DIS/CLOSURE

ii

Foreword Life can be surprising.

Our plans get thwarted. Our expectations aren’t met. We encounter something we’ve never seen before. We make mistakes and deal with the consequences. Changes—big or small—come our way, and we have no choice but to face them.

If change is, indeed, the only thing that is constant in our lives, then along with it comes the need to embrace and accept it. And psychology tells us that one of the best ways to deal with it is to talk about it.

We ask questions. We seek out listening ears. We solicit adivce. Or we simply tell our stories. In this, the burden is somehow made lighter, and facing the changes doesn’t become as overwhelming. Through talking about the unexpected, we gain some closure—or at least begin to find it.

This zine features sixteen different works from aspiring young writers, and each story talks about lives that get shaken up, then eventually gain closure.

Fenella Sto. Domingo May Cardoso Batch Heads UP Writers Club App Batch 15-16 A

iii

Acacia Dany Abuel

It’s been a while since I made the three-hour drive.

“Come visit when you can,” my mother would tell me over our biweekly Skype chats. I always had some sort of excuse. “I will, I will. Within the month, I promise. I just have to work on my thesis."

“We understand, dear. But it’s been too long. We just miss you,” she says.

“I miss you guys too.” I bite my lip and try to suppress the sentiment in my voice. The last thing I want to do is to make her cry by being too melodramatic.

“I’m sure Pa’s very emotional right now.”

“Oh, he’s devastated.” I let out a dry laugh, and so does she.

The car radio interrupts my thoughts with an OPM song I am not familiar with. It’s one of those recent songs about forever. I scoff and change the station, and it starts playing the Top 40 playlist instead. Frustrated, I turn off the radio and bask in the strange comfort of silence. I’m nearly home.

I make the turn into the subdivision, and my headlights illuminate the silver letters that spell out ‘Laguna Bel-Air’. The guard does a half-hearted salute as he lifts the boom gate. I drive by a few houses, and oddly, it still feels familiar. I then pass by a clearing and I slow down to look around, not minding the road that wasn’t busy in the first place.

To my right is the playground. It still has that old, creaky swing, and the monkey bars that were too rusty be considered safe. Not to mention there’s that Acacia tree that loomed on the other side, like it was some sort of guardian watching over nonexistent children. My grip on the wheel tightens as it all comes flooding back. Memories of my childhood. Memories of that tree.

Memories of her. *** The playground was filled with children. No one dared touch any of the equipment in the middle of a May afternoon, but they all seemed to have games of their own, running around the place and whatnot. Being a newcomer, I was left behind to stare at the cemented ground with traces of chalk lines. Someone had drawn a strange-looking grid with numbers inside. I didn’t get it.

2 “You should join in with them.” Yaya Lyn pointed to a group of kids playing

tag. I shook my head no, and told her I just wanted shade and maybe some soft drinks. She sighed.

“I saw a sari-sari store on the way, I can get you your Coke there. Why don’t you stay under that tree?” I turned to where she was looking and saw a tree with the thickest trunk I had ever seen. Its branches extended far, and they were abounded in leaves, too. Perfect, I said silently. “I’ll be right back. Try and make some friends,” Yaya Lyn said, and then she was gone.

I walked towards the tree as instructed. It had two major branches that split almost evenly in the middle, and smaller branches extended from each one.

Getting a closer look, I noticed how the bark was rough and crumbling in some areas.

“It’s an Acacia,” said a small voice, and I looked behind me to see a scrawny girl with short hair that ended where her blue dress began. She stared at me with those almond-shaped eyes, which looked almost threatening, as if I’d stolen something of hers. “A- A what?” I asked, creasing my forehead.

“An Acacia. You know, the big, branchy tree?”

I shook my head, and it was her turn to frown. “Where are you from?”

“Makati.”

“And where’s that?”

“That’s in Metro Manila.”

A look of understanding washed over her features, and she put the lollipop in her mouth so her voice was muffled. “I see. You don’t have trees there?”

“We do, but I’ve never seen an… Uh-kah-shah up close.”

She chuckled a bit. Probably at my laughable attempt to pronounce such a simple word. “Aha, so I take it you’ve never climbed one of these, either?” “…no, why would I?” I tilted my head in confusion. With this, she brushed past me and put her hands over one of the thick branches in front. She jumped, lifting herself up with ease, using a foot on the trunk as support. “Because–” she continued, crawling on the branch before finally sitting on it. “It’s fun! You should come up here.”

Part of me was in awe of her strength, 3 but a larger part worried I might hurt myself if I followed suit. “I don’t know how,” I said, and she swung her legs vigorously. “Come on! At least try. Please?” The urgency in her voice told me she

would ask a little less nicely next time, and that did it for me. “Fine.”

I approached the front of the tree where the V-shape stood, and I put my hand on the branch opposite hers.

“Here, I’ll help you.” She reached out to me, and I grabbed her hand. For a while I felt my face burn up, but with much luck she didn’t notice. “Okay, now, put your foot on that space over there.” She referred to the point where the two branches were split, and I did as instructed. “When I count to three, jump with your other foot, and then lift yourself up on that branch.” I nodded as nonchalantly as I can, hoping it would help the palpitations in my heart.

“One… two…”

“Eli!” I heard Yaya Lyn shout from one side of the playground, but that didn’t stop me. As soon as she finished her count, I kicked myself off from the ground and pulled myself up. For a while, I felt like I could do absolutely anything.

Until my clammy hand broke loose from her grip.

I fell on the dry, rough grass, with my arm as my safety pad. *** I steer the wheel to my left and pass by a compound. Seven Pillars Catholic School is now accepting preschool students, the banner at the front reads. I wonder how the school is doing, and if the nice staff at the canteen still work there. I wonder if they’ve expanded it, so no more students would struggle to get seats during lunch time. I wonder if she remembers that day. *** The first day of school wasn’t as bad as I’d anticipated. People were nice and welcoming, with the exception of a few who didn’t seem to care for the new kid with the unsigned cast, but it was fine. It was only lunch time, after all.

Tray in hand, my eyes scoured the canteen for empty seats. No such luck.

The place was packed.

I made my way around the tables, hoping to catch a familiar face in the crowd before I resorted to my last option: to sit on the floor. Thankfully, it didn’t have to happen. I felt someone tap my shoulder and I look behind me to see the reason I had this cast in the first place, and it came in the form of a skinny little girl with short hair.

4 “You,” I said, and she only waved at me. “You go here?”

The corners of her lips curled up ever so slightly. “Oh, no, not at all! I just passed by to check up on you, actually. I even got my own uniform and everything.”

It took me a while to realize what she meant, I admit.

“I haven’t played basketball in weeks because of you, you know.” I wasn’t angry, but I let my voice grow a little louder. She shook her head, not seeming to understand. “And how is that my fault?”

I laughed. “You made me climb that tree.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t want to.”

“I didn’t. I really didn’t.”

Her face fell. If I knew her well then, I’d think it was uncharacteristic. “Oh. Uh, well, I’m sorry about that. Can I make it up to you?” The tone of her voice was laced with guilt, and I felt a little bad.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to,” I said, looking around for a table.

“I could help you find a place to eat in.”

I considered. “It’s not a tree, is it?” That made her laugh, and she nudged my good arm.

“No, don’t worry. Just a table.” She walked through the crowd and led the way. “I’m Hanna, by the way,” she said, looking back for a split-second. A smile crept up on my lips. “Eli. I- I’m Eli.” “I know.”

I don’t know how she did it, but we managed to get a table for ourselves.

That was, until a group of students started hooting behind us. Sixth graders, probably. “Get a room!” they said flippantly, along with other obnoxious whistling noises.

Hanna wasn’t too happy about that.

She turned around and took to her heels. The group then resorted to booing and calling her names like “coward” and “crybaby”, and it made me sick. I ran after her, but I couldn’t find her anywhere.

5 ***

The faded brown paint and white picket fence come into view, and I find myself pulling up into our driveway. I see my mother peek through the front window, an ecstatic smile on her face. I don’t remember ever seeing her this excited before.

Maybe it has been a while.

I turn off the engine and get out of the car. By now she has made her way out the front door, and greets me with a tight hug. “Hey Ma,” I mumble into her shoulder, returning the warm embrace. *** Hanna’s place was in the old, secluded area of town. The vacant house beside theirs seemed to be deteriorating, even. Vines crept up on the unpainted walls and weeds covered the entirety of the porch, and I would always get a chill in my spine whenever our school service passed that street. But I soon found that there were worse things.

It was a cloudy Sunday afternoon, weeks after school had started. Yaya Lyn was on her day off, but I got my parents to let me go exploring the town alone. I think they were too busy to mind, anyway, eyes fixated on laptops and mind focused on their reports. I didn’t mind it, either.

Helmet on, I got on my bike. “Be careful!” I heard my mother yell from her study before I sped off.

Since I was by myself, I had more freedom to explore the streets. But I eventually found myself back in the playground – by sheer fate, I liked to think. It was completely abandoned, save for someone sitting in front of the Acacia tree. She was staring at the ground and humming a tune I couldn’t identify.

It was her.

“Eli?” she called out, looking my way. I waved at her, and she urged me to come closer. She seemed to be playing with something on the ground. Leaving my bike on the curb, I ran towards her and whatever she was playing with. “Look at this!” she said, pointing to an enormous insect in front of her. It was black with six legs, and I found it both fascinating and disgusting. “What is it?” I asked, unable to mask my intrigue.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I think they call it a June beetle, but I’m not sure. Cool, though, right?”

6 “Yeah. I wonder if it bites.”

We spent the entire afternoon in the playground. She introduced me to all these games, but we couldn’t play most of them because we needed more people. But it was good fun regardless. I particularly liked the one called Piko – apparently, that was what the weird grid was for.

We were on our second round when I decided I would come clean.

“Hey, for the record, I did want to climb that tree.”

“Hmm?” “I wanted to climb that tree. I’m sorry for blaming you when I broke my arm.

It wasn’t your fault.”

A soft smile eased into her features, and I got a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was something I’d only ever felt once before, when I had the biggest crush on Sailor Moon.

“So – now that your arm’s fine, you want to try again?” she challenged, dropping the Piko rock.

“Game!”

We raced towards the Acacia. She reached it first, and with minimal effort, climbed onto the branch.

“How?!” I looked up at her, and she answered with a shrug. “It’s not that difficult, you know.”

She extended her arm, and with her help, I finally made it onto the branch – but not after a few scratches. And later, I would learn, muscle pain. Naturally, accomplishments came with a price, but my ten-year-old self couldn’t really care less at the time. I noticed how her arm was filled with bruises, like someone had gripped on her wrist way too tight. I thought it was from me at first. But those hand marks were of a grown man’s. *** The aroma of my dad’s kaldereta fills the house when I enter. “Smells great, Pa,” I say, to which he doesn’t respond. Probably his hearing problems again. I go into the kitchen, and see him test-tasting the meal, salt and pepper containers resting on the counter. “Hey, Pa,” I say a little louder. He turns and sees me.

“Oh, my son, nice of you to join us.”7 He doesn’t give me a hug, nor does he shed a single tear for not having seen me in nearly a year. Heck, he doesn’t even move from his spot, but I know he loves me. He smiles, and I help set up

the table.

It is nice catching up with my parents. Nice meal, too. Apparently, my father has developed a passion for cooking after his retirement, and he was trying to master a new dish a week. “What about you, Ma? How’re things?”

She shrugs. “Well, you know. I’ve been trying to write more lately. I miss my job, hah.”

“Come on, Ma. You’ve been working your entire life.”

“I know,” she says, slightly apologetic, and I worry I might have come off resentful. “I’m sorry, Eli.” “Don’t be. You did what you–” She cuts me off. “I just don’t want you to end up like… us. Too engrossed in our jobs. Never having time for anything else, not even their own son. And now…” Her voice almost cracks. “…you’re barely even here.”

I shake my head. “I’m in college, Ma. This is normal. And besides, I’m here now, aren’t I?” She is silent this time. I think she just wants to avoid crying. I do, too.

“It’s not like I’m going to run off on you, either.” *** We were in high school when I first noticed the signs.

She’d grown up to be part of the school choir, but she quit recently due to personal problems. I would know, I was the one to accompany her to the guidance counselor every week. But for the most part she was still herself, so I had no reason to be suspicious.

“Hey, what’s the fastest commute to Cubao from here?” she asked me one time after class. We were resting under the shade of the Acacia, our Acacia.

“Uh, well, you take a tricycle to Balibago, and then you find the Cubao bus. Jacliner station, I think. Why’d you ask?” She shrugged. “No reason.”

“I don’t buy it,” I teased, looking up from my sketchpad.

“Oh, come on, can’t a girl just ask without having some sort of agenda behind it?”

8 “Well, I don’t know. I don’t get you girls.” She nudged my arm. “Wow. Little harder next time, maybe?”

She grinned. “You wouldn’t be able to take it.”

It all seemed so normal then. If I had known she’d already started packing her bags, inquiring about places she could board in, hunting for jobs she might get, I would’ve given it more thought. I should have. Instead I just sat there, drawing her features like a hopeless fool. “What’re you doing tomorrow?” she asked, taking a peek at my drawings, but I immediately close the book. “I have practice ‘til 6, but me and the guys are having dinner afterwards. I don’t think I can hang out, sorry.”

“Aw, boo,” she said, before getting up and climbing the tree, as she always did. “I guess I’ll just be here in Lonerville, then.”

I didn’t bother and stayed by the trunk, enjoying the backrest. “Well, we’re both in Lonerville for now, aren’t we?”

“I am. You’re still down there.” *** After dinner, I help my parents out with the dishes before heading upstairs. I massage my shoulders, which ache a bit from the drive. “Good night,” I tell them when we are done, and I enter my room.

It is a mess, obviously. My mother hates cleaning up for herself, much less for others. I suppose I got that from her.

Papers are scattered on the floor, and boxes with various memorabilia inside them are stacked in one side of the room. Hungry for more nostalgia, I open up a few of them and find some very interesting stuff. Old toys, clothes that don’t fit anymore, and letters. Lots of them. Some even seem to be attempts to woo a certain girl, but considering how they were unsent, I can only deem these attempts to be futile. There was this one particular letter, though, that wasn’t written by me. I know who did, though.

