by Jay E. Tria
Jill broke her gaze from his, her eyes now turned to the piece of paper on her lap. The lyrics to the song he was singing, the song that had kept him awake for all the nights of the past week. Her brow scrunched as her eyes ran through Miki’s neat, even handwriting. Her frown grew deeper with each word she consumed.
“Until you fell asleep/ And I watched you dreaming/ About a boy that you keep/ In your heart and I’m left wanting…” Jill hummed the words; quick to catch Miki’s melody. “This is past tense, right?” she went on, her fingers scanning the lines on the page. “You don’t seem heartbroken to me. Or are you keeping something from me?”
His heart jumped to his ears, its beats deafening gongs. “Who says the song is about something in real life?”
Jill rolled her eyes and stared him down, her palm heavy on the paper. Miki wanted to snatch it away from her grip, but she was quick to memorize words anyway.
“What, you can’t simulate stuff like that?” Miki heard himself say, staring back at her, his expression carefully disbelieving. Both eyebrows quirked up. Not too high. Mouth in a pressed line. Firm. Not too tight. Gaze holding hers. Must remember to blink, but not too many times. It would make him seem nervous. Enough blinks so that his eyes didn’t water.
Jill went on glaring at him, digesting his trick question. If she answered no, Miki would feign hurt at her distrust of his songwriting abilities. If she answered yes, then her first question would be moot.
Miki thought he was getting the hang of this unrequited love thing.
Jill’s eyes flicked back to the lyrics, then back up to his face. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”
Miki felt the iron knots in his chest loosen. This was a question he was used to answering.
“We’ve talked about this.” He turned back to his guitar, returning to work on his song. He couldn’t quite get the rhythm right. Some notes sounded off. The lyrics needed a lot of work too. Only Jill could fix this, like she always does. Where was Julia when he needed her?
“How can you have time for video games and not have time for a proper romance?” Jill went on.
“Again, not video games. Role play. I’m developing skills that would have real value come the zombie apocalypse. You’ll see.”
“I’ll make sure to come find you when the zombies come.”
“You won’t regret it. And did you just call it ‘romance?’ Who says that?”
“Someone who is in a happy relationship, thank you very much.”
“It’s not always happy.”
He turned to her with a solemn stare, thinking about two weeks ago when she and Kim had a fight that lasted for days. Miki couldn’t remember what it was about. It was some stupid thing or other. Then last week Kim picked up the fight again. Jill acted like nothing was wrong, which to Miki was the sure sign that something was. So he took her dancing, and they got a little drunk. Jill sobbed on his shoulder, sitting on the hood of his car. He drove her home and made sure she got through the door alright. When he got home and went to bed, the words and the rhythm were tattooed in his head, matching the new fissures in his heart.
Jill stared back at him. He thought he saw the same memories flash in her eyes, but with a different focus.
“No relationship is perfect. Don’t you know that?” she said with a small smile. “Anyway I think you’re too picky.”
He shot her a deadpan look. “Shouldn’t I be?”
“Well.” Jill paused, chewing on her lower lip. The Chapstick would soon be gone, Miki was sure of it. He always wondered if Jill’s lip balm tasted as good as it smelled.
“Of course you should,” she went on. Miki trained his eyes away from her lips, just as she looked up at him again with an earnest stare. “I haven’t met anyone who would be good enough for you.”
Miki’s heart stuttered to a bridge, in time with his guitar. “Look who’s picky.”
The corner of her mouth quirked up. “It’s not like I get to know too many people.”
He barked out a short laugh. “Fair point.”
Jill returned her attention to the lyrics. “You pirouette on the curb/ I hold your hand, humming/ An old song that I keep/ A rhythm only I know, I’m singing…” She turned back to him, breaking the song. “Or is it me?”
Panic flapped its useless wings in Miki’s chest. “Is what you?”
“Is it because we hang out all the time? Girls don’t like that, you know.”
Miki sighed, punching the nerves away by beating a fist to his chest. He held her gaze, deciding to ask an important question. “Will you stop being friends with me if I get a girlfriend?”
“When you get a girlfriend,” Jill corrected him before she turned a thoughtful look to her hands. She paused to think for far too long. Miki had to push his fist on her head to break her silence, mussing her hair.
“I don’t know, Mikhail,” she began, swatting his hand away. “Maybe I’d stop buying your banana cue and proofreading your reaction papers. She might get the wrong idea.”
“Let’s not worry about my future imaginary girlfriend for now.”
“But—”
“It’s just a song, Jill.”
Miki tipped his head away from her and strummed, playing the rhythm louder than it required, hoping to drown out the thoughts that he knew were swimming inside Jill’s head. She’s a curious girl, and at times frighteningly so. But music always distracted her.
“Sing it with me.” He bumped his shoulder against hers a few strums before the words began, and sing she did.
Miki knew Jill would want to tweak his notes. Then he would badger her to help with the lyrics, and they would work on both for days. At that moment though, he felt that the song was already perfect.
