by Jay E. Tria
Miki rubbed his eyes, blinking a few times to adjust their focus on the bright laptop screen. “I’m pretty sure no professor in his right mind would assign you all of this shit to finish in two weeks.”
They were in Ana’s apartment, sprawled on the spotless floor of her room on their stomachs, Ana’s laptop and a stack of books between them. They had rushed to catch the library before closing and check out the professor’s recommended reading list, all five hardbound copies of them. Miki was sure—and Ana confirmed—that they could pretty much search the Internet for the very things they needed from these encyclopedic volumes. But Ana felt safer with the musty books piled up around her, like thick walls protecting her from wolves.
He rolled over to his side and glared at Ana, his brows knitted in a dangerous angle. She buckled.
“Do you know anything about paralyzing fear?” she asked him glumly.
“It’s too late to appeal to my compassion,” Miki replied, his tone severe.
“And it’s too late to be making a big deal about my supposed procrastination. This is not helping. Now do you have any ideas for me or not?”
“Alright, chill.”
Miki returned his focus to the document staring back at them, work that Ana was supposed to have been slaving over since the beginning of the term. Work that they’d been trying to do for that past three hours. Thus far their efforts had resulted to a marketing plan that was one-and-a-half page long, double-spaced.
He chose to look at it as a glass one-tenth parts full. “So we’re doing pretty well on the Executive Summary.”
“Yay, us,” Ana said weakly, pumping her fists. “You’re pretending to know more about this than what you really do, aren’t you?”
“I did say I knew virtually nothing about Marketing.” Miki was nursing a full blown headache now. What the hell was he supposed to know about the demographics of toilet paper? Didn’t everybody use it?
“That’s what I told the professor!” Ana burst out when Miki voiced his exasperated thought. “But he said I should only put that down on my paper if I wanted to repeat the course. And I really don’t want to.”
“No, of course not. Well, I can help with this part.” He tapped on the screen with a pen, circling terms here and there that looked familiar. It had only been a year since he graduated college. Surely he could still pluck out some things from stock knowledge.
Interest rate trends, family income and expenditure survey, industry growth forecasts. “Jill could do this so much quicker in her sleep than I ever could. And that’s with a liter of caffeine in my system,” Miki said absently, his fingers typing random things on the keyboard, snippets of old lectures he was able to pull out of storage. “She rarely seemed interested, but that girl’s brain is a sponge. And when she wrings it out the thoughts come out all nice and processed. That’s why it drove her mom crazy that she’s running around with a guitar when she could be ruling the corporate world.”
“I’m sure you’ll get the job done just as well.”
Miki’s fingers froze mid-typing when he caught the stiffness in Ana’s voice. He feared turning towards her.
Ana was sprawled on the floor beside him, her long hair scattered on the linoleum. She held his gaze, extending their silence, waiting. Miki held in a sigh, realizing that his winning streak was over.
He slammed the laptop shut. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What? Why?”
“I can write three verses and a chorus in an hour on a good day. I don’t do very well with 10-page papers.” That was Jill’s forte too, but Miki didn’t make the same mistake of saying it. He took both Ana’s hands in a firm grip and pulled her up. “I need a break. So do you.”
“Alright. Where do you want to go?”
He paused, needing to take a few seconds of Ana standing there so close to him. He rested his chin on the top of her head, inhaling the strawberry scent of her hair, thinking.
“Somewhere with food,” Miki declared. “And toilet paper.”
September 26, Saturday, night
There was a small neighborhood grocery a couple of blocks and fifteen minutes away from Ana’s apartment building. It wasn’t as well stocked as the more prominent chain groceries in the city, but it had a decent selection of fast food, and a six-foot high shelf stacked with toilet paper.
Miki and Ana sat in front of that shelf now, staring at its dizzying array of toilet paper goods while eating their dinner, legs tucked beneath them. They were very much aware that the floor here wasn’t nearly as spotless as the floor Ana maintained in her room, but they were here on a mission. Also, they were very hungry.
