by Tria, Jay E.
“No, Kim,” she heard herself say, eyes still on the road. “That’s just you.”
“We have to stop while we still can. We’ve known each other for seven years. I don’t want to lose you.”
Jill hated him for the businesslike tone he adopted when he said it. “Isn’t losing me the entire point of all this?”
May 15, Friday, morning
Jill flicked on the light, closed the door behind her and plugged Julia to life. She took a few seconds to take in the silence, the beauty of the studio in the near darkness of an unseasonably cool morning. It was five o’clock, the sun yet to break through the limpid clouds. The building was deserted, and it was a good time to sing.
She sat on the old red couch, seafoam green Julia on her lap. The lyrics were typed, clean and printed, taped on a board in front of her. She held the neck of the guitar loosely, and started to sing the words in the silence.
“You were mine/Shoebox tickets, rusty strings and other leftovers/Right on time/Many dreams we vowed to take over.”
Her voice echoed throughout the small square room, big and whole against the walls. She plucked a looping rhythm as she sang the next lines.
The door opened. Jill jerked her head, her heart jumping to her throat. Her thumping heartbeat slowed when she saw it was Miki, walking with his quiet steps toward her. He took his seat on the couch, studying her lyrics, listening to the rhythm.
Jill had not broken her singing. “I am fine—”
“Romantic movies, sex scenes and broken verses,” Miki sang.
“Right on time—”
“I’ve been trying so hard to reverse this.”
“I can see—”
“But the end has already passed me.”
“The end of the wheel—”
“Hearts also come to their senses.”
Jill flashed him a smile, and they hit the chorus together, Miki’s low voice contrasting perfectly with the waves of her pitch. Jill plucked the rhythm again and again—the sharp beat that woke her in the middle of the night—until the song ended with a fade. The silence was back to absolute, but she wasn’t alone anymore.
“Thanks.” She grinned at Miki.
“Looked like you needed help. You’re such an overachiever, taking a duet on your own.”
“I didn’t realize it was a duet. I guess I do write too long sometimes.” She put Julia carefully on the guitar stand and sat back on the old sofa. “What are you doing here so early?”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I went looking for a missing friend.” He shot her an accusing glare. “That’s a new song,” Miki went on. “Did you write that in the past few days when we almost filed a missing-person report on you?”
Jill smiled, unrepentant of the five whole days she had spent rejecting calls, ignoring texts, and shunning guests. “Yes. Do you like it?”
“What about All the Way?”
Jill looked at him, her head comfortably on the sofa. “It’s broken. I can’t fix it, and I’ve tried my damnedest. I tried, so it’s okay.”
Miki measured her gaze, a serious line on his forehead. After a moment, he smiled. “I like this song better.” He tapped the lyrics taped on the board in front of them. “I like that it’s new. It fits the theme of today.”
“Which is?”
“It’s the end of your breakup probation period.” He sat back at the sofa, a clean foot of space away from her. “Three months on the dot.”
Something warm stirred inside her chest, a lightness that had been fluttering in and out her heart in the past few days that she had lived like a hermit, getting drunk on vivid memories, old movies, favorite books, worn out songs, and perfect, wonderful, long stretches of silence. Miki’s words felt like the proclamation of a freedom that she already claimed.
“You’ve got to stop counting, Miki.” Jill fixed him a stern look and a lecturing finger. “Life’s too short to be standing still.”
Miki cocked one eyebrow. “Life lessons from Nino.”
“And it goes downhill from there.”
Miki laughed. He reached over her, taking Julia from the stand. His fingers strummed the guitar, trying a few chord changes with the words. He slipped a few lyrics of his own as he sang.
“I have your plane ticket, by the way.” He stopped playing and fished inside his pockets for several worn out sheets of paper. “Apparently Mars was not bluffing about Pink Rock in Singapore. And look.”
Jill peered at the documents he was holding up to her face. “Is that an actual hotel reservation? Why just the last gig in Shanghai we were couch surfing. Oh my God, Mars must be raking it in.”
“And you actually get your own room.”
“Because I’m a girl. Oh, how sensitive of him.”
They laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls. Jill stared at the hotel voucher, already thinking of the mini refrigerator. All these years she had shared her accommodations with Kim. She was looking forward to eating the expensive can of peanuts on her own.
“So,” Miki prodded. “What now, Jillian Marie?”
“Well it seems that we have a gig in Singapore to go to, lah.”
“And after that?”
She took Julia back from his hands, plucking the intro to the brand new song again. “Don’t be so serious, Miki. I’m just going to count it on a day to day basis.”
A Habit to Break
You were mine
(Shoebox tickets, rusty strings and other leftovers)
Right on time
(Many dreams we vowed to take over)
Tell me please
(Aren’t we almost there?)
Why so mean?