The letter is folded in thirds, and is slightly yellowed by age. I check the date on the letter and it is from three years, two months, and seventeen days ago. My hands tremble slightly as I reread the contents, and for a moment I have second thoughts doing this. Am I willing to torture myself all over again?

Perhaps I am.

Elliot, Before anything else, I just wanted 9 to say sorry for not telling you this sooner. I did mean to tell you – two things, in fact. One is that I haven’t been completely in touch with myself lately, you know that. The monster

that lives with Mama has been vicious. I’m sure you can tell by the state of my face the other day. I don’t know how he’s still not in prison after all my appeals. Shit. I think I know. Why did he have to be a goddamn lawyer?

Anyway, the other thing is that I want to leave this place. At first I considered bringing Mama with me, but God, she seems to be in love with the man still. And I am tired. I am tired of being hurt. I am tired of hating myself.

But I’m scared, Eli. I’m terrified of the thought of being alone again, in the city, no less. Which is why I’m telling you this: go with me. Please.

You’re the only one I know I can trust. We could make a life of our own out there – you can have a shot with your paintings, and I can make money off of part-time singing jobs. We can be starving artists; I don’t care. I just want to be free of this place before it sucks the life out of me, and I know you do too.

Meet me tomorrow at 8am, sharp. Outside the Bel-Air gate. We’ll go from there.

I trust you, Eli, I really do.

Hanna I put the letter down, but not after staining it with tears. *** “Running away? What are you thinking?!”

Her face formed a frown when she saw me approaching her. She was on that tree again, like a fucking child, and I was having none of it. “What?” she said with a shrug, in a tone too light given the situation. “I told you I was done with this place. Aren’t you?”

“I don’t know. I just wish you’d told me in person instead of taping a piece of paper to my locker. Anyone could’ve seen!”

“So? Who would care about some emo girl who wants to run away? And besides, it’s not like our being friends is some sort of secret,” she reasoned, swinging her legs on the branch, and I was silent for a moment. “Is it?”

I didn’t answer. Not immediately, at10 least.

“Wait a minute. Do I embarrass you, Elliot?” Her legs swung faster. I

grabbed her feet to stop her, and the crease on her forehead grew. “Stop,” I said finally. I didn’t want to lie, but I didn’t want to hurt her, either. Apparently, I didn’t have much choice.

I shook my head. “Of course not, Hanna. It’s just that…”

“Just what?”

“I don’t think I can jeopardize everything I have just for you. I want a future, Hanna. Running won’t help me do that. I’m sorry.”

She stared at me for a few seconds, with me still holding her feet. Then she yanks my grip off and jumps from the branch, leaving her now long hair disheveled, which she doesn’t fix. “Fine,” she said, not even looking at me as she left.

“Wait, Hanna, don’t–” “Listen. I never forced you to ‘jeopardize’ anything, but I didn’t think you would rub it in my face like that. I know, Elliot, I’m a worthless piece of shit, and I’m probably gonna end up homeless and starving and alone. I just thought we were friends regardless of that. I thought you would help me. I guess I thought wrong. But hey, have fun with your future,” she said indignantly, and I stood there dumbfounded. I tried to stop her, I really did. But just like that, she was gone. *** That was the last time I saw her before flyers and notices about a missing seventeen-year-old began circulating around town. She was everywhere – posts, bulletin boards, tricycle windows, anything the Sorianos could get their hands on. They seemed pretty genuine, I’ll give it to them. But I know it’s nothing more than a façade.

I find a copy of her flyer in the same box. Her face is plastered in front, but the photo is so over-exposed it doesn’t even look like her. “Please help us find our beloved daughter,” is written below. Those bastards.

I crumple the paper and throw it across the room.

There isn’t a night where I don’t think about her. What is she doing now?

What could’ve happened if I’d gone with her? Would things be worse? Or would it be better because I don’t have to lie to my parents anymore about how I spent the past few months skipping my classes just so I could look for her?

11 So many questions left unanswered – all except for one, of course.

I take the letter again and stare at the bottom of the page.

P.S. I’m never going back.

12

Racing With The Wind Regine De Mesa

Meling sat by an open window, half aware, half dreaming. A wash of pink started spreading across the east, signaling the arrival of the sun. From a distance, she saw smoke from the neighboring houses arise to welcome the morning in barangay Poblacion.

The dawn came quickly, and the sky was filled with the fiery glow of the orange sun. As she lay still in bed, she imagined what kind of life she’d lead in a few years’ time. The next time she’d find herself back in the province, she’d be a sophisticated woman, an educated woman. Meling’s stomach lurched. Today was the day she was to leave the familiar: the tobacco plantation, the acacia tree that stood at the end of the field, and the thick humid air that filled her edge of the world. *** It was a strange thought that just four summers ago she harvested her first set of tobacco leaves in the plantation.

“Here, right here.” Alba pointed at a tender spot at the thick base of the leaf. “You can use this for a cleaner cut,” Alba said as she handed Meling a bolo unlike anything she had ever seen in her life. Its surface gleamed like a jewel in the sunlight, and its blade curved in a perfect arc. As Meling held the bolo in front of her, she noticed the fine details on its smooth wooden handle: the round capiz shell that rested on its hilt, the thin strips of gold that covered its base, and the thick leather strap that dangled off its pommel.

“Is this yours?” Meling asked as she gingerly caressed the surface of the blade in awe.

“It was. It was also Tatang’s, and Tatang’s Tatang,” Alba said, “But it’s yours now.”

“God, what right do I have to own such a relic? I can’t, Alba. If my mother sees this, I can’t possibly—” “Just tell her Señora gave it to you as a present on your first day of hard labor.”

“Since when was Señora ever that generous? She barely even paid for Mama’s wage last month!” Meling giggled softly.

13

“Enough of this nonsense.” Alba leaned closer, eyes affixed on Meling’s parted lips.

“Alba, someone might see us!” Meling immediately drew back from the temptation.

“Shh, there’s no one around.” Alba reached for Meling’s waist with her free hand. “Besides, what’s so wrong about giving someone a bolo?”

“A bolo.” Meling smirked as took the blade from Alba and reaped her first set of tobacco leaves. She pressed them to her chest. She looked up to see Alba’s eyes glisten in the morning light, and she did everything all over again until every ripe leaf was harvested.

“So is this everything?” She asked as she tied the leaves together and strapped them carefully to her back.

“Hardly! Now’s the best part, Ling! See those bamboo racks near the acacia tree?” Meling nodded in reply. “I say we have a race!” At that very moment, Alba gripped Meling’s hand firmly and pulled her towards the massive acacia tree. That was the very first time they raced together, bare feet riding the current, arms outstretched to catch the breeze.

“You really are slowing me down!” Alba shouted over the howling of the wind.

“We’ll see about that!” Meling said as she tried to keep up with Alba’s pace. The wind blew extremely hard that day, but racing with it made the chase much easier. When they finally settled at the foot of the tree, they plucked out the worms from the large ripened leaves and set them out to dry on the bamboo racks.

“God, why are my knees always so weak?” Meling asked out of frustration.

“Maybe you’re like my father.” Alba paused. “He can barely get out of bed now, you know? He said he might have osteorizis—osteoporisis?” She tried to pronounce the foreign word with great difficulty.

“Osteoporosis?”

“Yes, yes. Osteoporosis.” Alba’s face flushed pink.

“Is he planning to get it checked?”

Meling asked. She only ever saw 14 Alba’s father twice, which was rare considering Poblacion was a rather close-knit barangay, linked mostly by dirt roads in its more rural areas.

“Tatang said he didn’t have the money for that. The nearest hospital is too far away from anything anyway. Hopefully one day I could get it fixed if I ever manage to get out of this plantation.” Alba paused. “Do you think we’ll ever manage to get out of here?”

“I don’t know, I think it’s best not to think about it.” *** Each time she shut her eyes tight, she would see the same set of images again and again: the same field, the same acacia, the same race. But when she attempted to remember the face of the young Alba in field, all the details lacked clarity. It was like looking through muddy water. As she lay motionless, Meling watched the sunlight bleed through her blinds, framing the innumerable stacks of things scattered on her bedroom floor. There was just so much to pack. She would’ve dozed off again had it not been for the heavy footsteps that reverberated through the walls of her bedroom.

“Oy! Are you not getting ready? The ferry from Mactan to Manila leaves exactly at two thirty,” Aling Tinang said as she opened the door wide open.

Meling propped herself upright. “Yes Ma, I’m—” “Meling! You need to give time allowance.”

“I just need to run a few errands and I’m set.” Beads of sweat formed across Meling’s forehead. Her lips quivered.

“Errands? What kind of errands?” Aling Tinang asked, arms akimbo.

“I promised Señora I’d return her bolo before I leave for Manila.” Meling walked toward the bolo resting on her desk and ran her index finger along its edge. It was a fairly old thing now. Its edges revealed faint traces of rust and discoloration, yet for the most part, it still retained its original majesty. “She ought to have it back after all these years. God, who knows when I’m ever coming back.”

“I hope you never have to come back. The stale air around here isn’t any good for anyone. Manila has more opportunities than this wretched plantation run by that carabao-faced Señora anyway. Once you get your degree, you might even find a wealthy Manilenyo to wed. Or perhaps even a foreigner! Oh Meling, I could just imagine—” Meling’s heart beat violently. 15 A sudden surge of heat filled her chest with a burning sensation—a rawness that choked her and restricted her breath

almost completely. Was that really her fate? Perhaps she and Alba would meet again someday—some time in the future when life was less cruel.

“—you will be the talk of the town…help dispense the rumors…” Aling Tinang trailed off. “Meling, are you alright?”

“I need to go,” Meling replied as she reached for the bolo and ran towards the narrow pathway that led to the tobacco plantation. As she forged deeper along the path, the high grass scraped her knees raw. But what did it matter? All the background noise was drowned out by the sound of her strong heartbeat, and she was plunged back into the memory of the day she left Alba at the foot of the acacia just three weeks ago. *** “Meling, answer me!” Alba’s glassy brown eyes pierced straight through her, and her nails dug deep into her skin. “What do you mean you’re leaving for Manila?”

“I received a letter from a wealthy acquaintance who lives in Manila. She said her family needed a maid. In return, she offered to pay for my education,” she replied. “Alba, I can’t possibly refuse and pass off this opportunity.” Meling’s gaze shifted to the tobacco field that lay ahead of her.

“But what about us and all of this and—” Tears began to stream down Alba’s face. She pressed it against Meling’s shoulder as she struggled to control her uneven breathing. “Will you ever come back?” She said, burrowing herself into Meling’s chest in a final attempt to stifle back a wild cry.

“Maybe in three years? Five years?” Meling paused, Alba shaking in her arms. “Perhaps one day our paths will cross again. Who knows? You might even find yourself a husband.”

“You sound like your mother and everyone else in this hell,” Alba said as she pulled away from Meling’s grip.

Meling felt a certain dampness on her cheeks as her eyes met Alba’s.

“But you knew from the very beginning! We both knew from the very beginning— ” “That’s not it.”

“God, we’re not little children anymore, Alba! We have to grow up.” The breeze picked up, and Meling’s eyes fell upon Alba’s tender lips. When would she see her again? In her mid-thirties?

16 Forties? Meling solemnly reached for Alba’s hand, but she quickly pulled away. Something dark and powerful had already come between the both of them.

“There’s nothing childish about this.” Alba bit her lip. “I always thought we’d get out of here together. How foolish.”

“I’m sorry—I just—” “Enough.”

Both of their eyes disclosed a harsh reality that only the two of them understood. Gone were the days they spent collecting seashells by the beach, or the nights they consumed tracing constellations on each others’ backs. The rooster that crowed in the distance, the tobacco leaves that hung on rows of bamboo racks, and the acacia tree that loomed overhead, all faded into a dismal gray. When the wind ultimately died, all that was left was an eerie calm. *** Meling had been walking along the pathway for a good twenty minutes when she finally reached one end of the tobacco field. Washed clean by days of gentle summer rain, the tall tobacco plants all wore a brilliant shade of emerald green, their suckers left uncut. From where she stood, she could see the acacia tree—its trunk still thick, its branches still slender. Her heart raced twofold as she approached the tree, following the hoof prints left by carabaos to keep herself from sinking deeper into the thick mud. She was suddenly conscious of the bolo in her hand, heavy and foreboding as she walked.

Just a few years ago, this was the very scene she stumbled upon after her first tobacco harvest—the sky clear, and the aroma of the grass still fresh from the morning drizzle. Meling pressed herself against the trunk of the tree. It was at this very spot that they once professed their fondness for one another, where they spent their afternoons after school braiding each others’ hair, and where they finished every race after a long day’s work. She looked around to see if Alba was around to bid her farewell, but she was alone. She had not seen her since the day she told her about her departure. She slumped at the foot of the tree as tears streamed down her face. She looked upon the bolo that rested on her lap. Slowly, she dug a shallow grave for the beautiful aging blade and buried it under handfuls of dirt.

17

Grounded Rawl Maliwat

Blink, and let fluorescence backwash The three-AM patches of sky in your eye To the margins; somewhere past tunnel vision in This blasted funnel, a cup of joe not stale piss.

In this terminal, a sparrow shot through, Arrows-in-breast like GPS lockdown In clippings committed from Magazine to memory, items Left behind: condoms, cigar ash, hotel room Receipts (there’s no use brooding over) Excess baggage. Charges apply, mind The fact: last day of sunset gives way to night At the pole; a three-point turn back in place efficiently Compacts his naked carcass lying in the road, simulacrum Conceived in rude catharsis: an itch that needs scratching, except Public decency frowns upon labels slapped in the Sanity fragile (handle with care), leave at home or handcarry It! Their turn to chase and yours to run; hence the shoes, hence Whiskey breath, hence the terror of geese snapping Up bargain bin prices on movement to leave Nothing but interminable cries of ANTICLIMAX! calling All passengers on flight six-five-oh bound To know that inclement weather Gives no shit whether the taste Of cold coffee or lips in retrospect: There is simply no escape.

18

After Party Gita Labrador

Kat always wore the kind of makeup that made her look five years older than she actually was: matte red lipstick, dark eyelids, sultry cat-eye eyeliner.

