by Tria, Jay E.
Shinta put a big hand on top of her head and rested it there. “I’m guessing it was not your idea.”
“You guessed correctly, you smart, smart man.”
The first breakup wasn’t her idea either. Shinta knew all about that. He sat still, and Jill knew he was waiting for the follow up. Getting none, he removed his hand from her hair and lay back on the hood, resting his long frame against the windshield.
Jill began, now free from his X-ray gaze. “I hardly got to see him for two weeks before it happened. Sometimes a day would go by with not even one text.”
“You work together. How did he manage that?”
“Oh he didn’t skip gigs. He’s a hard core professional, as you saw tonight.” She lay on the hood beside Shinta, facing him, suddenly tired. “But a boy can disappear if he wants to. There are many ways.”
Shinta lay on his side, locking her gaze. “And then?”
“Then one morning I woke up to a text. And it was over.”
“A text?”
Jill smiled. “A text.”
“There is no pardon for that.”
“No need for machismo.” Jill rolled her eyes. “We met and talked on the same day. And then it was over.” She said it again, needing to hear it aloud.
“Seven years.” Shinta said the words in awe. “Over.”
“Yep.” Jill’s mouth popped out the P.
“How can you still see him every day after that?”
Jill closed her eyes. Routines were harder to change than social media statuses. Then there were the whys, what ifs, what did I evers—a torrent of Ws that swirled endlessly in her head until all faded to black. The key was to either shut her brain up by bombarding it with noise, or to keep it so busy it got confused and rebooted on its own.
“He hasn’t looked me in the eye since, so that helped. He barely spoke to me, unless he really had to. Does singing together count as talking?” She twisted and lay on her back. The black sky still offered her no stars. “Son and Nino were eternal springs of comic relief, while Miki held the fragile thread of the universe together.”
“I would hide in my car before gigs, and run back to it right after. I would drive. I once drove for five hours straight, emptying the tank in the middle of the expressway. I think I was bound for Baguio then.”
“What?” Shinta cried.
“So I stopped doing that. I wrote, I prayed, I played, and I read so I can sleep. I finished War and Peace, but that was a good book so it didn’t really make me feel sleepy. I read all the A Song of Fire and Ice books in one day.”
“That explains your sudden itch to discuss the Napoleonic era and Westeros. That phase went on for weeks!”
“Sorry. But that was fun, right?” Jill closed her eyes again, a lonely breeze moving strands of her hair, sticking them to her lips.
“I just kept reminding myself of Gwen Stefani. Did No Doubt break up because things didn’t work out between her and Tony? Hell no.” She opened her eyes and turned to him, smiling.
Shinta moved a long finger to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I can’t believe you. If I hadn’t flown in, when will you have told me?” His frown deepened when she didn’t answer. “Would you have told me ever?”
“Of course I would!” Jill blurted out.
She had no problem telling Shinta about the many little fights she had with Kim, or about their first breakup. She sometimes even confided to Shinta more than she did to Miki, and Miki was always around.
But with this one, Jill just couldn’t tell him. It felt like telling him—typing it in a message or saying it through a call that would travel miles across oceans—would make the breakup more real, resolute and firm, the final snip on a very long thread.
A recent memory tugged at her brain, because these unpleasant moments liked to line themselves up in her subconscious.
“Why do you even have that picture?” Jill glared at him. Sometime between that hot mess of a dinner, Jill wished one or three of Nino’s convenience dates were there, just for someone to laugh at.
“Is that why you drove me home back to my mother so early? Dawn hasn’t broken yet!”
“Answers, now!”
“It was on your news feed.”
“Damn it.”
Shinta smiled, his cheek resting on the crook of his elbow. “I saw it on Kim’s phone when I was here last January. I meant it when I said I liked it. You were happy in that picture.”