(We were meant to take the highest tower)
You were right
You were right
Right on the line
I could wait for the tide to turn
But it could take too long
Maybe it don’t matter much
If I can’t fix this song
Forever is a habit I need to break
I am fine
(Romantic movies, sex scenes and broken verses)
Right on time
(I’ve been trying so hard to reverse this)
I can see
(But the end has already passed me)
The end of the wheel
(Hearts also come to their senses)
You were right
You were right
Right on the line
I’d wait for the tide to turn
But it could take too long
Maybe it don’t matter much
If I can’t fix this song
Forever is a habit I need to break myself
Oh baby we’re going down
Oh baby we’re going down
Oh baby we’re going down
Oh baby we’re going down
And we can’t get up up up
Do you know me?
(I’m still here)
Do you know me?
(The way is clear)
Do I still know you?
(Time to go)
Hello, are you there? (Jill)
May 16, Saturday, morning
Jill squeezed the steering wheel with both hands, unleashing her stress. Usually jangling nerves like these were reserved for open-space concerts under the rain, or backstage run-ins with her musical gods. She looked out the windshield for the nth time in this early morning vigil, the beating sun nearly blinding her.
The high gate to the Mori house opened by a crack. A tall, lean boy had walked through the gap, his long steps leading him to an old car.
Jill jumped out of her seat, slamming the car door shut. The sound reached Shinta. His head jerked towards her, eyebrows knotting quickly when he saw her face.
The nerves circuited through Jill’s fingers, rooting her feet to the ground. She looked up to see Shinta marching towards her. In the next second he was squeezing her face between his large hands.
“Waaaahhhhhh!” Jill cried. “What the hell—?”
“Okay, I deserve that.” Jill rubbed her sore cheeks.
“So you were not eaten by the washing machine. Or murdered in your bed.” Shinta crossed his arms, his features cold. “Or kidnapped by an organ trafficker. Good to know.”
“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call. And that I rejected all your calls and ignored all your messages and pretended I was asleep when you dropped by the house.” She piled on all her sins, shrinking where she stood as Shinta’s eyebrows disappeared under his hair.
Jill sighed. “It’s just that I’m always surrounded by boys. You guys are everywhere and I can’t get any thinking done! Sometimes it gets suffocating.”
“Did you get your quality girl time then?”
Hours spent with Regina Spektor, Jane Austen, and JK Rowling flashed in her head. “Kind of,” she said in a small voice. “Times like these though I wish I wasn’t an only child.”
“If you had a bit more social skills…”
Jill rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard this before.”
“And way less walls, maybe you’d have more girlfriends,” Shinta finished.
Jill looked up at him, enduring his annoyance. He glared at her some more before finally unlocking his arms. He took a step toward her, one hand landing on her head, fingers combing through her ponytail. He breathed out a long sigh that seemed to come from a deep, dark pit.
She touched his hand. “The gig in Singapore is happening,” she said when she seemed forgiven. “Mars already booked the plane tickets and everything!”
Shinta smiled, erasing the wary lines on his forehead. He put his hand back in his pocket. “That’s great. I’m glad for you.”
“Here’s your plane ticket.” Jill took out the folded paper from her jeans pocket and stuffed it into his hand. “I got it. For you.”
He looked at the ticket in surprise. “You’re obviously assuming that I want to come...”
“Well, yes.” Jill swallowed more nerves. “Since you’re a fan and we’re releasing a new single and all.”
“Makes sense. When is this?”
“Friday next week,” Jill answered eagerly.
“Huh. That will be a close call,” Shinta mused. He folded his plane ticket into the size of a stamp and stowed it in his jeans pocket. “But okay. I guess I can just change my exit city.”
Jill watched the tiny folded paper find its secure spot of acceptance, but suddenly tipped her head up at him.
“What do you mean exit city? Are you leaving?”
“I need to go back to Tokyo. Work calls.”
Jill frowned. “Are you shooting another weird depressing romantic drama?”
Shinta’s face lit up. “You watched it?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you die in the end? I mean your character. Your character dies.” Jill bit her tongue. “You know I like those movies.”
“Well you do have to go through a lot of romance before you get to the death. And for some weird reason, a romantic like you doesn’t like seeing me in anything romantic.”
“True.”
“Then there’s all the movie sex.”
Jill made a face. “Yep. There’s all of that.”
She had always thought she wasn’t stupid. On good days, she even thought she was smart. But being smart apparently didn’t make her self-aware. It took one strange romantic movie with a dozen intense sex scenes before she finally realized why she can’t bear to watch Shinta in them.
Maybe Kim’s handshake also helped, she added to her musings. And Shinta’s lips, and his hands must have helped too. She clenched her fists, struggling to control the heat rising from her stomach to her cheeks. She looked up at Shinta’s beautiful face, this face and this boy that she knew, keeping the realization to herself.
“Your mother will miss you when you’re gone again.”
“I know. I’ll miss her too,” he said with his open-hearted smile.
She did not need to tell him, not just yet. Not after he had said ‘I love you’ with such certainty, while her own feelings were still anchored on tiny shoots of hope.
Sometimes, you don’t need the boy. Not right now. Not when it wasn’t fair to him. As long as you have hope.