A uniformed boy walked up toward them, pulling a cart of half-opened boxes of condensed milk. His features moved to form a scowl when he spotted them, and Miki knew what was coming next.
“Ma’am, sir,” the grocery boy began in a high pitched voice, arms crossed over his chest. “You can’t sit there—”
Ana lifted her chin to him, her cheeks full of shawarma rice. “But we’re eating,” she said through bites of her greasy dinner. “We’d sit in your icky tables but they’re all full.”
The boy wasn’t having it. He pulled a breath that blew out his thin chest to power his reprimand. “But ma’am, I have to insist—”
“I’m really sorry, Sam,” Miki said, eyes flashing quickly to the boy’s employee name tag. “But your dining area really is full. And we’re also trying to do important research. Can you give us a few more minutes? We promise to leave soon.”
Sam had turned his evil glare to Miki, but his heaved chest was deflating fast. He unlocked his limbs and returned his grip to the cart of condensed milk. “Alright sir,” he said, not unkindly. “But please try not to be in the way of other customers.”
Miki smiled and gestured to the circle of space between him and Ana, and the shelves around them. “Consider it done. Thanks Sam.”
Sam the grocery boy issued him a curt nod, and off he went, pulling his cart.
Ana was staring at Miki. He read a mixture of impressed and incredulous on her face. “So, kindness works?”
“Just as much as being a stubborn mule, I find.” Miki grinned. “People are always surprised to know this.”
“Cool.” Ana took another spoonful of beef, tomatoes, and rice, taking care to miss the onions. “Okay. What else am I supposed to know by sitting here? Apart from the value of kindness.”
“I told you. This is research. Primary data gathering.” Miki took a long slurp to finish off his instant noodles and settled the empty bowl close beside him. He leaned forward to the army of toilet paper before them, waiting for that elusive spark of an idea.
“Is this how you get inspiration?” Ana said with a small yawn, stretching her legs out in front of her. “By staring at things?”
Back flat on the hood of a lime green car. Girl bent over, clutching her stomach, tears and bile spilling on the stone floor. “Yes.” Miki opened his eyes, realizing only then that he had closed them. He turned to Ana. “I guess I’m a visual person.”
“And I’m a numbers person.”
Miki smiled, taking in how Ana looked when she was being stubborn and determined. He committed the image to memory—another thing to remember about Ana—hoping it would override the older ones that still lived in his head. Decisions I’m making. Yes and no, he reminded himself.
“Okay, Ms. Math,” he said. “How many people have passed us to get their toilet paper?”
“About a dozen in the past thirty minutes,” Ana said, consulting the notes she kept on her phone. “Either this store is popular, or people ran out of toilet paper at the same time.”
“Did they buy only one roll, or did they get more?”
“They stocked up. Packs and packs of it. Mostly of that brand.”
Ana pointed to the same stack of merchandise that had caught Miki’s eye. He felt that brand had an unfair advantage, sitting there front and center with its bright pink floral packaging, standing out from the r
ows upon rows of blue and green plastic. The display came with a small tucked out cardboard poster that showcased a grinning lady, complete with a small LCD screen that played a commercial over and over and over—
“It’s that damn jingle,” Ana wailed. The song played as if on cue, and Ana started bobbing her head to the tune, singing along on impulse. “Triple ply roll/ Is soft and strong/ Wipe your hand clean/ As you sing this song… Arrgh it’s stuck in my head!”
Miki burst out laughing, pleasantly surprised that he wasn’t completely clueless about marketing after all. He turned to Ana and gave her shoulders a firm squeeze. “We still have eight and a half pages to go on your paper, but at least we have an idea on what to do for your presentation.”
Ana looked like she was shaking her head to shoo the jingle away, but she stopped at his touch. “Okay,” she said with a small giggle. “But you’re not getting off the paperwork. Can we please go now before this jingle starts haunting me in my sleep?”
“And before Sam comes back to get you. Come on.”