To the Moon
Tonight we danced in the streets
And I watched you drowning
In the sorrows you keep
That I insisted on sharing
Until you fell asleep
And I watched you dreaming
About a boy that you keep
In your heart and I’m left wanting
Dream on, hold on
I’m not there yet
Keep on holding on
I tell myself
Until I make it to the moon and back
You pirouette on the curb
I hold your hand, humming
An old song that I keep
A rhythm only I know, I’m singing
(And it goes)
Dream on, hold on
I’m not running
Keep on holding on
Til I get there
I will make it to the moon and back
Tonight you fell asleep
Honey, I was still talking
But maybe it’s too late to speak
Of a secret that’s wide open
(And it goes)
Dream on, hold on
I’m not running
I’m not moving on
Til you find me
Til I make it to the moon and back.
I will make it with you
To the moon and back. (Miki, Jill)
September 10, Thursday, morning
“Ramen is definitely better than instant noodles. Good call.”
“Thank you,” Ana said with a curtsy.
The rain had stopped beating down the streets, so Miki and Ana walked sans umbrella through the slush and shallow puddles, moving deep inside the narrow side streets, until they were half a block away from where Miki parked his car. Miki felt full and drowsy from the two bowls of ramen and half a bottle of sake he had consumed (servings that Ana had easily matched). Ana had led him from the Mini Stop to a bustling Japanese restaurant near her office. Now it was two in the morning, and Miki had insisted on walking her home.
The city at night owned a beautiful horizon of lights, white, bright, and neon, blinking from office buildings, malls, condominiums, and street lamps peeking between trees. Cool, muggy air hung low from the charcoal sky, the last remnant of
the monsoon rain.
Miki walked beside her, close enough that his arm brushed hers every few steps. “Do you always stay at the office until midnight?”
“That’s the regular accountant hour, sadly. Midnight is early even, coming off the month-end deadlines.”
Ana was a CPA, and a driven one at that. She worked at a multinational firm as a tax accountant, two years on the job and already with a promotion to her name. She had this planned out as early as college, and she told Miki all this when he first met her at an elective last year. Miki remembered that.
Most people hated their eight-to-five jobs. Everyone in the band shuddered at the thought of it, Miki included. But Ana loved it. She liked the structure, the spreadsheets and Powerpoints, even her cubicle, and she laughed at the office politics. Also, she looked amazing in a pencil skirt.
“But it’s not that bad.” Ana turned to him, just as Miki lifted his eyes from the lines drawn by the skirt on her body. “With DJ Diego to keep me company.”
He cleared his throat, trying to keep his alcohol-laced mind focused. He had never had sake before. It felt good. He could almost see the milky white liquid swimming with his blood, distributing flashes of heat to his nerves.
“I didn’t think you’d be listening tonight.”
“You don’t think of me often enough, that’s your problem.” Ana jabbed at his chest with her forefinger, a lazy smile on her face. She seemed to like sake too.
Miki smiled back. He was not drunk. His mind was clear enough to be curious, at least. “That convenience store wasn’t at the same building as the radio station,” he stated, probing. “Don’t tell me. Nino, too?”
Ana burst out giggling. “I figured if he was generous enough to give me his number the first time I met him, he’d be generous enough to answer a ‘where are you’ text.”
Miki shook his head. “Nino just likes giving his number to beautiful girls.”
“Your jealous streak is adorable.”
Miki nearly tripped on his laces. “I’m not jealous.”
“Says every human who ever felt jealous,” Ana proclaimed with a sure nod. “Be careful with that though. You looked like you were ready to throw a punch back there. And Shinta Mori looks like someone who could take a punch and throw it right back. With double the force.”
Miki took a blind step forward, his head spinning. Wet white shirt sticking to rock hard abs, the smell of stale tuna, no umbrella and no banana cue, long, nimble fingers tracing the hot skin on Jill’s waist—
He shook the images in his head away, forcing them to retreat. “And I don’t?” he grumbled out loud.
“Have you ever punched anyone before?”
Miki kicked a pebble out of his way. “Are we at your house yet?”
“Apartment,” Ana said with a small laugh. “I’ve started renting, remember?”
Miki concentrated on the pockmarks on the pavement under his feet, and on Ana’s heat beside him. He did remember. Ana lived in the far flung reaches of Quezon City, an hour and a half of traffic away from her office in Makati on a good day, more than two hours on a terrible one. He had brought her home there last after their third date (still ranking in the Worst Dates in Contemporary Times list), but she had since decided to find an apartment for rent near the business district. She told him this in one of their conversations, probably one that ended with the ‘when can we meet?’ question that he had always danced around on.
“We’re here.”
Ana had halted her steps in front of a midrise brick building, attached to a row of several more just like it. White light shone from the lamppost guarding the high gate and the rusty mailbox.
“Try to remember where I live,” Ana said, leaning back on the lamppost.
“Done.” It was easy to remember things with Ana. Even with sake in his system.
“I’d invite you in but my landlady has serious curfew rules about having boys inside. I think she mistakes this place for a college dormitory.” She yawned, not bothering to cover her mouth. “Plus I have an early presentation tomorrow morning.”