That picture was almost a year old. Jill had fallen asleep in Kim’s apartment, exhausted—their make out session had progressed to a complete homerun in his bed, and then to another round, in the middle of a hot summer afternoon—, and when she woke up, he pulled his shirt over her head. She was doing an impression of a Martian woman flirting, laughing at her own awful attempt, when Kim took the picture. It had been on his phone ever since.
Well, not since two months and five days, at least.
“Why do you even have it as your phone wallpaper?” Jill wailed, her face crumping at the memory. “You were waving it like a giant middle finger!”
“I like seeing your face. Every time I miss you I’d just click on my phone and there you are. I don’t know why I didn’t do that sooner.”
His words were solemn, matter-of-fact, his eyes locked on hers and it made Jill swallow her annoyance whole. Then Shinta broke the spell when he shrugged, unrepentant.
“And I guess I was also curious about how Kim will react. I couldn’t help it.”
The image of Kim’s dark glare, the spots of red on his cheeks, flashed in Jill’s vision. She squeezed her cold, clammy hands into fists.
“Don’t you do something like that again,” she hissed.
“If I can help it.” Shinta grinned, and Jill knew that was the best she was going to get from him.
After a long stretch of silence she spoke to the empty, inky sky. “Miki says breakups have a three-month probation period.”
“What happens there?” Shinta murmured.
“You wait.”
“For what?”
“For someone to change their mind.”
“And if nobody does and the three months are over?”
“You move on.”
Shinta sidled in closer beside her. “Why bother waiting that long?”
She turned to him, his face mere inches away that her breath grazed the tip of his nose when she answered.
“A question I ask myself every day.” Jill lifted two fingers to iron out the serious furrow on his pale brow. “You’re a troublemaker, but I’m glad you’re here.”
Shinta leaned in, knocking his forehead softly against hers. “I’m glad I’m here too.”
January 1, Saturday, four years ago
“It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life.”
The Gibson Les Paul Classic hung on the wall, unaware of Jill’s doting gaze. Jill’s eyes took in every detail of the gorgeous guitar. The slim dark handle housing the shiny metal strings yet to be blessed with a player’s blood and corns. The vintage body, sporting a curious color—Seafoam Green, read the label. How fitting it would be to have it in her hands, its body pressed against hers. It was the perfect first electric guitar.
“It’s been quite a short life so far. But I do agree,” Kim said beside her.
Jill tore her eyes from the gorgeous instrument and turned to Kim. He had been staring at her, a playful smile on his lips. She knew that smile.
“Was that a pick-up line?”
“Depends. Did it work?”
“As I am stuck with you for two more days, yes, you may date me.”
Kim pressed a palm on her face, smudging her cherry lip gloss, one hand on her waist to keep her from toppling backwards to the wall of guitars.
“Yaaah!” Jill pushed his hand away from her cheeks, hooked her arm on his elbow and tugged him to the exit.
They had gone through every inch of this Tom Lee store since its opening hour, admiring every pick, every amplifier, drum s
et, and guitar in the wide two-story expanse. They had done the same thing yesterday and the day before that, but Jill’s first and last stop would always be the seafoam green Les Paul. It was love at first sight.
“Why are we leaving already?” Kim followed her quick stomps.
“Buy your amplifier tomorrow without me. It’s too depressing looking at something I can’t have.” Jill braked and turned back to the guitar, the ‘reserved’ sign taped on its body mocking her. “Who could be the lucky one to soon strum those beautiful metal strings?” she sighed.
“You make everything sound sexy.” Kim’s voice lingered on her ear.
“I’m being depressed here.”
He chuckled. “The one who can afford to spend 15,000 Hong Kong dollars on a brand new guitar, that’s who.” He wrapped one arm around her shoulder and led her to the last steps out the door. “You’re right, we should go before you start crying. Nothing Peking duck won’t fix.”
The cool Hong Kong breeze and the noise and revelry of the city welcomed them outside. The sun was on its way up to its noontime spot in the sky, but the January air warded off most of the heat. It was perfect weather to be a tourist.