We’re sitting in the backseat, the car inching along traffic-jammed EDSA as the radio garbles pop songs I can’t remember the titles of.

“Last weekend was so good,” she says. She fishes her phone out from her purse and swipes through her pictures until she finds her selfie with a tall, light-skinned boy. In the picture, her arm is stretched far enough that I can see everything from his face to his arms wrapped around her waist. “See this guy?

He’s pretty hot, right?” she says, a small smile on her lips. Kat never gushed when she talked about boys. She always appreciated them in the same restrained, refined way a sommelier would appreciate fancy wine.

But I don’t have the same restraint. “Yeah, he is.” I can’t help but giggle.

Kat leans in closer to me, shooting a wary glance at her family driver, whose name I have never heard spoken ever. “He was a really good kisser,” she whispers. “I was just talking to my friends when he came up to me and started talking lang. The next hour we were in the bathroom na, and we were, you know…” She trails off, her mischievous smile finishing her sentence for her.

A weird mixture of scandal and awe builds up in me as I look at her. “Oh my god, Kat!” I say, feeling a grin spread across my face. “You’re really living the life, aren’t you?”

“What life?”

“You know, like in movies? Going to parties, getting drunk, MOMOL with hot guys?”

Her hand shoots up to cover my mouth. “Ano ba, Angela! My driver will hear you. And then he’ll tell my parents, and I won’t be able to go out anymore!” she whispers loudly.

My half-hearted sorries are muffled by a mouthful of hand. Kat sighs, and uncovers my mouth to fix my hair. “Besides, isn’t that what we’re gonna do tonight? You’re here with me, and we’re going to a party.”

“Yeah, but I’m not like you.”

19 “How do you know what you’re like? This is your first time, diba?”

“I guess.”

“Don’t be so shy. You’re super pretty kaya! I’m sure there’s gonna be a cute boy tonight who would wanna talk to you. And then you’ll get drunk, and make out, and it’ll be awesome.”

I shrug, and we spend the next few minutes in silence. As the scenery outside changes from big billboards to small karinderias, I slowly run my fingers down my arms, trying to imagine someone else’s hands touching me. It’s a difficult thing to do when you can’t picture a face that goes with it. The car turns into a narrow street, where the gatehouse of a subdivision stands. “Oh my god, we’re finally here,” Kat says. She hands the driver a two hundred peso bill. “Sige Kuya, kumain ka muna. Let’s go, Angela!”

Outside the car, the air feels muggy and hot even though it’s night time.

I hope the house is air conditioned. “Anong oras kita susunduin?” the driver calls after us. “Siguro mga 1am!” Kat answers, and with that he nods and drives off.

We walk towards the house, a big, white, angular building with strobe lights flashing behind its tall glass windows. People are sitting outside on the veranda steps, laughing and drinking from plastic cups. “Where does Kuya… uhm, where does your driver go while he waits for you?” I ask Kat. She shrugs. “I don’t know, he probably just gets food and waits in the car somewhere near.”

“Until 1am?”

“Well, yeah. He’s my driver, he’s supposed to— oh my god, look, our batchmates! Let’s say hi!”

She grabs my wrist and pulls me through the doorway. The music comes rushing inside me, shaking my bones and pounding against my heartbeat. I plunge headfirst into the crowd. *** The first party I remember going to is Elise’s fifth birthday. Since we had just entered preschool, her mom invited the whole class, so all over the clubhouse were little girls scampering around in spaghetti-stained dresses. Pastel pink balloons on sticks decorated every corner, the words HAPPY 5th BIRTHDAY ELISE!!! LOVE, MAMA, PAPA, AND KUYA printed on the surface of each. I still know the exact words because for most of the time I was sitting down next to my mom, staring at the balloons20 instead of Elise’s dad MC-ing onstage.

I remember everyone fighting each other for the sugar flowers on the corners of the birthday cake. Elise’s mom put her on the spot by asking her to decide which of us could eat them. She was so overwhelmed by the number of people raising their hands and shouting that she began to cry, her face turning red and her voice building up into one angry and embarrassed sob. She had to be carried away into the back room. We heard muffled screaming and crying from behind the door, but after a while, they returned, and Elise stayed silent for the rest of the party. Nobody got the sugar flowers.

After everyone had left, my mom and Elise’s mom packed up the decorations together, while Elise and I sat together by one of the party tables. I asked if she was okay, but she just stared hard at a juice stain on the table cloth, stone -faced. I remember grabbing her hand and squeezing it as hard as I could. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t let go either. *** The house is not air conditioned. This had become a huge problem in the middle of the fourth beer, which I now have pressed to my cheek in an attempt to cool myself with the glass. I feel small, but I feel heavy too, and I wonder how that could be. The air is so stuffy and humid that it almost feels tangible on my skin. Clouds of cigarette smoke fill the room, casting everything in a gray haze, making me want to choke. And the music keeps thumping on at top volume, rattling my brain inside my skull until everything is a muffled numbness.

I’m on the sofa with Kat and a few of our batchmates, none of which I ever really spoke to in school. They are talking and laughing mostly among themselves, although Kat had been trying again and again to include me in the conversation. I never knew what to say. My words were always met by blank stares and polite nods from the others. So instead I am mostly quiet, texting Elise and gulping down beer to excuse myself from having to speak.

I’m in the middle of reading Elise’s account of her wild night doing homework— “i swear to god anj i am dying a slow death trying to answer these polynomial functions holy FUCK”— when Kat taps me on the shoulder. “Angela, what do you think the prom queen of SMGC?” she shouts over the blaring synths.

“SMGC?” “You know, Saint Maria Goretti College?”

It is the stupidest name for a school I have ever heard. I ask what her name is, and Kat repeats it around five 21 times before and I give up trying to understand. “Uhm,” I say.

“She’s there o, with my ex of all people, at the bar!” Kat points across the room.

“She’s the one who looks like a yaya,” one of the girls says. The others burst into laughter. Kat rolls her eyes.

The “bar” is an long, unmanned table filled with bottles of all shapes and sizes. A lot of people are crowded around it, and about two-thirds of them are boys. I have no freaking idea who Kat’s ex is. My eyes dart around the table, trying to find a girl flirting with a boy, but I can’t focus. Their bodies meld together into a single entity, a monster made of faces I can’t recognize. “Uhm,” I say.

“Angela, oh my god, you’re so red!” Kat exclaims when she looks at me again. “Are you okay?” She’s smiling, and I can’t tell if she’s genuinely concerned or just making fun of me.

“Uhm.” “How many did you drink?” “…Three?”

Laughter again. “Oh my god, dahan-dahan lang kasi!” “Is this your first time drinking?” “Okay ka lang?” “You look like a tomato!” “So you’re that kind of drunk.” “Hahaha, lasingera!”

“Uhm?” I say again, and my voice trembles. It is my first time drinking. I am drunk. My eyes dart around the girls’ faces until my gaze meets Kat’s, and I notice her expression has changed from amused to worried. “You okay? Wanna go to the bathroom?” she asks. I nod, so Kat takes me by the hand and helps me up. She catches me just as I stumble on myself. “Come on, let’s go,” she says. She grips my shoulders and guides me through the living room. It’s a blurry maze of people dancing, and making out, and falling down. *** Elise didn’t go to my birthday party last year. I should have expected it, but I was hopeful all the same; I kept checking my phone to see if she had replied to my texts. My other friends noticed me not noticing them, and when they asked why, I couldn’t do anything but shrug and apologize. Elise had been a sensitive topic around school at the time. People who never even spoke with her had been approaching me, asking where she went. The people who she did hang out with hadn’t been approaching me at all, but I would see them sometimes, nervously glancing at me over their 22 shoulders, whispering. My friends knew not to mention her, but their worried looks told me they knew what was wrong.

But Elise did go to my house that day. She walked into my bedroom at around 11pm, after everyone had left, carrying her purple sleepover bag and a plastic bag filled with chips. She sat on my bed and dropped the plastic bag right in front of my face as I lay down. “Happy birthday, Anj,” she said, smiling, looking embarrassed. I got up to look at her, and was surprised to see she had cut her long, straight, and silky hair into a pixie cut. “Ang aga mo ah,” I said, smiling back. She pulled me into a hug, and I held her as tight as I could. “I like your hair,” I said. I ruffled it with my one free hand. “Patama sa dress code?”

“Yup. Good fucking riddance.”

Later, the plastic bag had been emptied of its contents, the bags of chips scattered on the bed. Cartoon Network was on TV, and we lay watching it in silence, stuffing ourselves with Clover Chips and Doritos.

“How was your birthday thing kanina?” Elise asked.

“It was fun naman,” I replied. “We just got a new chip for the Magic Sing.

I sang ‘Love on Top’. Oh yeah, my mom came in at some point with this huge chocolate cake, and we ended up eating the whole thing with our hands. It was so good, you would’ve loved it.” We were quiet for a moment.

Elise sighed a long sigh. She inched closer to me and tilted her head to rest on my shoulder. Standard apology procedure for Elise. She never actually said sorry, but I always knew when she wanted to.

I patted her arm. “It’s okay, Eli, I get it. You always go naman eh. This is the only time you didn’t. It’s not a big deal.”

She twisted to lie on her side, facing me. “I bet your friends were talking about me.”

“They weren’t! They’re really nice, dude, they would have loved to have you there.”

She laughed bitterly, and her eyes turned glassy with tears. My heart sank to my stomach. “It’s nice that you have nice friends,” she mumbled.

“Excuse me, you still do.”

“Really, who?” She laughed her hollow laugh again.

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever, Eli. But anyway, forget them. What kind of people just stop talking to you out of nowhere?

Your bitchy friends suck. You’ll 23 make new ones.”

“Where? I’m going to fucking homeschool.”

“Why don’t you join art workshops or something? You could meet people there.”

Tears began to fall from her face. “No one would want to talk to me. I’m emotional, and clingy, and annoying, remember?” Her voice rose in pitch with each word.

I winced, remembering the things I heard her old friends whisper in between classes. I stretched my arms out to hug her, and she curled into me, collapsing into sobs. “Nobody fucking likes me, Anj,” she whimpered.

I shook my head. “Eli, I like you a lot.” Tears were welling up in my eyes, too. I grabbed her hand and squeezed it hard. *** The bathroom is pretty big for a house. There are two sinks, a shower, a long mirror, and a toilet that is unfortunately filled with puke. “Oh, gross!” Kat exclaims as we enter. She closes the door, approaches the toilet, and gingerly presses the lever to flush. The gray-colored vomit spirals down the bowl, but the stench stays. “Disgusting.” Kat mutters, shaking her head. She turns to face me.

“Anyway, Angela, are you okay? You’re really warm.”

I try to lean against the wall, but my hand touches something wet and sticky on the tile, and I jump back. “Well,” I croak, shivering in disgust. “I told my mom I wouldn’t even touch alcohol tonight, and now I’m drunk, and there’s uhm, there’s something sticky on the wall, and I just touched it, and now I wanna cry, because I don’t wanna know what it is.”

Kat laughs. She is always laughing, and I don’t know how she manages it. “You’re so funny talaga. You should wash your hands and face, and then maybe we can go out again and get you some water.”

“It’s… it’s really loud outside, though,” I say. “I think I should stay here muna.”

“Alright. I’ll go outside first and get water for you. Is that okay?”

“Yeah.”

She gives me one last grin before she leaves the room. When she is gone, I turn off the light, crouch on the floor, 24 close my eyes, and try to will my dizziness away.

A couple of minutes after, I hear the music become louder again, and I open my eyes to see light streaming in from the door. I look around, expecting to see Kat holding a glass of water for me, but instead I see a bigger, taller silhouette, backlit by the lights flashing outside. “Oh… hey,” the silhouette says. It’s a deep, gruff voice. I stagger to my feet just as the light disappears behind the door.

“What’syername?” the deep voice slurs. I can’t see anything. My heart begins to race.

“What’syername?” the voice repeats, a little louder. I feel hot breath on my face, and it reeks of alcohol.

My voice is small and shaky when I say, “Angela.”

“Hmm.” The voice considers my answer for a second, and then I feel a pair of hands groping for my body. “Aannnn-je-laahh.” It pronounces my name slowly, and I have just enough time to think about running away before I am pushed onto the wall, the wet and sticky tile wall, and the hands move to grip my wrists, pinning my arms down. For a fraction of a moment I’m reminded of dead butterflies, of frogs in Bio class, and I twist my head away, my lips mumbling things like I have to go and I can’t and my friends are looking for me, but the gap closes between me and the shadow, and its body is warm and heavy, and it’s kissing me hard, tongue in my mouth, teeth grinding on mine. I’m so dizzy. My wrists hurt, the shadow is gripping them too hard. I try to struggle, but I’m too weak to get away. It’s so dark and I can’t see, so I shut my eyes tight, try to disintegrate, but I can’t, I can’t breathe, or speak, or think, and I’m almost sure I’m going to die when suddenly I hear a scream, and the weight is lifted from me.

When I open my eyes, I see a boy leaning over me. He is tall, lightskinned, and slick with sweat. He’s still holding my wrists, but his grip is looser now. I can’t see his face because he’s looking at Kat, who is standing in the doorway, a glass of water in her hand, her eyes wide. The bathroom light is on.

“Angela!” Kat shouts, but before she can say anything else, I wrench my arms out of the boy’s hands and run out to the living room, pushing past Kat. I hear shattering glass. I look around. Everybody is staring at me, and that’s the only time I realize how hard I’m crying. *** The sun hasn’t risen yet, and neither has anyone in my family. I’m sitting in my kitchen, bare feet dangling on the wooden stool, and Elise is a pale cyber ghost on my laptop screen. Her face is 25 the definition of horrified: eyebrows raised, eyes wide, mouth agape. My laptop and my bowl of cereal are on the kitchen table. I’m scooping, chewing, swallowing. I feel catatonic.

“Fuck, Anj,” Elise finally says after a long silence. “How did you get home?”

“I called my mom and begged her to pick me up.”

“Shit, what happened?”

“She shouted at me the whole ride home. She got mad at me for waking her up, for drinking, for smelling like alcohol, for my makeup being ruined, for being stupid. You know.” I shuddered, still hearing her shrill voice in my head.