***
Everyone who lived in Metro Manila long enough knew it could rain any day, at any time, even during the hottest of months. Even more so now that it was officially monsoon season. Still nobody ever seemed prepared for it.
The only warning was three claps of thunder. Soon after sheets of rain poured out from the charcoal sky, water pounding on the pockmarked pavement, soaking leaves of trees, freefalling from tin roofs, and scaring stray cats. People huddled under canopies and lobbies, bags crossed over their chests, eyes glaring at the heavens. The more vigilant ones whipped out their umbrellas, taking quick deliberate steps to their destinations, careful to step over the growing puddles.
Miki and Ana didn’t have an umbrella. There was no point in hailing a cab or a jeepney in this downpour, with Ana’s apartment only a couple of blocks away. They didn’t want to hide inside the grocery store to wait out the rain either. So they walked.
One step down the street and Miki’s short, thick hair was plastered onto his scalp, his shirt (thankfully not white) clinging to his skin. Ana was just as soaked beside him, and she—to Miki’s dismay—was wearing white, over what was clearly a black bra.
Miki kept his gaze straight ahead and walked as fast as his drenched jeans would let him.
“Do you do this often?” Ana called out to him from her side of the downpour.
“I usually run to the nearest shelter when I get caught out in the rain,” he answered, clasping his arms around his chest. “I’m not very fond of pneumonia.”
“Me too! The one time I didn’t bring an umbrella…”
“You’re a very lucky girl, it seems.”
“No, no, this is good.” She waved his sarcasm away like an irksome fly, her next steps splashing rainwater up her bare legs. “The first time I walked in the rain is with you. It’s a good memory to make.”
Miki smiled down at his ruined sneakers, skipping over a small puddle. Apparently, he and Ana were both in the business of making memories. “You want me to sing for you?” he said, lifting his eyes to her face. “Might make the memory last longer.”
Ana beamed. “Okay.”
Miki cleared his throat and raised his voice over the peal of thunder. “Triple ply roll/ Is soft and strong/ Wipe your hand clean/ As you sing this song—”
“Arrgggh.” She threw a backhanded punch to his chest.
“Ow.” Miki coughed out laughter.
Streams of people with their umbrella burdens passed them, hurried along by the new flash of lightning that lit up the sky, trailed by another crack of thunder. Ana slunk closer to Miki, and he wound his arm around her on impulse, feeling her shiver against him as more water poured onto them from the heavens.
“You know what, I do want you to sing for me,” Ana said to his ear.
“Okay, I’m open to requests.”
“To The Moon, please.”
Miki let out a shaky laugh. “Nah, I don’t think you get to hear it live before the official launch. Mars might bill you.”
Ana frowned at him, digging her elbow to his side. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a song.”
Miki stumbled on his next step, feeling a chip come off his chest.
He had been so used to being with Ana these past few weeks that he had forgotten she was still an outsider to his world. Shiny and new, like a curious child poking her head in here and there, sniffing the air, feeling her way around. She blended in quite well, quite easily, finding her way around Kim’s moods, holding her own against Nino and Son’s banters, even making steady progress with Jill’s emotional walls. Miki thought she was amazing, but she’s an outsider still. Her pointblank question proved it.
Nino won’t ever ask Miki what the deal was about a song. He would take one listen and give Miki hell about it, because he knew what it meant, how deep the well went. And Miki would do the same for him.
Jill would sense his sadness in the verses, though he never admitted to them, no matter how many times she asked. She would let the secrets stay as they were. And she would go on to pick through his lyrics, comb through his chords, and sing his words, knowing it would make him feel better. Not knowing exactly why.
Some say writing songs was a means for self-expression. To Miki it was the best way to hide in plain sight.
“You’ll hear it soon anyway,” he told Ana. “We’re launching it as the second single next month.”
The band voted on it a few days ago, ratified by Mars. There was no going around it. Mars had announced that Trainman was invited to play at the Free Fall Festival, the biggest term-ender music fair in their old university. It was their homecoming of sorts, having dreamed of playing that gig since their freshman year, and Mars saw it as the best time to launch Trainman’s second single. Good thing Kim and Jill were still the main vocalists. Miki would just need to stand there and make sure his guitar was making the right sounds.