“Weren’t we meeting your mom for lunch?” Jill said as they walked around busy Tsim Sha Tsui.
Kim fished out his phone and twirled it in its hand. “Oh look at that, my battery’s dead.”
Jill saw the display light up quite clearly. “But—”
He nudged her side. “Don’t worry about it.”
The only reason Jill’s parents allowed her to take this New-Year-slash-early-graduation-gift trip was because Kim’s parents and three younger brothers were also here. A teenaged, high school senior should not be going to an out-of-country trip with her boyfriend. That was just not done. Kim’s mother had to take Jill’s mother on a ladies’ day out just to convince her that she will be a good chaperone.
It’s already Day Three of their trip and so far all chaperoning ended the moment after hotel check-in.
“We’ll show your mom the pictures as proof.”
Jill’s eyebrow shot up. “The pictures with your parents and brothers at the Manila airport?”
“And the ones at the plane.” Kim nodded gravely.
Jill could continue this argument but she did not. Her debates were half-hearted anyway. She pressed closer to Kim as they walked, her hand inside his back jeans pocket.
“What are we calling ourselves again?” she began.
“Trainman,” Kim said firmly.
Jill rolled her eyes. “We’re really sticking to Son’s manga dork idea?”
“Well it’s better than Purple Puddle and Mobile Suit Mania.”
She shook her head. “Such terrible, terrible ideas.”
“And you have to admit, Trainman does have a certain ring to it.”
The name did sound relatable and catchy while still being kind of vaguely cool. It might just work.
“Well if all goes well with this music thing, we’ll be stuck with that name for life,” Jill mused.
“Trust me. All will go well with this music thing.”
Jill turned to see the smile on his face, bright as the sun, his dark eyes disappearing with the grin. Kim had always been good with promises. He was the planner, the big dreamer of them two.
She clutched his waist, and they walked faster. “What’s the dream again?”
“It’s a plan, not a dream.” Kim corrected her for the nth time now, waving a lecturing finger at her nose.
Jill raised her eyes to the heavens, remembering that this boy did not believe in destiny. He believed in motion, in making things happen. “Technicalities,” she muttered.
Kim smiled, his mood fueling his pace. This was a topic he liked.
“We do as our mothers tell us to keep the peace. But on the side we keep writing songs. We find that underground music organization and bend our backs to get in. We crash bars, befriend bouncers, and get all the gigs we can. Each free elective will be dedicated to a music or a writing class.”
Jill pursed her lips. “I don’t know. Son’s hell bent on taking something weird like Japanese Art and Culture or European Dances.”
Kim muttered under his breath. “I’ll take care of him,” he promised, then went on. “In a year or two, I want us to release an album; five songs for an EP would be fine. So we have to save up for that. And I really want us to play in a music festival.”
Jill whistled. “Now that’s a dream.”
Kim scrunched his brow. “Nothing as big as Coachella or Sziget,” he said slowly. “Somewhere hot and humid in Asia, like here, or Singapore. And then—”
“This is a very long plan.”
Kim quirked an eyebrow at her. “You asked.”
“Save some for tomorrow.”
She was getting a headache, unable to imagine anything past the senior prom Trainman (it does roll off the tongue nicely) would be playing next month. A musical life was a simpler concept to her—a litter of backstage nerves, a cold numbing rush, the release and exchange of thoughts and memories through lyrics and sound.
“And the back-up plan?” she prodded when Kim just stared at the pavement moving under his feet.
“The good old necktie and nine-to-five.”
They turned to each other, grimacing at the thought.
They were starting university in June. All four of them had made it into the prestigious state university, thanks to a year-long toil and pressure of preparing for the entrance exams. All four of them were enrolling in practical courses—Jill in Economics, Kim in Math, Nino and Son in Communications—as dictated by their parents.
But they had also started a band, ready to run with the teenage dream, with Kim’s very detailed plan to guide them.