“Tita talaga. Are you grounded?”

I nodded yes. “For the rest of the school year.”

“The one time you go to a party, and this shit happens.”

“I know,” I moan, hiding my face in my hands. “What did I do wrong?”

She shakes her head and sighs. “Nothing, Anj. None of that was your fault. Tell me when you find out that guy’s name, okay? I’ll hire someone to kick his ass.”

“You better.”

There is silence for a moment. “Why did I even want to go,” I sigh, looking down at my cereal. “Maybe I just wanted to feel like a normal teenager?”

Elise sighs. “Anj, you are a normal teenager. You go to high school, you have a group of friends, you have more or less stable emotions. Come on.”

Guilt crystallizes in my stomach. “Yeah. Sorry, Eli.” “No, it’s fine,” Elise says. “I’m just saying. My life is pretty normal compared to a lot of people, too. There’s no one way of doing things, dumbass. I know you’re a huge nerd who actually likes doing homework, but I love you for it.”

I smile in spite of my horrible night. “How did you get so smart, ha? Is it homeschool? Do you actually study now?”

Elise laughs, and for once it sounds like she means it. “Oh yeah,” she says, nodding with mock pride. “I actually understand polynomial functions now.

Motherfucking math wizard!”

26

We talk and talk and talk for hours, and I don’t even notice the sun coming up until the whole kitchen is bathed in light. My phone goes off, and I turn it on to read a text message from Kat, apologizing, asking if I got home okay. It was a nice thing to receive.

“Anj,” Elise says, rubbing her eyes. “I know you’re grounded, but will Tita let me visit you?”

“My mom loves you way too much not to let you in. Come over later?”

“Yeah.” She smiles, and for that moment, everything is all right in the world again.

27

New Vision Lawrence Yap

Damn those bullies.

They’ve beaten me up so bad this time that my glasses have been smashed to pieces. I couldn’t see off them, I couldn’t wear them, and based on how bent all the frames are, I can’t fix them. I called my Dad so he can take me home (kinda glad now that I put my parents on speed-dial), and rode back pissed at the assholes who did this to me.

It wasn’t really a new experience, but that’s not a good thing: since eighth grade, Jimmy Smith and his gang has basically made my life a living Hell because I corrected him one time (and ONLY that time) on his report about The Great Gatsby. I mean, it’s Daisy, you idiot, not Maisy! Prick took it personally and punished me on it ever since.

And no, I can’t fight back because my body is as beat up as my frames, and he’s a fucking giant compared to me. I tried one time a couple of weeks ago, I think a Monday, inside a McDonald’s—after watching “The Ant Bully,” ironically—and I was sent to the hospital, accompanied by the worried-looking Jimmy, who knew then and there he may have gone too far. He got a week’s detention, and I got took off the honor roll because of my undeclared absences.

One of the reasons why the honor roll of my school is normally just the 2 nerds with strict parents who went to school all the time.

I laid down my head to the side of the car door and prayed for a miracle to happen.

“I hope you’re OK, son,” my dad said while we were driving home. “I hate to see you hurt like this. Tell me the boy’s name, and I’ll report him to the principal.”

“No, Dad, no need. I just need some glasses,” I said as I ignored him and stared out the window, looking at all the hazy green swishing past.

“You’ll have to tell this to me eventually, boy. I can’t stand around doing nothing while this bully turns your face into Sylvester Stallone’s.” The radio started playing OMD’s “If You Leave”. My father put the volume up. “I mean, I found you behind a dumpster, for crying out loud. Let me help, son. Let me help.”

28 I stared at his face. I was a little annoyed.

“Dad, if I need help, I'll yell for Superman to save me.”

“Son…” “Dad, it’s my problem. I can handle it, OK. I’m not some pussy who needs a pimp to guide me. I’m growing up. Let me be. It’s not like you ran away from your bullies then.”

“The difference,” he said with gritted teeth, “is that I was able to fight back. You’re being a punching bag. Let me help you.”

“You want to help me? Get me new glasses. I need them.”

He sighed. I shook my throbbing head and opened the glove compartment. An orange canister fell into my palm, and I opened it and swallowed the pills inside. My dad was still talking, but my mind had left in a swirl of dizzying thoughts and painful memories of every crooked-tooth smile and bleeding punches and cocky laugh that Jimmy Smith gave me.

That fucking xenophobe (at least that’s what I thought). My dad’s solution to any bully was to go to higher authorities. He was always a pacifist, and he wanted me to shake hands with someone who’s fucked me up so bad I’m afraid to go to McDonald’s. McDonald’s! It just seems a little sad that I have to apologize for what Jimmy Smith did.

Plus, his solution was weak. He wanted to go to the principal and get the bully’s wrist slapped and the bully’s anger to deepen. I didn’t want that. I wanted there to be no more threat in the future, no more bullying and beatings and swirlies and pushing me off to the dumpsters from the third-floor balcony. No, fuck all of that, I wanted him gone.

I wanted him dead.

I looked up to the windshield and saw what seemed like an ambulance whizzing past, sirens crying like crazy. How appropriate.

“Man, the fires in this place are going out of control,” my Dad said, as he started to honk the horn when he hit the particularly crowded intersection. I could hear the horn as the ambulance drifted away: Beep, beep, beep. *** When I got home, because of my near-blindness, I was taken to my room and laid straight to my water bed. Mom washed my face and got rid of the blood and dirt from my face. She asked29 me about it, like Dad, but unlike him, she didn’t badger me, and after I refused to speak about Jimmy, she allowed me to talk about anything else until she finished cleaning me. So we (or I) talked about

Kevin Smith’s movies, and their artistic value. She tried not to aggravate me while I talked about how much ‘Dogma’ is dogshit (Kevin Smith’s words, not mine), but at some point, I must’ve touched a nerve, because after cleaning the wounds, she told me to sleep and left me in my bed.

While I was trying to sleep, I heard her and Dad fight. It was about me.

She left the door open, so I heard it all in high quality audio.

“Daryl, why the Hell aren’t you bringing the cops in? You saw him, right?

He’s a couple steps away from being the walking dead.”

“Well, Hannah, I just—he asked me not to. He wants to fight this bully, to conquer him by his lonesome, and I can’t fault him for that or for anything like it.”

“Fuck, you know he’s an abuse victim at this point. Let’s be realistic here.”

“Oh, you, Mrs. Concrete Ideas, I don’t see you putting doable ideas to the table. Do you have any way that may, just may, save our son from this fucker?”

“I don’t know what to do! That’s why I’m asking—begging you to just stop this. Just stop this from happening, please. Don’t kill our son.”

Silence.

“I’m going out to buy him glasses. We’ll continue this later.”

I heard the door slam, and after a moment, a stifled weeping coming from downstairs. It became less stifled as it got closer and closer to my door until my mom was practically standing in it, looking at me sadly, and sniffing in her tears.

Pretending to be asleep, I heard the creaking of the wooden floor for a few moments before I felt a kiss in my cheek. “I love you. Don’t worry, we’re going to find a way out of this, and when we do, you’ll come out twice the man you were before. But no matter what happens, remember always that we love you.”

As the footsteps retreated to the open door, I felt my tears sting some of the cuts in my face. Then the door closed, and I was left alone in the darkness. *** 30 I remember this class I had with Jimmy once, Creative Writing 101, and this lesson specifically: Chekov’s Gun. Basically, it’s that you don’t put any

unimportant detail in the story, or as my teacher said, “Don’t put a gun in the first act if you don’t shoot it in the third act.”

I remember this day as the time I talked about one of my culture’s mostenduring stories: a womanizer tempted by the devil with a woman, then turning a part of him into a girl every time he had sex with her, and later on, stealing his soul away. That story was morose, and was supposed to teach people to resist temptation or to not be prideful, or to not have sex, or something Christian-like (probably the no-sex part). I always thought it was trite, and never really fleshedout, but it had a blatant use of Chekov’s Gun because it starts with the end of his current relationship because he fucked 2 girls on the side, and in the end, those two girls led him to Hell’s Gates, so I presented it to class.

Jimmy stood up after my presentation, and called the story a terrible example of Chekov’s Gun, that it was more characterization than anything, and that the Chekov’s Gun example would be the contract that the womanizer signed to make the deal happen. Yeah, that bullshit contract; I didn’t use it because it felt more like a deus-ex-machina to get the guy into Hell. I mean, the Devil offered the contract beforehand, and he had to sign it if he wanted to become a guy again, only forfeiting his soul in the long run. Stupid thing came up outta nowhere so that the Devil could steal his soul away.

Dumb plot device then, dumb plot device now. Also, Chekov’s Gun it is not, and if anyone, especially this asshole, told me otherwise, I can tell you this: “NO FUCKING WAY.” So, I told him he knew absolutely nothing about literature, and then I think I quoted a Jay-Z song: “He who does not feel me is not real to me, therefore he doesn’t exist—poof—vamoose, son of a bitch.”

He got pissed off, but he saw the teacher watching us, so he kept his fist in his pocket. “Cogito ergo summa,” he told me.

“Life is nothing but a dream within a dream,” I told him back, “so wake up from slumber-land, idiot.”

He looked at the teacher, still watching with anticipation, and then he looked at me with the strangest eyes, flared up and ready to kill. Jimmy breathed in, and said, “Well, Mr. Antoine Ego, let me give you a couple of wise words from my favorite band.”

“What?”

“Dream on,” and then a sucker 31 punch to the face.

That was the first time I ever felt so betrayed, so unprotected. The

teacher didn’t stop him from beating me up, and even if he did get suspended for a week, I got a D- for my work because my teacher accepted his bonehead analysis. God, did I hate him so. I hated him from my head to my very inner core. I hate him with a vengeance. I hate him w—why is this green light flashing in my eyes? It keeps flashing my eyes like it’s a—it’s getting bigger. Shit. Damn, I guess I’ll j—I can’t move. I can’t move. I CAN’T MOVE. Shit, get away from me.

Get away from me. Don’t DO ANYTHING TO ME, WHATEVER YOU ARE. DON’T DO ANYTH—AHHHHHHHHH— *** Awakened by a strange, hissing sound, and a moving bed, I thought there was a leak in the water bed. I checked and there was none. But the hissing continued, and when I looked at the direction of the door, I smelled smoke and saw a green light outlining a rectangle. It played around the edges as if it were fingernails and they were trying, maybe scratching, to open the door and rush in to bathe me in that seminal light of approval.

I walked towards the light, and when I found a doorknob, I breathed in-gasp--and opened it.

The light was gone.

It seemed to have run away because it was discovered, and they refused to be caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Well, actually, when I looked to the left of the hallway, I saw the green light again, except for two differences: it was smaller than what I saw a couple seconds ago, and it was in the shape of eyeglasses.

I stepped forward in caution. As it grew brighter and brighter, I slowed my pace until I was standing next to it. I didn’t know what to do. I mean, it was glowing green, for crying out loud! It is the textbook definition of radioactive danger, yet I couldn’t help picking it up and trying it on.

I blinked twice, and everything went into perspective. I smiled, looked around, and saw the hallway with its doorways, its paintings of a Jackson Pollock wannabe (OK, it was me when I was 5), and the red rug being illuminated by the green glow my glasses still possessed. I took a couple of steps in happiness before something caught my ear.

Crunch.

I lifted my left foot and looked down, and saw a cockroach, completely crushed by my slipper-covered feet. I shook 32 my head and kept walking to my parent’s room to thank them. When I touched the doorknob, I saw my fingernails, and it took me a moment to recognize them as mine. I mean, it was

longer than I remember it was, as well as curved slightly to resemble a hook. It would have been terrifying if I was fully awake.

My head shook as I opened the door and woke up my parents. My father looked at me murderously, his eyes glowing green. “What?!?”

I was shocked a bit ‘cause my Dad never acts like this, but I shook it off and told him, “Thanks for the glasses.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Did you steal that, boy? Mom, wake up! Our boy here’s stealing stuff.” He stood up, dressed up like Rodney Dangerfield from ‘Natural Born Killers’ in a white shirt, and pants with a belt. He started undoing the belt.

I was moving closer to the door, but my mom got up, curlers still on and wearing a barely-legal nightie, with eyes glowing green as eggs and ham, and she screamed to me, “Why are you awake?!? You pussy, come back and pay for your crimes! We’re gonna show why you should never steal. Ever.”

Tried to run away, to tell you the truth, but Mom ran to the door and closed it. She held me by the shoulders, and though I tried to shake her off, she wouldn’t budge, her nails digging into my shoulders. My dad readied his belt to me. “Hold him tight, Mom, because I’m about to beat the pussy out of this dick.”

He smacked me in the left arm. He smacked me in the right. He smashed the buckle of the belt directly to my cheeks. My cheeks stung, and blood fell slowly from the insides of my cheeks to my mouth. I tried holding it in, but I was forced to whimper in pain. My mom forced me down on my knees as my dad layered each smack one after another, each hitting me hard, pulling my hairs out from the roots, poking my eyes, chipping the inside of my bones, making my nipples bleed.

Then suddenly, he said, “What kind of a man are you? No wonder you’re Jimmy Smith’s bitch. What are you gonna do about it, you prick, huh?

Whatcha gonna do?”

I looked up at his eyes. I felt my eyes burning with pure, hot tears. I gritted my teeth. Then suddenly, a fist emerged from my hands, and I threw that to my dad’s pot belly. He tumbled down into the floor, heaving and gasping.

Then, I clenched my fingers and started punching my dad in the face. It felt like a fist going to the dry wall, but I kept going at it, blood and pain mixing into my hands, until his eyes were an arm’s length away, and his jaw fell dead-center in his chest. His spinal fluid leaked as I stood up, took the belt, and started using it to beat my mother to submission, turning 33her concrete head into an abstract concept.

She screamed like a banshee, but I didn’t stop; I used that belt on her until her trachea was as crooked as Jimmy’s fucking teeth.

I spat to both of them, and walked out of the room. When I stood outside, something hit me: they called each other “mom and dad”. I took off my glasses to wipe the sweat off my eyes, and looked at them through the dimming glow of the glasses. It made me double-back into the wall in shock.