“The movie shoot will be done in two months,” Shinta went on. “After that, my schedule is free for a month or two.”
Jill’s heart fluttered at the words. “You’ll be an unemployed bum again? Is your career not as awesome as you make it out to be?”
“Maybe I am in trouble.” Shinta laughed. “By any chance do you need a new roadie? Or a personal assistant?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Please do.” Shinta grinned. “As you said though, my mother will surely miss me. So while I wait for a job vacancy from you, I’ll just come back here and live off of her.”
“Your poor mother. For shame, sir.”
“You can help, you know. Take my coffee tab out of her budget, for one. Add the odd movie night and a window-shopping date in there while you’re at it, and some free gigs in between. And lots of beef kebabs. God I love those kebabs.”
“Maybe…” Jill said softly. The promise of future days and nights spent with him tugged a smile on her lips.
“I’ll take that as half a yes.”
In her next heartbeat Shinta had closed the space between them, enveloping her in his arms, his long body against her, warmer than the summer sun. He planted his chin on top of her ponytail, his lips brushing a kiss on her hair.
“Look at that, we’re making such progress.”
“Look at that,” Jill murmured back, wrapping her arms around his waist.
He smelled of clean sheets and crisp aftershave, and his arms felt like home, like a T-shirt you wore to bed every night because it was so soft and it knew your body, like a song you’ve heard a million times before but never realized how much you really, really liked it.
The words inside her head were swirling, upended and broken, but they were revolving around one universal thought: What a strange thing it is, hope.
May 22, Friday, night
The drum beat rolled like angry thunder, lording over the screams and chants of the Pink Rock music festival patrons. The ground shook as the crowd jumped in synch with Nino’s dizzying beat. Bodies by the odd thousands flailed about, updownupdownupdown, arms in the air, the hard soil of the Meadow at Gardens by the Bay their trampoline.
“TO GET OUT!” Trainman hollered as one, then it was only Kim left, his lips on the mic.
“Shot gun to the bright side, oh/ I’ll be waiting for you baby,” his raspy voice sang in speed, the words coming out in a lightning rush as Kim tried to keep up with Nino’s thunder.
Nino was soaked in sweat, crouched low with his butt floating inches from the stool. He held his back in a tense angle as he pounded away, his own beat running away from him. Son had tripped on a cable a verse ago and was playing his bass on the floor.
On either side of Jill, Miki and Kim were standing still as statues in front of their microphone stands, only their fingers and mouths moving as they concentrated on playing the right chords and singing out the right words.
Jill shot a look at Kim, and they grinned at each other.
Kim turned back to the mic. “So many miles stretch out at night/This isn’t about that—what? Oh fuck it,” he grumbled, Miki quickly covering for him.
Jill giggled. She fixed her eyes on Julia, closing her ears on the cheering crowd. She loved Trainman’s brand new single. But she thought even Nino knew that his genius drum track was going to get slower whether he liked it or not.
***
“It’s so kind of you to send me off.”
“Always the tone of surprise about my kindness.”
Jill followed Shinta closely, clinging to his backpack as they zipped through the crowd at Changi Airport. He stopped at a glass railing, just in front of the Kinetic Rain s
culpture. Jill leaned over, mesmerized by a thousand bronze bullets floating across time and air.
Shinta pulled at the back of her shirt, eyebrows crossed. She grinned sheepishly at him and adjusted her stance at a safer distance away from the glass. Her eyes scanned the wide beautiful expanse of the terminal.
The gigantic round clock on the ceiling read ten thirty in the evening. The music festival would be wrapping up soon. The rest of Trainman would be among the mosh pit, bodies glistening and sticky, tumbling against the other merrymakers.
“You missed the main act for me,” Shinta said, flashing her an ironic smile.
“I didn’t like that band much anyway,” Jill said with a shrug.
Kim, Miki, Son and Nino made a big show of wanting to send Shinta off at the airport too, but all of them knew mosh pits came first. Besides, Shinta was their mushroom friend, bound to pop in and out when they least expected him.
Jill scanned his face, suddenly sad at the thought. “So what kind of movie will you be shooting when you get home?”
“Zombies versus robots.” His eyes lit up, excitement bursting out of him. Jill grinned as his words came out in a rush; she couldn’t help it. “Zombies have taken over the world, humanity is wiped out apart from a small group of survivors, and their last hope rests on an army of giant, humanoid robots that kind of hate humans too.”
“How does it end?” she urged.
“I die a very heroic death,” Shinta said proudly. “But it’s the robots who save the world.”
“And humanity?”
“Gone forever.”
Jill nodded her head slowly. “Might be good for the world for a change.”
“I thought so, too.” Shinta beamed.
Jill laughed, not because his expression was funny, but because he looked like nothing could make him happier than to shoot this dystopian movie. Simple things made Shinta happy like that.
“So are you making the July deadline for the album?” Shinta inquired.
“Yep,” Jill answered, pulled out of her musings. “Kim’s mom is having her biopsy in two days. He says we’ll start recording one week after the procedure.”