“Then I really need a new guitar,” Jill diverted. Seafoam green was in her eyes again.
“Your guitar now works just fine,” Kim said.
“The G already sounds like a C.”
“Replace the strings.”
“That old thing has had too many things replaced in its lifetime.”
“Hey, show some respect.” Kim nudged her side sharply. “That guitar has been through two People Power revolutions.”
Jill sighed. “Fine. I’m sorry.”
She knew that it was a lovely guitar. A black and white Stratocaster, classic and battle-worn. Her father handed it over to her when her plucks and strums sounded crisp and clear enough to his ears, and he deemed her worthy of graduating to an electric guitar from an acoustic. She had used it in a few Battle of the Bands, and other school gigs in the past two years, but it still felt borrowed in her hands.
Jill believed that guitars had their masters, thus that Stratocaster will always belong to her father.
“Does your plan say how many years before I start earning money?” The price of the new guitar was stuck on her mind.
Kim inclined his head. “It might take a while.”
“Right.”
“So until then, be grateful with what you have, young lady.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Fine, you’re the boss.”
They had walked two blocks before landing at a small crowded restaurant where no one spoke English; the best place to have Peking duck. After more hours of endless wandering around bustling Tsim Sha Tsui, Kim’s mother found them in the largest bookstore in Causeway Bay. She kept steely guard on them since.
“My mother found us because you’re so predictable,” Kim said that night as they stood in front of Jill’s hotel door.
Kim’s mother poked her head out of their room, just across of Jill’s. “Kim, if you’re not in your room with your brothers in five minutes, I’m barging in there. Believe me.”
“Oh I believe you, mother,” Kim called back. Turning to Jill, he muttered. “Hurry up with the key, why don’t you?”
“I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying.”
Jill finally pushed the door open, and she and Kim tumbled inside. Kim inserted the key card in the s
lot, and flicked on the lights.
A seafoam green Les Paul guitar was lying on Jill’s single bed.
Jill froze, her mouth in a rigid line. She stood staring at the guitar for many ticking seconds, until Kim gently pushed her forward, closing the door behind them. She knelt on the bed, her thin fingers reaching carefully for the guitar, afraid it will disappear if she touched it.
“What’s this?” she whispered.
Kim stood over her. “Well, it looks like the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.”
Jill dared touch it now, holding the guitar like fragile glass. “Kim, don’t you play with me. What is this?”
“Do you like it?”
“I’m going to marry it.”
Kim scowled. “Then what am I supposed to do for the rest of my life?”
“Shh, don’t ruin this for me.” Jill finally looked up at him, the beautiful new guitar on her lap. “How?”
Kim grinned, obviously pleased with himself. “I didn’t buy the amplifier. Unlike you, I’m perfectly happy with my trusty old instrument. Mom put up the rest as her graduation gift to you. But I think she put part of that on my tab, so you might need to feed me for the next few years while I pay her back.”
Jill’s mind blanked. She gently put the guitar back on the bed, slowly inching away from it. “Kim, I can’t.”
He closed the space between them in the tiny hotel room and grabbed the back of Jill’s head, kissing her full on the mouth. Jill tumbled on the bed, the guitar a safe distance away, Kim on top of her.
“Advanced happy birthday, advanced Merry Christmas, and happy anniversary month,” Kim said after the kiss, his eyes bright.
Jill laughed, loud and delirious. She looked into his dark eyes and knew he was certain, and happy.
“Looks like I’m having a good 17th birthday and 17th Christmas.” She took his face in her hands and showered his cheeks, his neck with kisses. “I didn’t know the third anniversary was perfect musical instruments. Thank you.”
Kim traced the base of her neck with one finger. “What will you name her?”
“Her?”
He smiled. “Doesn’t she look like a girl?”
Jill turned to the beautiful metallic creature beside her, the creature that now belonged to her. “Definitely not Purple Puddle.” She nodded firmly. “She looks like a Julia.”