Their belt cabinet was opened, and their clothes were spread out and burning using a match hidden for their ‘romantic’ nights. The room was bloody, it was a mess, and on top of their bed’s frame was written “Bestia, liberata est.” In red. I saw what happened to my parents, and I didn’t need to assume what it was made of.

My father was wearing his pajamas, and his head’s blood trail led from his spot on the bed. He had scratches across his body, and he looked dead.

Fuck, let’s not sugarcoat: he WAS dead. Mom was worse. Much, much worse.

She was beaten from the top of her head to the bottom, and though she was wearing a nightgown, her hair had no curlers on, and her feet were bent up to the knees. Her brain I could see was still intact, and filled with scratches, and I shook my head. I saw my hands, then, and behold, it was red. I ran to the bathroom, opened the lights, and barfed out my lunch till kingdom come.

Going to the sink, I tried to wash the red off my hands. It didn’t go so well. In fact, I saw myself at the mirror, and lo and behold, I was red from head to toe. I stared at the mirror for a while, then I tried washing it off again with more soap.

When that didn’t work, I took some bleach from below the counter and poured some in my hands, as I tried to scrub it clean. It started smoking, and the nerves in the hands started popping one by one, telling me to STOP, while I whimpered quietly, but the remaining flesh stayed red.

I then scratched myself all over to get rid of the red. The wounds began to bleed, but it didn’t go away. I screamed and screamed but I was still red all over. I slapped myself, sure, but nothing happened.

“This can’t be real,” I said, looking at myself in the mirror. I put some water in my face to wake me up.

As I looked away, I heard a voice inside the room say, “Do you want to know what’s happening?”

The voice surprised me, mostly because I didn’t know whose voice it was; also, the voice sounded familiar, like 34 something I’ve heard before. I circled around the room, and even looked under the toilet, but there was nobody there.

So I went back to the sink, and patted my wet face with a towel, seeing my

reflection in passing. Except it wasn’t my reflection; it was Jason fucking Lee. “Actually, it’s Azareal. I’m the one you deal with when people can’t handle the fact that the Devil has no genitals. It’s a living,” he said, shrugging.

He was red all over as well, and he had horns up in his head, but his overall look was more of a ‘30s-gangster, an Al Capone-type, without the chubbiness that made Al Capone look so much like Danny De Vito. He put a cigarette in his mouth, looked at me, and said, “Boo.” It took me a while to stop screaming like a fucking Native American. And when I went forward, I asked him, “What the fuck are you doing here?!?”

“I want to use your body. You know, human form and whatnot. You’ve seen films, you know the deal. Come on, ‘Breaking Bad’ is on in 15 minutes.”

“No, no! Go away, go away! How many times have I told you fucks, I don’t want to associate with evil, you—you monster. Just get out. I have some stuff to deal with.” I started to exit.

“Like hallucinating and killing your mother and father?”

I stopped from my exit. “What did you do?”

“Oh, nothing, it’s just weird to see your son opening your clothes cabinet, taking your belt, locking the door, and start chanting loudly in Latin as you killed them in cold blood.”

No, it can’t be. “No…” “I especially loved it when they said, ‘Son, stop! Please stop hurting your mother. Remember that we love you!’ and you said, ‘Fuck off,’ before gouging out his eyes with your bare hands.” He looked at my claws for hands. “Well, demonic bare hands, but still.”

“No…” I said, falling to the floor.

“Yes. I’ll give you 5 seconds to guess who really was beating you up in there. 5, 4…”

I wasn’t listening. I was saying to myself, tearing up slowly, “No, no, no, no, no…”

“It. Was. ME!” “NO!” I had my fist up in the air,35 ready to punch away the glass, until he held his arm and told me, “You’re turning into me, boy, and the nails, the skin, it’s all permanent. You can’t do anything to get rid of it and live a normal life. You

have to become me. You will become me.”

I stared into his eyes, his purple eyes hypnotizing my mind into submission. Then I found my marbles again, and I said, “My mom and dad wouldn’t want me to become a monster. Goodbye, Earl.”

“Remember Smith, boy! Remember him. I can help you defeat him.

Wouldn’t you want to control him and his posse and finally exact your vengeance to him? Don’t you want to finally show him want it felt like to be under his thumb for the entirety of his existence? You have no parents, no other glasses, and nowhere to go looking like that and definitely not after killing your parents. I will give you one last chance to exact revenge, if you join me. Will you join me?”

I sniffled a bit. “You killed my parents.”

“Yes, but because they are no longer needed for you to exist, and it also proves what you’re willing and able to do for us. If you want Jimmy in your hands, then you have it. But you have to come and join me and my side, and fight for that strength and vengeance that we represent, that we are asking for.

What say you? Are you ready to finally get Jimmy?”

“But you killed my parents. How will I know that you’ll keep your end of the deal?”

“Because I’m not the Devil; I’m Azareal. Unlike the Devil, I have the balls to do this. Remember all the times he’s humiliated you, punched you till your eye socket practically fell off—” “That never happened; it would be illogical if it did.”

“Well, something like that. Look, just think of what he did to you, of that time he made a mistake of calling Daisy Maisy, and you laughed and teased him about it, and he didn’t take all the mockery over a one-time mistake well, so he punched you in the face. Remember all the shit you took from him over the years. The fact that you got took off the honor roll because he forgot to submit your medical leave! Remember that? Don’t you want your vengeance? Take back your manhood! Do it, so that your parents’ deaths will not be in vain. Do it.”

I thought about it. At first, I was thinking of my parents, of how they raised me in Pulp Fiction and Flash Gordon, telling me that there are no such things as heroes, and their stupid-but-useful creed, “You are who you want to be”. Would this make them proud? Would they be proud of me for standing up to a bully that has terrorized me for years?36 Then I remembered what Mom said: “When you get out of this, you’ll be

twice the man you’ll ever be.” And maybe that’s what she meant. Maybe she wanted me to defeat the giant in my life, and absorb his masculinity for me to become great. She and Dad wanted good for me, and maybe this is the best for all of us.

And then I remembered Jimmy. That prick. His fucking being makes my skin crawl. His acts of bullying over shit like Chekov’s Gun, over a little correction, over the fact that I’m willing to teach him and his posse about literature, and getting thrown in the garbage every time I come there. He makes me sick, and I meant it when I said I want him to die.

“Ahem,” Azareal said, tapping his foot on the other dimension’s (other side of the mirror’s) ground. “’Breaking Bad’ starts at 5 minutes, and I don’t want to miss a minute of this. Come on, are you ready to take your life to the next level?”

I looked at him and grinned. *** As I walked to school, I wanted to scratch myself. It took a lot of white make-up from my mom for me to look anything close to human. A very pale human, but human still. It gave me a couple of weird stares from passersby, but I didn’t care. I had one last purpose in my mind, and if I was going to do this right, I had to look weak, so that finally, I could subjugate him under my thumb. I had to, because right now, I had nothing. No hope, no future, no loved ones.

Might as well add no need for vengeance in the list.

Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice yell out my name. I looked behind, readying my hands to punch him to death.

He looked sad, his brow in a stressed curve, eyes emulating a repentant killer. “I have to say somethi—” I threw a punch at him. And another. And another. I couldn’t stop. His ribs cracked open and splinters stabbed my fingers hard while I made my way towards his beating heart. His mouth opened, and muttered two words I could barely comprehend. “I—I’m sorry.”

I broke his jaw. Then, my hands went under his muscles and lungs, and ripped out his beating heart. I bit it, hard, and chewed it up as he stared with fear in his eyes. Then I spat it to his gaping mouth, and his eyes rolled over and closed.

37 My bloody lips filled with a grin, and I threw his heart to the sidewalk and stomped on it. To tell you the truth, it felt satisfying, though the blood and veins

sticking in my shoes were disgusting to see.

After seeing his body, I sat down in the curb to rest.

Suddenly, however, I felt heat rising from inside me. I took off my glasses and dropped it to the ground. My arms started smoking, and then lit on fire. It spread, and I kneeled down as I paid for this one vengeance I had done for myself. I cried as the flames engulfed me, and closed my eyes. *** Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Get the defibrillator.” A blur of white dress runs out of the door as the man in the blue scrubs opens the patient’s eyes and flashes light on his face.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“We’re losing him. His pupils aren’t dilated.”

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

The parents of the patient stood at the side. They looked as their son went into cardiac arrest, his chest shaking and flailing as if a chest-buster was struggling to come out. The woman put her left hand in her mouth as she backed out, trying to stifle away the tears in her eyes. The man stared in sadness, as if this very moment was killing him to his very core. They practically disappeared in the walls of the place as the blur of hospital help went in to try to keep this kid alive for one more day.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

A large kid was in another corner, forced into the fetal position, as he laid down, cradling himself, muttering, “I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t mean to do it. I’m sorry, God; I’m sorry. Why did I do it? I didn’t mean to…”

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, bee— The beeping stopped. The doctors and nurses and hospital help stared at the body of this patient, beaten to a pulp, eyes wide shut, with a tube in his mouth to help him breathe. The lead doctor, in his blue scrubs, stared at him for a moment, before looking up to the clock.

“Time of death, Monday, 11:59,38 near-midnight. Died because of cardiac arrest; call the cops.”

A nurse went out, and the man in blue scrubs went to the large kid in the fetal position and stood him up. “We knew this day was coming. He didn’t have a chance when they brought him here. I”m sorry it has to be like this. I am, Jimmy, I am.” He walked out and went outside, dragging his feet with him. Jimmy wiped away his tears and stood up straight.

Two cops went in. One of them had handcuff, and that man went to Jimmy and started to handcuff him while the other cop read Jimmy his rights. As they lead Jimmy out to the hallway in cuffs, the parents looked at him with pity, wondering to themselves what drove Jimmy to go to such lengths.

Another nurse carried inside a blanket, and covered the boy up from head to toe. She trolleyed him to the morgue, where the coroner took him in and with the help of his assistant, put the boy’s body on the slab.

“This might take a while,” the coroner said, in his faux British accent.

“Get me a Pepsi, Dave, and yourself as well.” When the assistant left, the coroner took a cloth and started wiping his silver equipment while whistling a tune. He looked at the boy’s body, and stopped whistling. “Hi, boy. I don’t know your name, but my name is Earl, and I’ll be the last doctor you see in your life.”

Earl opened the blanket to take a peek. “Ooh, boy,” he said, “it’s a closed casket for you.”

Dave returned to the room, and as they started the autopsy, Earl started telling a story he heard from a friend.

“There once was this womanizer who was tempted by the Devil to choose between pride or life…”

39

Excerpt from

‘Tis Only The End Ann Rei Conte Alaine walks across the darkness, endeavoring to move as silently as possible, keeping the parcel of rare and sweet berries close to her, careful not to let the darkness overcome her.

“Help me! Please!”

Miro loves those berries and Alaine had taken great pains to get them.

He won’t be able to deny her anything tonight.

It was a dark and moonless night. The camp was almost entirely silent save for the occasional buzz of the insects or the rustling of the leaves. The stars are twinkling in the sky and Alaine remembers how Miro had told stories from them. Pointing to patterns and bringing up images only he can see. She was so lost in thought that she doesn’t notice the dark clad figure standing before her.

“Master! I can explain, I swear. I hadn’t rea--” I am not your master.

Or what she thought was the master. The figure turns and Alaine knows in an instant it isn’t him. It felt different in Alaine’s mind. There was no uncontrollable rage there, no unbeatable power. At the beginning it felt like fear? Confusion, delight. Then it was just the feeling of something light and kind spreading into her.

But it shouldn’t be--It shouldn’t-It shouldn’t have been possible.

“Who are you?” Alaine blurts out before she can stop herself. As far as she knew the master was the only one of his kind. There could only be one who could lead the her kind to defend their lands after all.

I am his… daughter, your kind might say, the hooded one said. Your master is my father.

Daughter. Father. The words stirs 40 up something warm inside Alaine but for the life of her, she doesn’t know why. The words taste familiar on her tongue but she can’t remember having used them before.

“What does that mean?” she asks. “Daughter? Father?”

Pity, resignation, disappointment. The light feeling spreads faster and something in Alaine makes her want to draw away from it.

He is the one who sired me, said the hooded one. His blood is my blood and his flesh is my flesh.

The master isn’t made of flesh, he is something greater, something better. He does not bleed.

“Did he take you through the light as well?” she tries. Alaine should be terrified at this creature, running away. She needs to get to Miro because he was important and Alaine can’t--but there was something about the creature that was drawing her in, keeping Alaine where she is. She is like the master, but not.

Something gentler perhaps, something softer. Something kinder.

The difference makes Alaine shiver. So different and yet the same. She speaks such strange words, words that don’t exist in the her mind but feels as if they should. And dangerous ideas, such dangerous and wrong ideas. Ideas that went against everything that is right and good. She draws away even as she longs to reach out to her. Her eyes glowed with the warmth of a campfire on starless nights.

A voice in her mind whispers that she was an enemy but the hooded one didn’t look like an enemy. The creature looks like the master so much, with the same gait wearing the same black hood embroidered with strange symbols that shrouded her face except for the fiery eyes that belonged to the master.

“Who are you?” Alaine whispers. She shouldn’t. She knows she shouldn’t. She should run from this being, from her strange words and strange thoughts. Run from the soothing feeling that was slowly filling her, drowning everything else. It’s wrong and not hers. It can’t be hers because she knows that she is scared, full of anger and rage, and yet an easy calm was slowly filling her.

I call myself Lyse, the hooded one told her. And I am here to save you.

“From what?” she asks.

From your master, Lyse says. The one who uses you for his own evil needs.

“W--What?” Lies. Lyse is speaking lies but Alaine doesn’t run in fear, doesn’t condemn her. She finds that she 41believes.

Your master will destroy you, your brothers and sisters, and this land.

Can you not see? He must be stopped.

“What do you want from me?” she asks, though she knows she shouldn’t. There was a war going on inside Alaine, the light, calm feeling spreading faster and faster while something savage and instinctual tries to fight it of.

I seek your help.

“If you are like the master then you will not need my help,” Alaine says.

You are the only one who can do this. I cannot do this alone, Lyse says.

And I will give you something in return.

“What do you mean?”

My father has taken everything I hold dear from me, the same as you, Lyse says. And now I have the power to take everything he holds dear from him and you can help me. In return, I can return something the master has taken from you as well.

