next words coming out as a plea. “Tell me they serve alcohol with the roasted pig where we’re going.”
Nino’s scowl deepened, turning to where their missing bandmates were huddled in half-darkness. It was Kim though who placed a heavy hand on Ana’s shoulder, steering her forward, away from the sight of Miki and Jill’s world.
“Yes, they serve alcohol. The strong kind,” he promised. “But I’m keeping an eye on you. Come on.”
October 12, Monday, morning
“Did I ever tell you about my mom?”
Miki turned to Ana, glad to finally hear her talking to him. He hadn’t seen her since he went to look for Jill last night. He and Jill both skipped their friends’ midnight pig out session, exhausted from the long night and unwilling to further disable their young arteries, despite twenty texts from Son telling them to come join the fun. Miki and Jill had walked back to their hotel, then he climbed into bed, glad for the roommate-free silence. He texted Ana good night, appended with be careful, Son bites when drunk. He woke up to a blank phone screen and the mad rush of hungover boys scampering about in fear of missing the early morning flight.
They made it, and now Ana sat beside him on their two-seater aisle. She had taken her time securing her things, adjusting her seatbelt, and staring out the window as the plane took off, before she turned and spoke to him.
“Only that she’s a terror,” he replied. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
He didn’t know where that came from. He felt heat rising to his cheeks and expected to see the blush mirrored on Ana’s face. But her face crumpled, and when she opened her mouth next, she spoke to her hands.
“My mom was very particular about our education, for my sisters and me. She monitored our grades, made sure we did our homework. We weren’t allowed to watch TV on weeknights, and only for a few hours on weekends. She was extra hard on me though, her eldest. She planned my life to the last detail, and I didn’t mind, because she planned them with me. I like how she thinks, how she holds on to the decisions that she makes. I wanted to be like her.”
Miki thought Ana must have wanted to play inverse Twenty Questions. But he didn’t mind. He was glad for any excuse to hear these things, nuggets of her life that were still new to him. “She sounds wonderful.”
Ana’s eyes flicked upwards to meet his. “Did you notice how I’m stubborn?”
“It’s impossible not to.” Miki laughed.
“My mother said if you want something bad enough, you should fight for it. Fight for it so you would deserve it, and it would be given to you. That philosophy had worked for me so far, until it didn’t anymore. I guess my mother wasn’t always right.”
Miki heard her pull a sharp breath, before the release.
“I’m fighting, Miki. But I’m s
till losing you. Or maybe I never won you in the first place.”
Panic shot up to his throat, swirling and useless. He searched his head for the root of this sudden proclamation, coming up empty. Twenty four hours ago Ana had declared herself his groupie. He had sat next to her on the plane, and he had gripped her hands when they trembled at the first instance of turbulence. He’d watched her dance to the beat of a song he was playing, and after the set he’d kissed her vodka-stained lips.
What the hell happened over lechon and beer? He reached over to her, relieved when she allowed him to take her hand. “Ana, what are you—?”
“I knew you still love Jill.” Her fingers were cool and heavy in his, her eyes raking his face. “I’d be stupid to not know it. But I thought I could help you move on from her, if I showed you how it feels to be loved in return. I’m stubborn too, see? And it seemed to be working, when you’re with me. But when she’s here, I don’t think I can win. You will always choose her.”
Guilt was curling his insides, fast and cold inside his gut. But he thought I did nothing wrong, the words on repeat inside his head, louder with each turn.
“I only talked to her,” he said, choosing to listen to his brain. “She’s my friend. She needed someone to talk to. She needed me. What’s wrong or new with that?”
“You’re very kind, Miki. But sometimes your kindness hurts.”
“Ana—”
“I’d like to sleep off the rest of the ride. I don’t like airplanes after all.”
October 16, Friday, morning
Miki once told Jill that breakups have a three-month probation period. He wasn’t sure where he got that. He’d never gone through a breakup himself to give a personal testimony. But with Jill and Kim’s case it seemed the theory held truth. So Miki figured three was the magic number.
It had been three days since Ana last spoke to him, and not for lack of trying on his part. He had called and texted her since they parted at the airport, only to be met with dead air. He could have cornered her at school, or at her apartment or office, but he was paralyzed with fear, his old friend. So for three days he stayed where he was and waited for messages to be answered, and calls to be taken. On the fourth day, he allowed himself to despair.
Despair led him to the one person he knew wouldn’t punch his face in for the mess he had made of his life. But his wretchedness also made him mess up his sushi, earning him a crisp slap on the wrist.
“I really wish you’d stop hitting so hard.” Miki grimaced as he observed the new patch of red on his hand, burgeoning next to the healing welt from his broken string injury. “That’s the third time in the past hour.”
“You’re wasting perfectly good tuna.” Yuki Mori pointed her knife at his nose. “And my time.”
Miki backed a few steps until his old professor returned the knife to its good work on the ruby-colored slab of fish on her kitchen counter. “I told you I’m not any good at this,” he sighed. “Can’t I just wash the dishes later?”
“You do as you are told. This is the price of your visit.”
“Most teachers like it when their favorite students remember them.”
“Most students remember their teachers only when they’re in trouble.” Yuki’s knife slid through the tuna’s flesh in a calm, deliberate rhythm, mirroring the way she spoke to Miki. “So why don’t we get to it? I don’t have all day. I have a class in a couple of hours.” The point of her knife was turned to him again, pressing against his shirt. “Tell me. Why don’t you think you deserve to be loved in return?”
“What?”
“Maybe something more general. Why don’t you think you deserve to be happy?”