Miki laughed, the thought of wet t-shirts all but gone now. “That would be in a few hours. Off to bed with you.”
“Good night, Miki.”
“Good night, Ana.”
Miki dipped his head in a small farewell nod. He was only a half-step away when Ana gripped his arm, sending him stumbling towards her.
“So.” Her breath was hot and sweet, grazing the line of Miki’s nose. Her eyes were closed, and Miki wasn’t sure if she was already dreaming, upright against the lamppost with her face too close to his.
When she opened her eyes, the gaze she gave him was alert enough. “How long have you had this unrequited love thing going on?”
Miki blinked back at her. His elbow propped against the wall kept his face from crashing into hers. The air surrounding her skin was warm too, the heat shivering like static, a force holding Miki balanced and in place.
“I think we just said good night,” he muttered weakly. “That happened right?”
Ana nodded, her forehead bumping lightly against his. “Yeah but that sake is strong like hell and I’m a little tipsy so some of my thoughts are coming out of order. But I’m lucid, I swear. And I’m here with you now and I’m not just a girl you talk to or text on the phone. So you can’t not answer the question.”
“Your usual question is ‘when can we meet?’”
“And I’ve resolved that. This one is more important.” She shot him a baleful look, her hand firm on his arm, closing him in. “How’s life been so far in the friendzone?”
Miki managed a small snort of laughter. “Not too great recently.”
Ana’s next nods brought her cheek against his. “How about trying the winning side of the story for a change?”
Maybe it was the curious brown of her eyes, or the clear way she spoke, though her words were tumbling in their haste to leave her mouth. Or maybe it’s because he had heard several variations of the same question from Nino and Son over the years, and recently, from Kim too, and maybe it was time to answer it. Maybe it was because the mental picture of Shinta Mori was stamped into his eyelids, and these days he hated his guts.
Or Miki could always blame the foreign alcohol. Why not?
Or maybe it was because this girl was smart, funny, and so many other colors of wonderful, and was sticking by him despite his deficiencies. Despite him being in the wrong zone.
Miki’s hand found the curve of Ana’s waist where her pencil skirt started. Then there’s that.
“How about it?” he murmured on her lips, trying a soft kiss.
Ana kept her hand on his arm, holding her weight against his chest as her lips moved on his with a soft sigh. His arm collapsed on the wall and found space to wrap around Ana’s shoulders, but he kept his other hand on her waist. It was bad enough that he was crushing the fabric. Ana’s free hand roamed the length of his neck, fingers knotting in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss. Heat rushed in his veins like poison.
“Okay,” he heaved out, pulling apart so he could see her eyes again. They didn’t seem to be laughing now.
“Okay what?” Ana had let go of his arm, but she wasn’t going anywhere.
Miki smiled, finally deciding he wasn’t going anywhere either. “Okay. Let’s meet tomorrow.”
June 19, Thursday, morning, one year ago
Miki counted the seconds ticking on the wall clock, then looked out the classroom door beside him. He was hoping Jill would get here before the bell as she had promised. He should know better by now though, having been classmates with her in every class since freshman year. He just thought it would be great if there was even one morning class when she would show up on time. The professor on this English Literature elective might be the boho-hippie type, but he does take attendance.
Miki grinned, already seeing the pained look on Jill’s face once she had tumbled into her seat beside him, blurting out excuses. But the jeepney stalled! Ki
m was over-speeding and the traffic enforcer gave him a ticket. I overslept, okay? Hitler’s biography was on the History Channel and I was hooked!
Habits were hard to break. Miki knew that.
“I know you.”
The whole, vibrant voice he didn’t know shook him from his thoughts. He looked up to see its owner standing over him, a smug smile on her lips. It was a girl from this class. He had seen her around, but they had never spoken to each other. She hovered over him now, her long hair spilling over her shoulders, thick waves framing her heart-shaped face.
“I’m sorry?” Miki muttered, alarmed that a gorgeous stranger was talking to him.
“You play for Trainman,” the girl said, taking the seat on his left that was still empty of Jill. “That band that plays, um, rock music, is it? Guitar, right?”
Obviously this girl was not a fan. How did she know him then? Did he offend her somehow? Or did Son crash another sorority party using the band’s name as an all-access pass (that never works; when will he learn?) and this girl was there to witness the social crime?
“Right.” Miki nodded, knowing better than to volunteer incriminating information. He was already thinking of alerting Kim.
She leaned over to his desk, her brown eyes bright and curious. Such a nice color, Miki thought idly. Almost like gold. The eyes blinked, forcing Miki to focus.
“You guys played at the freshmen dormitory sem-ender party last March. A friend made me watch.”
“Okay.” So it was not a sorority party. Good. He took down the Kim-alert note from his thoughts. One reputational threat down.
The girl seemed to find his stony expression amusing. She burst out laughing, a loud tinkling sound, but quickly reigned it in. “Sorry,” she said, forcing her mouth into a straight line. “I waited a few meetings into the class before I talked to you because I didn’t want to freak you out. But that’s exactly what I’m doing isn’t it? Let me start over. My name is Ana.”