“What do you want of me?” she asks.

I ask you to steal a crystal, Lyse says. Alaine sees an image of a pure white crystal, about as long as her forearm. The same crystal that she had seen the master holding when he had taken her through the light. The one that he keeps in his own tent.

“W-What?” Alaine asks in with a laugh of disbelief. “You’re mad. The master’s tent? Why would you even need it? It’s just a pretty rock.” He had told her so, when she asked. It had been the first word out of her mouth.

It is more than that. My kind has the inherent skill to impose our emotions on yours, Lyse says. To control what you feel, what you think. It makes for very good soldiers. But you belong to another world, and my father needs the crystal to get you.

“You are wrong,” Alaine tells her. The master would never--They fight for their land, for their freedom. Lyse is tricking her mind to have such wrong ideas.

She is the one invading Alaine’s heart and making her feel emotions that weren’t her own; could not have possibly been her own. “The master is here to lead us, out of his own benevolence. He is to lead us with his great wisdom, so that we may take back our land.”

42 And where has his benevolence led you? How many friends have you lost? How much has bland is on your hands? Have you never wondered what

it’s all for?

“For the land,” Alaine says. “My land and the land of my brothers and sisters.” The words sound trite in Alaine’s own ears. There was a strange clenching in her heart that feels too much like doubt. The entire woods had gone silent as if holding its breath in fear. The power to impose emotions, Lyse had said…

Look around you. Alaine is assaulted with images of a beautiful land, with green leaves on the trees instead of burnt red, where there is an abundance of food and the water flows clear. Where people with bright eyes go around unarmed and no harm comes to them. Where the earth did not flow with blood.

This wasteland is not yours.

Alaine looks around and sees that the earth has turned back to the red earth she was used to. The leaves had returned to their red and silver colours but even that seems muted compared to the vibrant green that she had seen.

Ash continues to fall from the pyres and the air stank of death. She looks down at the berries, so small and few, and she had fought so hard to get them, barely a basket’s full. Someone might even go hungry tonight because of it.

“What do you need of me?” she asks Lyse.

And Lyse tells her of her plan. A part of Alaine whispers at the madness and treachery of it all because she serves the master, not this strange creature with such warm eyes.

You must understand, Lyse says. I am not forcing you to do anything.

The choice is entirely yours.

“Can I still meet with you? Even if I refuse?” The question seems important somehow.

Of course.

“How?” Alaine asks.

I will find you.

But will you? Lyse asks. Alaine looks away and feels something break inside her as the light feeling spreads through her heart. Will you do as I ask?

“Yes,” she says. *** 43 Alaine arrives at the tent, her heart light, and a smile playing on her lips.

Miro looks at her with a confused smile.

“What’s this for?” he asks, sounding bemused.

Alaine hands him the berries and flops down on the ground.

“The master won’t be returning tonight, will he?” she asks. Miro shakes his head, sitting down next to her.

“He’s discussing something with his generals,” he says. He took a mouthful of the berries. “Something terribly important. He probably won’t be back until noon tomorrow.”

Alaine looks around the tent. She has been here too many times than is allowed, mostly with--.There are several brightly coloured gems hanging from the roof, casting strange lights on the ground. Out of the corner of her eye, Alaine sees a dim glow.

“What is it?” she asks.

“You know I can’t say,” Miro says with a wry smile. He takes another mouthful of berries. The basket was almost half-empty now.

“Just a hint?”

“It happens in a month’s time,” Miro says with a smirk. Alaine feels herself freeze but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Now I love the berries and all, but what is this midnight visit really about?”

“Can I stay the night with you?” she says and her voice didn’t waver. It didn’t. “I get a little lonely with only myself to talk to.” Her voice shakes for a moment but Miro didn’t seem to notice. She can feel his gaze burning into her. She knows that he doesn’t believe a word she said.

“Of course you can,” he says gently. “We’re still going to have to share blankets I’m afraid and you’ll still have to leave before sunrise so no one notices but I imagine you know that already.”

“Of course,” Alaine says with a small smile. “Thank you Miro.”

Miro offers her a spot on his covers and Alaine complies. There isn’t really any space to move but that’s fine with Alaine.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he 44 murmurs quietly. He quickly hides the pain and pleading in his voice.

“No,” Alaine says, her heart clenching in guilt. She knows that she’s not the only one who lost a friend, that Miro did as well, but she knows that if she talks about it, she’ll break. “I’m sorry.”

Miro sighs.

“Don’t be,” he says. “Goodnight Alaine.”

“Goodnight Miro.”

She should have told Miro about Lyse, about the strange being who spread such terrible ideas. But the light feeling still lingered in her heart and she feels as if the moment she speaks about Lyse is the moment she will lose it.

Full text of the story: bit.ly/conte-tis-only-the-end

45

Rilasya

Fenella Sto. Domingo October 23, 2015 There's really no way to ease into this.

A flying white tiger is in my room.

I swear I saw it gliding down from my bed and onto the rug. A tiger about three feet tall with gold-tipped wings. I distinctly remember my breath hitching because I had my hand on my inhaler just in case. Also, I'm terrified of cats.

When she turned her purple eyes on me, I ran down the stairs to the kitchen and yelled for my mom. She didn’t even look up from her cutting board, but she said, “Why are you wearing lipstick?”

I ignored the question and told her there was a tiger in my room, but she didn’t care. I just huffed, and on my way out of the kitchen, she said something I didn’t get. But she didn’t care about what I said, so I didn’t bother asking her what it was. Hmph!

When I went back up, it was still there. Maybe waiting for me to come back. It took a few steps forward. I got spooked, so I ran into the washroom attached to my room.

So here I am, writing in my grade 8 math notebook (because damn math -- the exams are over anyway). There's a blacked out spot in the corner. I probably made a mistake writing my own name.

Ugh, concentrate, Therese. What are you supposed to do with the tiger in your room! Or maybe it's gone by now.

Nope. I think it's scratching on the washroom door. ...How does it know my name? It sounds so sad… Maybe I should check it out. Maybe it's friendly.

Wait.

OK, so you won’t believe this, but she's a friend! Her name's Rilasya. I can't believe I forgot. Rilasya was a fantasy character of mine I'd commissioned 46 as her except a lot smaller. White into a stuffed toy. It looked exactly the same tiger for purity and courage, and wings for freedom.

She feels like a completely different world. Her soft fur and wet nose.

She must be magic. Some sort of witch must have cast a spell on her for some reason. No doubts about it. And no judging either because you’re just a diary and I am a living, breathing, human being with a dream, okay?

She’s so sweet, exactly like a house cat, except she can talk. Well, it’s not actual talk with her mouth and tongue. It’s eerie and feels like an intrusion into my subconscious, but her voice is so playful, I can’t help but giggle. She’s been asking me how I am, and how exams were. I keep telling her that exams were fine, and that I don’t want to talk about it, but she’s such a ditz. She just repeats the questions over and over again.

Other than that, she’s been telling me to keep her a secret, which I understand. I don’t want to tell anyone about her yet, either.

The only way I get her to shut up is by petting her behind the ears.

That’s what I’m doing right now, but I’ll need to go really soon. I can smell menudo for dinner.

47

October 24, 2015 I spent all of last night trying to coax more words out of Rilasya. She asked when she’d be able to see me. Well, more specifically, she asked, “When will I see Therese?” This made me really uneasy, so I tried telling her, “I’m Therese, silly,” at which she simply replied, “When will I see you?”

I soon gave up on that, and instead cuddled her to sleep. I woke up to find she’d grown quite a lot. She also wouldn’t stop talking.

“Therese, Therese, Therese,” she’d repeat over and over to get my attention. Then she’d say, “Ask me something.” Yesterday, I’d been trying to get her to answer a few of my questions, but she’d never answer.

I asked, “Why are you here?”

“That’s too easy,” she replied. “Next!”

“What do you mean too easy?”

“I’m here because of you, silly!”

I certainly hadn’t summoned her, but she didn’t entertain any of my questions related to that one afterward, so we moved on.

I asked her where she came from, and she gave a resounding, “You!” Just thinking about it makes my gut knot. I mean, she’s magical, isn’t she?

Anyhow, I also asked, “How much do you know about me?”

And that’s when the information came flowing out. She talked about my dual citizenship, my mom and dad, their failing auto-repair shop business… Hm, she also listed my dreams of becoming a vet or a writer, and my love for crocheting and makeup. She also said I study at a public school in the afternoon shift.

It’s amazing, really. She knows everything about me. Well, she got a few things wrong, like my grade and my “love for math.” I guess she’s trying to fill in the blanks from the past four months because that’s when I lost her.

I accidentally threw her out the window—don’t ask how –and into the road, which is why I moved rooms. I’m such 48 a klutz.

Once she was finished talking, she walked into my arms, saying she was hungry. I laughed and put her down to get food from downstairs.

Luckily my mom and dad work during the day, so they won’t know I’m sneaking food for Rilasya. Didn't know I'd find an upside to that.

I brought up two bowls of chicken curry and rice. I put hers on the floor and ate mine. When I was done, I set the bowl on my bedside table. Rilasya wasn’t finished yet, so I just crawled into bed and advised her to finish all of it, since I'd be bringing it down later.

I just woke up, and Rilasya’s curled up at the foot of my bed. Now I’m sure about Rilasya being real because her food is finished.

I’ll go down to put the dishes in the sink.

49

October 25, 2015 Why are Sundays always horrible? Or maybe it's just this Sunday because of Rilasya. I just finished cleaning up after her, but I'll start from the beginning.

We went to church really early. You see, I hate going to church because I have to dress up. I think the only redeeming thing about it is that we sometimes have breakfast at Jollibee, like today. I like eating out because my parents can’t bring their laptops to the dinner table and scurry into their rooms once they finish eating.

While we were waiting for our breakfast sandwiches and tapa, my mom tugged at my sleeve and said she’d need to fix it. She likes making dresses and stuff for me, which I’d like better if everything weren’t in pink. I told her this earlier. I aaaalways tell her this. She never gets it right.

“Why, anak? I thought you loved pink,” she said.

I frowned and denied it.

“Big girl na talaga ang bunso ko.” Her voice was wistful.

We didn't talk the rest of our stay at Jollibee. The ride home was quiet as well.

When I got home, I found my room ransacked. The bed was on its side and the books were spread out on the floor. The curtains had been pulled off its hooks. In the corner, with a drawing tablet under her paws, was Rilasya.

“What did you do!” I exclaimed through my teeth.

Her voice felt so much older when she said, “When was the last time you used this?”

I pushed the bed back on its feet, right at the time my mom called from downstairs. “What’s that noise?”

I told her that everything was fine, and that I was sorry. Rilasya ran into the washroom just as my mom came up to look into the room. I thought she'd scold me, but all she did was somberly tell me to be quiet. I apologized again, and she went into the master bedroom.

Once she was gone, I went into 50the washroom to find Rilasya looking at herself in the mirror. “How many times do you look at yourself every day?” she asked.

I ignored her question. “What was that?” I demanded. “Why’d you do that?”

“I didn’t.”

She walked past me, and I noticed how she’d grown to be as tall as my chest.

“Besides, you found this. Don’t you remember?” She sat next to the tablet. Why’d I even have that? I’ve long given up digital art.

“Look at this mess I need to clean up, Rilasya!” I continued.

She rolled her eyes. “Calm down.”

She told me to calm down. Funny, right? A winged tiger telling me to calm down? It felt like I was going mad.

I very well might be.

“No, this is you turning sane,” she said, reading my mind. I don't know if she was being snarky or if she was being honest.

She was being ridiculous! “You can’t stay if you’re like this.”

“It’s not my choice to stay,” she said as she lounged in the corner of the room. I remember looking back at her and seeing her luxuriously stretched in the patch of sunlight.

Why’d I let her stay in the first place, anyway? I don’t know. Maybe I liked the idea of having a magical pet no one else knew about. I liked her when she was smaller and cuter, though. Now, it’s like she’s in a rebellious teen phase.

When I’d fixed everything up, I started writing on my laptop. My parents left a while after that. Yeah, they work on Sundays.

Now, Rilasya’s reading a book at the side of my bed. She just asked why I always sing second voice. I hadn’t even realized I was singing. Now she asked who my first voice was...? My head hurts. Probably from typing so much.

I’m taking another nap.

Alright, well, Rilasya didn’t let me take my nap. She spent the day cuddling up to me to get me to forgive her, 51 since I'd been giving her the cold shoulder. Well, I forgave her, and she asked that I sneak her dinner to buy her good behavior for the rest of her visit.

Why is she even here? Should I tell my mom? Well, I’ve tried telling my mom, but how about I show her Rilasya? Maybe she can help me track down the witch that sent her. But what if it was just my missing her that brought her here? Then can’t I will her away?

Ops, my mom’s calling for dinner. I didn't even hear them come home.

Where did the day go?

Dinner’s done. Man, my mom’s been acting really weird today. She asked why I brought my inhaler to the table. “Bakit mo dala yan?” she practically screeched. She looked at my dad.

It’s obviously mine. I haven’t had an attack in a long time, but it’s mine.

My dad consoled her, and said, “Maybe she’s carrying it around just in case.

Alam mo naman.”

Good thing my dad understands. Good thing my dad’s as patient as he is. My mom’s prone to weird panic attacks.

When I finished my food, I filled up another bowl and tried to sneak out, but my mom stopped to ask where I was going. I said, “I’m bringing it upstairs for her.”

She turned pale. “She’s not there, anak.” That was my sliver of hope that she'd finally believed me and would help me out.

My dad asked who I was referring to, and I told them about Rilasya. I waited for them to ask more questions, but my dad said, “Ah, the imaginary friend.”

I can’t believe they dismissed me again. Well, I can, but I don’t like it. I just went back up and gave Rilasya her food. She didn’t touch it quite yet. She asked what my parents said.

I groaned in reply and sat on my bed to get back to the crochet scarf I’d been working on. Man, I see my work now, and wonder if I’ve gotten worse at crocheting. Now that I think about it, is that what I’d been working on the whole day? The scarf? I don’t remember…

Anyhow, when Rilasya was finished eating, she came up to me and tucked her head under my arm. How cute. She said that she was sorry for causing trouble, but reiterated that she wasn’t the one who messed my room up. I laughed, but started crying for some reason. She told me to put the scarf down and to lie down.