Miki waited for his professor to blink back her glare and return her knife to the board before he spoke. “Of course I should be happy. I am happy. I was. I’m just having a bad past few days. Terrible days.”
“I think they call it self-sabotage. Freud said—”
“Please professor, not Freud.”
“That unexpressed emotions never die. And you have several years’ worth of those. You could have picked any day then, if you really wanted to be happy.”
It took a while for Miki to realize Yuki was talking about Jill. The leaden weight in his stomach had Ana’s name imprinted on it. But the feeling was easy to pull out just the same, like a favorite sad song only waiting for its cue.
“Jill had a boyfriend. I was being the decent guy.”
“You could’ve let her know that she had options, even when she was with Kim.”
Miki almost laughed. “You don’t like Kim very much, do you?”
“A teacher can’t play favorites. But he can be a moody jerk sometimes.”
Miki nodded, conceding. “But I assume you like your son.”
“I do. He, unlike you, decided he deserved to be happy.”
“You lost me. Do you want me to try and steal your son’s girlfriend?”
“Of course not.” Yuki whacked the back of Miki’s hand again, her look a menacing stare. “He’s having enough trouble keeping her as it is. I don’t need you adding to his worries.”
Miki threw his hands up in the air, and Yuki burst out laughing at the look on his face. The loud tinkling sound of her mirth punctured the tension in his chest, releasing steam, and he allowed himself to laugh with her.
Shinta had made a surprise appearance at the Cebu airport and had spirited Jill away. Yuki maintained that she didn’t know where they went or how long they would be gone. Sometimes Miki’s mind wandered to her, to wherever it was Shinta had taken her. Wondering if the man was trying to find the equilibrium between expectation and reality, and if he was succeeding. Most times though his thoughts were with Ana, replaying the doomed trip in his head, torturing himself on what he could have done to circumvent the dead weight that filled his chest now.
Yuki allowed him his silence until she finished slicing. She had moved on to her next task when she spoke again.
“I don’t want you to do anything except be honest. If you always thought you never had a chance with Jill, why didn’t you move on? Why did you sit there, waiting for her to read your mind and love you in return? That was a mighty selfish thing to do too, by the way. Expecting that from anyone.”
Miki flinched, each word hitting him with a stronger sting than her slaps on his wrist. “I think I’m done waiting.”
Yuki’s alabaster hand landed on his arm in a loud wallop.
“O-ow! What’s that for?”
“Don’t just think. Be sure, so you could be fair.” She gave Miki’s ear a stiff pinch for good measure. “Silly boy. You always took your time to learn.”
Miki rubbed the points of his injury, muttering under his breath. “And Ana told me I’d make a good teacher.”
Yuki’s tinkling laughter erupted from her throat, echoing through the walls of her tiny kitchen, bouncing off the low ceiling. Miki cracked a smile, glad that somebody was at least finding entertainment in his woes.
“Who knows?” Yuki said through tilting chortles. “I haven’t given up on you yet. Maybe Ana hasn’t either.”
October 16, Friday, night
Miki moved through the crowded space outside Commute Bar, his head brimming with thoughts of stinging slaps, emotions buried alive, botched tuna sushi, and the wide divide between expectation and reality. Throughout the day he had wondered if his visit to his old professor gave him the catharsis he was seeking, or if it only tightened the complicated knot of his musings. Freud’s words plagued him, an addition to Nino’s voice that seemed already a permanent resident in his head. It was a chaotic party.
He opened the door to the bar, heat and noise greeting him at his first step inside. The horde parted to let him through, and he caught the first flash of red hanging by a black strap from Jill’s neck. He eyed the shiny, cherry red electric guitar, his dark gaze squinting at the stranger. He flicked his eyes up and caught his surprise mirrored by Jill’s quirked eyebrows.
“You’re here,” he mut
tered, stepping towards her, the mass of patrons closing in behind him as the sound of Kim’s mic test rolled from the speakers. “And what is that? Where’s Julia?”
Jill heaved out a long breath, socking Nino’s side when he sniggered past her on his way to his drum set. “No time for the long story,” she told Miki, her lips curling to a crooked grin. “Because you’re late.”
***
“I know that face. That’s your analysis-paralysis face. What’s up?”
Miki was settled on the curb outside Commute, two opened bottles of beer sitting next to his sneakers. He had spent the past few minutes staring at the screen of his phone as Ana’s number rang at the end of the line, a winding, fruitless loop.
He looked up at Jill’s shadow hovering over him. He’d run off after their set, hiding behind the bar patrons’ legs while stooped on the dirty sidewalk. He should have gone straight home. But he had not seen nor spoken to Jill for nearly as long as he had missed Ana. He wanted to talk to her, to demand where exactly Shinta had taken her, why she didn’t tell him she was leaving, and where the hell that new guitar came from when there was nothing wrong with Julia. But he also dreaded the answers, and her own questions, now that his mind was set to honesty.
Good job, Yuki. And Sigmund. “Hey, look who’s back. Where’s your new cherry red guitar?”
Jill’s sigh floated down with her as she pulled her length to a crouch beside him, sharing his curb. “Hidden somewhere safe. Until I figure out what to do with it.”
“I didn’t think out-of-town trips came with free electric guitars,” Miki said in a flat tone, handing her a beer. “You should’ve told me.”
Jill put the bottle to her lips and took a long draught before replying. “I know right? I’ve told him many times. That boy and his surprises.”
So his guess was spot on. Shinta was responsible for the flashy, new, metallic beauty. That was an easy bet. Miki wondered what the bribe—the gift was for, but he was in no hurry to know the answer. “What have you named this one?”