“Oh cool, insider information!” Ana was silent for one thoughtful moment, her hand gripping fistfuls of Miki’s soaked shirt as they trod faster. Her apartment building was in sight, where warmth and dry clothes awaited. “Thank you, Miki.”
“For the toilet paper research, or the pneumonia waiting to happen?”
“For being patient.” She tipped her face toward him, the line of her nose nudging his cheek. “It’s taking me some getting used to, trying to fit in your world. I mean, you guys don’t have desks for one!”
“Your world is weird too you know. What’s up with that Bundy clock?” Miki laughed, tightening his grip around her. He led her to a sprint down the last few paces to her building. They stood under the shelter of the eaves, finally spared from the violent onslaught of rain.
Miki kept his arms looped around Ana’s waist, his hand crawling up her back, fingers tangling through the length of her soaked hair. He smiled, allowing himself to drown in her eyes, thinking she didn’t need to fit in right now. Maybe she didn’t need to fit in at all. Didn’t outliers make graphs more interesting?
“I think you’ll find that I’m very good at being patient,” he murmured, close enough so she could hear him against the thrashing rain.
“Hmm.” Ana’s hands slid up his chest. “That’s not always a good thing, you know. Some things you shouldn’t wait for.” Her fingers found his Adam’s apple, drawing other lines on his neck. “Otherwise they would never happen.”
It was Miki’s turn to shiver, and not from the cold water that clung on his skin. “I want to kiss you now.”
“Only a kiss? You’ve kissed me loads of times by now. It’s hardly interesting anymore.”
He chuckled, a weak sound, as Ana’s lips moved to trace his jaw. “No. A kiss is not the only thing I want from you. Is that okay?”
“Yes.” She tipped her head toward him and waited until he kissed her, so he did. “Yes,” she murmured on his mouth.
Miki must have seen too many chick flicks, but there was something romantic about being drenched in rain, wet clothes
bothering your skin, that made it a perfect setting to kiss a beautiful girl. He thought it was because their sopping clothes were hardly barriers between them, and he could feel Ana’s drumming heartbeat as his mouth took hers. Maybe it was also because they were very cold, the humid breeze making the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end, that he needed to cage Ana in his arms, his lips parting from hers so he could trace a line of heat down her neck, down the line of her collarbone.
“Come up,” Ana gasped, taking Miki’s face in her hands so she could see him.
“But you said before. Curfew. Evil landlady.”
“I lied. Come up.”
***
Miki had never had a girlfriend before. That was true, though Jill and the rest of his bandmates often snorted out their disbelief whenever he claimed it. It seemed like a loser thing to be, a 21-year-old member of the No Girlfriend Since Birth club. He had crushes of course, but he never made the move, his head swimming in doubts—what if I did it wrong? What if she didn’t like it?—a pattern that wove into the life he lived now. So Ana was his first real kiss, and it was Ana’s fingers that he first clasped with his. Miki thought it was a good way to break the pattern.
When the door closed on Ana’s apartment, Miki didn’t think at all when he caught Ana’s mouth in his the moment she spun towards him. He had kissed her before, yes, many blessed times, but nothing like the way he did now. Not with his hands pressing down the curve of her waist, sliding inside her thin shirt. Not with his tongue urging her mouth to part for him, his heart leaping to his throat when she moaned his name. Not with Ana’s fingers undoing the button of his jeans, while he tore off her soaked white shirt, finally seeing the black bra that had been teasing him the entire walk to her room.
They fumbled out of their wet sneakers, Miki losing his jeans before they tumbled on her bed, ripping off the crisp, smooth sheets. “Oh no, your pressed linens!” he muttered, chuckling as he peeled off his shirt. Ana bit his earlobe, his neck, in punishment, but it didn’t feel like much of a penalty.