She curled up next to me and purred, saying that she’d make things 52 okay—well, specifically she said, “I’ll make you okay.” I read that purring helps cats recover from physical injuries and pace their heart rate. I wonder if it helps

for humans.

I hadn’t realized I’d fallen asleep until I woke up in the dead of the night, Rilasya still beside me. I brought her dish down to the sink and started writing.

For a while, I’ve been hearing sobbing from across the hall. Maybe my mom? I think she’s saying, “Miss ko na siya…” Who’s she talking about? Me? It doesn't seem like she's been missing me. Tsh. I could stay up and think about that, but now I should really get back to bed. The results of the exams will be out tomorrow.

53

October 26, 2015 I woke up to Rilasya wishing me good luck. She seemed like she’d gotten a shot of coffee or something, she was so energetic. She told me she'd miss me so so much. Maybe she's just coming down from her coffee high! That's why she's sick right now.

I had to commute to school this morning because my parents weren’t awake to bring me there. It takes thirty minutes on the jeep and then ten on the tricycle. We used to live in a place closer to it, but we moved because my grandparents were giving away their (may I include ancient) house here to move to the province.

I got to school, and the exams were returned and rechecked. I passed all of them, and got a perfect score in math.

Something weird happened, though.

Before my adviser returned the papers, he said something along the lines of, “Who’s the prankster filling up extra exams under…” He said a name I couldn’t catch. Then a student went up to him, and pointed to the back of the class, near where I sit. I guess they caught the guy. I wonder who it was, though.

Maybe an extra student…? The classes in our school are always so cramped, people don’t really care who comes in and out. I’ll put it this way: I could skip all my classes and still get perfect attendance.

After class, I bumped into this group of friends while I was with my own friends and they called me and asked why I was still around. I was so confused for a moment. And then I realized that hey, I know these people! They were from grade six, and they’d checked their exams in the morning. (My school has shifts for grade school and high school.) I wasn’t prepared to see them then, though.

They asked why I was wearing lipstick, and that they hadn’t seen me wearing it earlier. I said, “Well, you didn’t see me earlier…”

I told them maybe they mistook me for someone else. They also commented that I was hanging out with high schoolers a lot more often now. I just laughed and said, “Yeah.” I’m a high schooler, so… I’m supposed to hang out with high schoolers, aren’t I?” Grade schoolers are so cute. I have to admit, though, it was a bit disorienting to talk to them right then.

We ate lunch at a silog place near 54 our school and talked a bit. One of the new girls (forgot her name) in our group asked why I always sat in the class.

I laughed and said, “You’re new here aren’t you.”

My friends laughed with me and pat her on the back. One of them whispered in the new girl’s ear. I didn’t bother asking what it was.

I went home with one of my best friends, Aria. She lives near our place, so we can halve the pay for the tricycle into BF Resort Village.

She said something really weird in the tricycle. Something like… “You know, everyone understands. They just don’t want to talk about it. You can talk to me about it.” and “I know what you’re trying to do, but you can’t keep doing it.”

My head started hurting, so I told her to stop talking. My head’s hurting right now, actually…

We said our good byes and I went upstairs to find Rilasya on my bed.

She was extremely thin. Her breathing was shallow. Even though she looked so tired, she had the heart to joke, “What are you still doing here looking like that?”

Well, I think it was a joke.

I went to the side of the bed, and she continued with, “You’re supposed to be a vet when you grow up, right? Why don’t you know what to do?”

She was right, I didn’t know what to do. But she wasn’t a normal animal, either. I asked her what was wrong, and all she said was, “Things are becoming right.”

As if that made any sense!

She asked when I’d go back to the attic. I said that it was off limits, ever since I lost her.

“Lost who?” she asked.

I got yet another migraine, but tried to brush it off. Rilasya was in pain.

“You,” I answered.

“Who am I?” Her voice echoed in my mind.

This conversation wasn’t helping my brain, okay? So I didn’t answer.

How’d she have all this energy to ask such pressing questions?

I went downstairs to bring her a bowl of milk, and when I got back, the hatch to the attic was already open. A stool was underneath it, and Rilasya was still lying down.

55 “You see the opening every day, but you’ve never thought of revisiting?”

she continued.

I put the bowl of milk down near the foot of the bed. Something smelled really bad, like rotting garbage. “Now’s not the time, Rilasya,” I scolded. “You’re sick. I don’t want to lose you.”

She told me, “If I left, where would I go? Back?”

I huffed and closed the hatch.

She asked why I’d closed it. I countered with, “Why’d you open it?”

Rilasya replied that she didn’t.

I ignored her and got blankets to drape over her. She told me that she’d be fine. I started writing on my laptop. I actually fell asleep after writing about Aria. It’s five right now, and Rilasya’s still not well. She's said a few things, like: “I've been like this for so long.”

“Where have you been?”

“When have you been?”

I've been dismissing it as fever delusions.

I hear my mom and dad pulling into the driveway. Just wait.

My mom…. fainted. My school sends letters to the parents of students who are in the top ten by the end of the first semester. My mom got two letters with the school’s stamp. I still don’t know what’s in the two letters. I’m hoping one of them is for me, and considering my mom’s reaction, the other is obviously bad news.

Dad brought mom to the master bedroom, and he and I had dinner alone. I kept quiet, and ate quickly. Times like these feel like any noise can make the whole place shatter, and I've never wanted to risk it. He stopped me before I could go to ask, “Sweetie, do you have anything you want to tell me?”

Him calling me sweetie was so weird. I said that no, there was nothing.

He sighed and then, like he had something dirty on his hands, wiped his palms on his jeans. He let me go.

When I got back to my room, the 56place stunk. The milk had spilled over.

Rilasya wasn’t around. I called for her over and over again, but she wouldn’t answer.

Eventually, my mom came out of her room, and gave me a glare I’d never forget. “Manahimik ka nga,” she said, “At tanggalin mo yang lipstick mo!”

She ran downstairs, and started crying to my dad.

I crawled under the sheets and started writing. My only refuge now. I can still hear her crying, saying, “Who would do this?”

“You didn’t tell the school?” That’s my dad. I can’t believe he’s raising his voice.

“I forgot!”

“How do you forget to tell the school that--” He trailed off.

“Sorry na! Kasalanan ko ba?”

I feel a headache coming on. I don’t want to listen anymore. I feel like I should know what they’re talking about, but I don’t.

Where the hell is Rilasya? Why did she leave me in my time of need?

I want to sleep.

Oh my God. She’s still with me. I’m in bed, and Rilasya’s still with me. At least she's not sick anymore, or feral, or that creepy cub version. I don’t know who to go to right now. My parents are asleep, and I can’t sleep myself.

I’ll start at the beginning, to clear everything up for both me and you.

Rilasya came back.

Okay, that’s not the beginning.

I woke up with the rope for the attic door in my hand, and it smelled so damned bad. God, I know why it smelled so damned bad now. I’d been stuffing all of Rilasya’s food in the attic. Well, to be fair, it wasn’t me, technically. Or was it technically me?

Anyhow, Rilasya jumped down from the door, and I remember her looking so feral. She screeched, “Get up there, already!” and “I’m sick of this, don’t you see?”

She looked starved. She seemed 57 to woosh past me. Then she started pushing me and telling me that I'd been so stubborn and oblivious and stupid.

I should’ve known Rilasya wasn’t real. I should’ve known, shouldn’t I have? I’m such the idealist. I really am so stupid.

She took the ladder out from under the bed and forced me to start climbing. I remember feeling like the wind was roaring in my ears, along with Rilasya's growls.

When I got up there, another Rilasya greeted me. The smaller version.

The cuter one. She pranced around, making me dizzy. Well, it wasn’t just her that made me dizzy, I guess. The bright fluorescent lights-- one which flickered every so often. The light made everything seem like high definition, but at the same time difficult to look at. Or was everything just naturally difficult to look at?

Rotting food was littered around the entrance. It was all I could do to pinch my nose and avoid stepping in it.

Mini-Rilasya (Or would she be called original Rilasya? I’m not sure) told me to look around. Take what was mine.

Even as I write about it, my heart races. I don’t know if I can do this right now.

But if not now, when?

I'll start where we started. Not like there were many places to pick.

There was only one bed, one drawer and the window, after all.

Rilasya's voice didn't help. It sounded so much like a child, as if she didn't understand what was happening.

She pointed out the bed first, and kept saying to hurry up, hurry up, hurry up! But every step felt like I was going to topple over.

The bed was half blue and half pink. The pink side was mine. Rilasya reminded me how my mom took us to Hypermart to pick everything out. She even embroidered our names on the pillows.

I remember watching them set up the bed even after the incident. I'd cried for half a day before they decided to move me down here.

Rilasya was still there. The stuffed toy Rilasya. I took this. The memory of being with her was so close and yet so far away. I remember impatiently watching her make it, always just over her shoulder, saying it didn't look right.

Next was the drawer.

On top of the drawer were a few 58pictures that I tried to avoid. But Rilasya hopped on top of them, making them fall over, and she demanded I picked them up.

I remember my fingers numbing when I touched it.

I didn't want to see it, and when I finally did, I had trouble pinning a name to the other girl in the picture. I can recall my vision blurring her face out for a moment, and my head spinning.

The picture had been taken at the top of a mountain. I was carrying her on my back, and she was trying her best to give a convincing smile. She had trouble climbing, and it was raining, so I carried her on my back. She was so frail, but so smart.

The medals littered across the top of the drawer were addressed to her, along with a trophy from some science bee. I used to be so envious of her. Maybe I still am.

Inside were notebooks from grade 7 and grade 5, and then miscellaneous notebooks with stories upon stories written inside. The ones from grade 5 were mine. I took those. There were also animal books in addition to almanacs and encyclopedias, labeled someone else's name... It took a while for me to read everything, my head was spinning so much.

God! Why am I still dancing around the name??

Olivia, okay?! Her name’s Olivia. It was right there. In the corner of the book on cats, it was right there. Olivia Marshall, Grade 8- Sincerity.

That’s probably what’s on the notebooks I've been using. I probably blacked out her name and wrote mine. When'd I start doing that?

I also found a makeup kit with the lipstick and eyeliner missing. This had Olivia written on it too. She was so pretty. I never got why she had to wear any of this.

I feel sick. My fingers are numb again, but I swear I'll finish this.

Next came the window. It was simple. It had two old doors that were supposed to keep it shut. Tonight, it was wide open and the air was so cold. I remember being so cold…

Rilasya spoke in that voice of hers again. “Are you going to throw me out again?” I cringed. I'm still cringing. I dropped everything I'd been holding when the scene flashed in my mind.

I should’ve dusted the place before I showed it to her, like mom said before they left. But that's it: they left. My parents went back to the other house, to help move the rest of the stuff. And my 59 sister hadn’t had an attack in so long...

I shouldn’t have shown her the place at all. I shouldn't have pushed for

the attic. She was terrified of heights. I should’ve known.

And mom shouldn’t have gotten us the kitten.

We called her Rilasya. She was in my hands and I was pretending that I’d throw her out the window to joke with my sister. I was saying, “Watch her fly!” Oh God. Then she slipped out of my hands.

The thing was that, my sister, in her haste, she reached out for the cat, and then saw the two story drop, her head was already outside the window, and at first she was laughing, because “Look, Rilasya really can fly!” and I laughed with her for a while, until I realized she was wheezing, not laughing.

She fell to her knees, and I caught her and held her so she'd sit up. I yelled for her inhaler, and all she could do was sign that she didn't have it. Mom didn’t buy a new one after the last one expired in March, because Olivia hadn’t used it at all. She said it’d just be a waste of money. I called for our mom, but remembered that she wasn't there, and I didn’t know what to do.

I remember just staring at her, asking her what to do because she was always the one with the answers. I just froze up, watching her. Her wide eyes watering with panic, jaw dropped as she tried sucking in air. Her skin turning purple. I remember squeezing her, which wasn't a good idea, but I wanted to hold onto her! Since I couldn't do anything to help... There was no water downstairs and we didn't know any neighbors yet... Couldn't call anyone because my mom thought kids weren't supposed to have cell phones. I was helpless.

I didn’t know what to do… …

My parents’ door is opening.

60

October 27, 2015 What a way to start sembreak.

My parents sat me down for a long talk last night. My mom apologized, and they asked if I’d been doing anything bad at school. I told them about my double life. My mom was a bit relieved at that, but my dad wasn’t. He said that it could be considered as fraud.

My mom wondered more about how I was able to do it. My dad started talking about how they should've pulled me out of that school when Olivia died.

They asked why, and I honestly don’t know why. I still don't.

I remember, maybe a week after the incident, I was asking when the funeral would be, and my mom got so upset, she said, “Stop asking about this Olivia! She doesn't exist!” I ended up staying with my grandparents instead of going to the funeral. I was so scared to mention her afterward, my mom was so angry.

Oh, I also told them I'd been seeing Rilasya. It took some convincing and a lot of tears, but they believed me eventually. My mom wouldn't stop crying after that.

I said I was sorry, and I remember my mom staring at me with such tired eyes. Then she continued sobbing on my dad's shoulder, who reassured her that it wasn't her fault, and that no one failed anyone.

My dad proposed that we all move to the States. We have some family there. He was worried that if I get treatment here, the neighbors'll start talking.

My mom actually said that everything would go away in time, and that I wouldn't need it. My parents almost started fighting in front of me. My mom said that people would start talking anywhere we go. My dad said that the people in the States would be more quiet about it.

I didn't really get it. I didn't care.

By the time my dad was talking about other possible solutions, however, I was so tired. He eventually gave up and just asked me to hug our mom, and we had an awkward group hug. We turned in after that.

I just woke up and I'm still so tired. My parents are asleep still. Rilasya isn't around. I wonder where she is… I miss 61 her. Now that I think about it, she wasn't around last night either, while I was talking to my parents.

Oh my God, wait.

I'm laying next to Rilasya right now. I don't understand. I know she isn't real, but she feels like she is. She's gotten bigger, and much healthier. Her fur is so soft and her breathing is so relaxing, I could fall right back to sleep. For some reason, her voice makes her sound more mature, more tempered.

She told me that she's supposed to have left, now that I've “woken up.”

She said it so calmly, so matter-of-fact. Right now, she's purring, and my eyelids are getting heavier.

Anyhow, I asked her why she came back, and she bounced the question back to me.

I guess that I didn't need to answer, but I spoke anyway. “I still need you.”

At that, she told me to get into bed and lie down next to her. I obeyed, and cried into her coat. She told me that when I felt better, she'd go.

I said that if she were to leave, I wouldn't feel better.

She answered with, “When you feel better, I won't need to stay.”

62

Fallout

Michelle Cadiz you can tell me anything a promise, a command tell me anything, tell me everything something like trust something like sunlight and flower petals, hot soup on the stove足top. tell me tell me tell me so i plucked myself apart and poured the pieces into your hands but they slipped through as your concern pooled heavy around my feet like concrete no, tell me so i told you about suffocation i told you about needles, about sickness, about quarantine i wiggled my toes to sand and poured that out instead. but still no sunlight or flowers or soup just sand to my elbows concrete to my ears. when i told you about the zombie apocalypse, you laughed.

63

prime time entertainment: watch a girl in a hazmat suit watch her stacking cans on cans watch her flinch at footsteps and car alarms watch her become what you turned her into: glass windows, grey facades let's say a shopping mall. you won't see her shake apart not beneath all that concrete but you won't be watching the fallout. when the groaning comes, you'll be too busy running. so here we are: me, the deserted shopping mall. you, who said no way is this zombie thing for real. you, who'd regret that, if you weren't already rotting and drooling and dragging your feet across the scorched pavement. and me, with flickering lights and exposed wire and water stains from my leaky ceiling, still caring about your synapses, still waiting to finish falling apart, still hoping you'll come inside before i do, and my rusted scaffolding my ruined concrete can finally put an end to you.

64

Summer Fling Jackie Simpas

The low rumbling of the old air conditioner echoed throughout the classroom but it was being drowned out by the buzzing noise of everyone talking to one another. Well, almost everyone.

I was sitting down on one of the seats in the middle of the room, not too far from the platform that it would potentially make me lose interest later on when the class starts, but not too near that I’d look like a nerd.

It should be illegal to be this excited for a summer class, especially when it’s Bio 11, but apparently I was the only one thinking that as more people poured into the classroom, squealing and hugging those that were already in groups and chattering about either how fun it would be or mock complaining about having classes this time of the year.

Was I the only one that didn’t have any friends in this class? And when would the class start so that people would stop rubbing their friendships all over my face?

I closed my eyes and put my head on the table, deciding on catching up with the sleep I had too much and too little of.

“Hoy, gising na! The prof is here.” Someone was shaking me gently.

A dose of panic jolted me awake, drool still dripping from the corners of my mouth and glasses askew. I looked around to look for the teacher, but she was still not there. He, however, was sitting beside me, traces of laughter still playing at his lips and sparkling eyes.

“Of all the people I have to be stuck with, why you?” I groaned as I tried to shrug his hand off my shoulder, but he just held on even tighter.

“Because we’re meant to be, tutubi,” he smiled, slowly relaxed his grip and started raising his hand for a high five.

“Pfft. You’re so lame.” I smiled back. Our hands met in the air, the clap cutting through the din of other people talking and the old air conditioner’s grumbling. *** 65

There was the promise of cool relief sneaking in the arid atmosphere.

The scent of clearing air heralded this, sharp amidst the smell of dried out leaves, grass and cracking soil. A few seconds later there was the light patter of the rain bouncing off the roof, slowly and steadily growing into a loud drumming drowning out all the other noise. People were desperately running about, looking for shelter.

We were both leisurely lying on top of the stone tables at the grove near the Engineering compound when it happened, my head on his lap while his fingers combed through my hair, unaware of the smattering of rain drops due to the leaves and branches of the tall trees intertwining, forming a roof over our heads. Eventually the leaves couldn’t hold the water anymore as it grew heavy.

“Hey, it’s raining!” We both stood up and started walking away. “You know what we should do?” I latched on to his arm, dragging him to the Academic Oval; our shoes were squelching and splotching on the budding grass before coming in contact with the smooth asphalt.

“We should be hiding under a roof with this downpour. Are you crazy?”

He looked reluctant enough as it was, with the wet fabric of his shirt clinging to his skin, tracing an outline of lean muscle. I probably looked the same way.

“Nope,” I giggled, letting go of his hand. “Maghabulan tayo! Ikaw taya!” I laughed while running away. He grinned, a glint of challenge in his eyes, and chased after me.

A few minutes later we were soaking wet, panting and shivering while settling under the main library’s roof exhausted. I sneezed.

“Bless you.” He shuffled a bit closer to me until our shoulders and knees touched.

“I’m so sorry.” I sniffled, cheeks and nose turning red. He shifted even closer and started rubbing my arms, his body hugging mine. I snuggled in closer.

He radiated heat and comfort.

Don’t worry. It’s okay. It was fun.” He leaned his forehead against mine.

“Now let’s go dry ourselves up, okay? Nagkakasinat ka na.” ***

66

The loud sizzling of food being prepared wafted through the air, making even the full want for more. The clanking of plates and glass as they were carted around by swift silent ninjas, easily swiping them off the tables as soon as the last spoonful of rice and ulam was swallowed by unaware eaters, and the scraping of the chairs on the old tiled flooring and shuffling of feet as those leaving were easily and quickly replaced by the more hungry and desperate.

That coupled with the chatter of cashiers calling out for customers and chattering cliques buzzed on as steady background noise. The prickly heat radiating outside was seeping through within with every creak and slam of the door, and the electric fans were losing out to the stifling air. The sweaty bodies of people going through CASAA bumped into each other, the space to move about almost non-existent.

“Have you ever tried mixing energy drinks?” I wondered aloud, sipping Suicide Juice. The cool cola concoction was bubbling just underneath my throat.

Our knees were bumping under the table.

“Not really. Will it taste anything like this? It’s good,” he replied, sipping from his own cup. “Wait… wouldn’t that just be one big caffeine kick?”

“Well yeah. But think about how trippy it would be. And you know what would make it better?”

“We should get more of this Suicide Juice. Not really, what?” He eyed me skeptically, but still interested in what I was proposing.

It was the middle of exam week, and we were both thinking of ways to stay alert and active in class, trying to catch everything our professors were trying to pass off as essential knowledge while battling the ennui the hazy days encouraged. As if knowing how a plant breathes would help me later on in life.

“What if,” I hunched closer, eyes squinting and mouth set in a grim line, “we add coffee to the mix?”

“Coffee? Are you serious?” He gasped, covering his mouth in shock, his eyes widening. I could see the corners of this mouth rising though.

“Yup yup! I totally am.” I sat up straighter, still maintaining my serious face.

We stared into each other’s eyes: his deliberating and mine debilitating.

He sighed, good-humoredly exasperated and stood up, slurping the last drops. I followed suit.

67 “Let’s do this!”

*** “Are you coming home with me today?” he asked.

“Don’t I always?” *** The radio playing resounded in the cold night air, filling the once silent room with human company. The room had no one else except one occupant. All the other beds were stripped off their covers, and the closets creaked open to show how empty they were, only a spare hanger or tape marks bearing traces of once being used.

I was lying down my bed, poring over pages and pages of years of scientific discoveries and observations on natural phenomena, thinking it would help me forget how suffocating it was in there. I’d reply to the DJ on the radio once in a while, substituting them for the room mates who graduated earlier that month.

I checked my phone. It was only 8 pm. I went through a mental checklist.

Dinner? Check.

Clean and organized room and closet? Check.

Radio on speaker? Check.

Nightly shower? Check.

Three chapters of Campbell? Check.

Rewritten notes? Check.

What else should I do? I looked at the time again. It was 8:05, too early to sleep. I reread my notes, thinking that studying could tide me over. It didn’t.

I checked my phone for any texts. There were none. I started typing one out.

68

69

70

71

I slowly turned the lights and the radio off before padding back to my bed. I smiled, eyes slowly shutting down along with my body. I should sleep already, so that the time between him and me would fly by faster. “Good night� I mumbled, placing my notes on the table and climbing back to bed, replacing my phone underneath my pillow.

72 ***

The sharp scent of alcohol and the cloying scent of formalin were dizzying, along with the air conditioned room that has seen many dead things being poked and prodded for the sake of science. To one side there was a huge closet with jars full of specimen of different species preserved, their grotesque figures floating in either a piss-yellow or a blood red liquid, organized like pickled food and jams in a pantry. A huge deep sink was stuck to one side of the room, and four big tiled tables were lined up, taking up the remaining space. On each table there were six people poring over the same botany manual, their concentrated mumbling and conversations sounding like the reading of the Pasyon during Holy Week.

On one table, however, there were only five people sitting on the stools and discussing. Their sixth member was nowhere in sight.

I was sitting under the table, retreating from the dispassionate studying, napping. When our instructor first told everyone to just use the time in class for reviewing for the lab exam, I quickly took all my stuff and sat under the table. My groupmates were confused and concerned that I might have hit my head on something, again. He just waved them off, saying that it was my normal behavior.

He nudged me with his foot, 30 minutes after I first sat under the table.

“Hey, are you still alive down there?”

A muffled complaint was my reply.

“They’re worried about you. Come back up.” He offered his hand.

I clutched his hand as he pulled me up while rubbing my eyes. He patted my cheeks and gave me gum to perk me up. It didn’t work.

“Is she okay? “one of our group mates asked. I answered in incoherent grunts, nodding. They still didn’t understand what I meant, so I nudged his shoulder as he helped me fix my rumpled clothes and patted my disheveled hair into place. He looked at me as I gestured to them.

“Yeah, she’s fine. She’s just tired.”

I sat down beside him and groggily read the manual, slumping forward.

Just as I was about to fall asleep again, he poked my side. I jolted awake, grumbling curses and glaring at him. He grinned.

“You’re welcome.”

73 ***

It was only a matter of time until it happened.

I was standing outside an ATM vestibule along Doña Soledad Avenue, wary of the flickering lights overhead and the shifty groups of boys and men in jerseys, caps and slippers. The guard beside me didn’t make me feel safe in the slightest; his disinterested look felt like it was a ruse, that he’d jump me as soon as I finished withdrawing cash. I took my phone out as soon as I checked the receipt.

With as much courage as I could muster, I shakily dialed his number.

“Hello?”

“Yes…Hello,” I choked out.

“What’s wrong?”

“I…rode the wrong FX, and n-now…I don’t know where I am and how to get home.”

My voice was shot as I slowly backed away from the guard and walked near the sidewalk. The guard’s eyes were trailing my figure closely.

“Okay. Are you near a bank?”

“Yes,” I sniffled as tears, snot and saliva started streaming down my face.

“Do you have money with you? Enough for a taxi ride?”

“Yeah.” I tried swallowing the fear but it got stuck in my throat. “Just withdrew some.”

“That’s good. Shh, okay lang iyan. Just ride a taxi.”

I started hailing for a cab. Many passed before one stopped before me. I opened the door and said the address. The driver easily agreed, and I slipped inside.

“Please don’t hang up,” I begged him.

“Yeah. Sure. Shh, everything’s going to be fine. Have you ridden a taxi na?”

I nodded my head. “M-hm.”

74

“Just breathe, okay. Everything will be fine.”

I took a deep breath, the air slowly filling up my lungs and tummy. I counted to three and slowly released it. I took a few more until I was more relaxed. He was just chattering on the phone the whole time, talking about everything and nothing. His deep rumbling voice was soothing and comforting.

“Are you okay now?”

“Yeah, I’m feeling much better now.” The taxi slowed down to a stop in front of a white gate and bright night lights. “And I’m home. Thank you so much.”

“No problem.” **** The honking horns and seemingly never-ending line of crawling cars were trailing along C-5. The harsh lights from lamp posts, towering buildings and blinking car lights easily replaced twinkling stars and made everything more visible, even with the smog and the dark sky fighting to obscure everything in sight.

We were both in his car, him driving while I was sitting shotgun. He was checking on Waze every few minutes, looking for a faster way to go home, but finding none. He sighed in defeat. The radio was playing in the background.

He seemed to steel himself for something, shoulders tense and grip on the wheel tight. I was humming along to the song being played, slouching against the seat and hands tapping along to the beat.

“Could I ask you something?”

He turned the volume down low so that we could hear each other more clearly. “Well, you just did.” I sat taller, noticing how nervous he was.

“Have you ever thought about us as being more than friends?” he choked out, breathless. I burst out laughing, my hands involuntarily clapping. It was the best joke I’ve ever heard. “I’m being serious here. Hey, stop laughing!”

“It’s just that, I never really did.” I tried to catch my breath, but bubbles of laughter still came through.

“Not even a what-if?” he ventured out. He still looked somewhat nervous.

75 “Nope. I like being friends with you more.” I smiled. “And besides, you’re too much like a brother to me.” He breathed out, his shoulders sagging and his

grip on the wheel loosening, relieved.

“That’s good to hear. I thought you were falling for me. I didn’t want us to be more than friends too. I thought about it, and it was disturbing. You’re like, my younger sister.”

We looked at each other, simultaneously shuddering. “Eww gross.” *** The scribbling of pen against paper echoed through the large classroom. The air condition droned on, the cold air silently but heavily settling down hunched shoulders, making it more difficult to think coherently. The ticking of the clock further aggravated the frenzied students’ writing, their hands shaking with nerves.

A few were already standing, giving up their blue books to the proctor sitting in front of everyone, whose mind was looking out for wandering eyes.

I just finished reviewing all my answers for the test, making sure that I more or less knew what I wrote down, even though I honestly didn’t. I stood up and walked to the front of the room, bumping on his table along the way.

“Sorry.”

He didn’t seem to notice, his focus too intense on the test at hand. I passed my test paper and blue book to the proctor, and went back to my seat to fix my bag, stuffing my pens and extra paper in.

His eyebrows were starting to grow closer, wrinkling his forehead. He was hunched too forward, his shoulders tense and his grip on the pen too tight.

He must have been really worried about this test. I reached out and patted his head, giving him a thumbs-up.

He visibly relaxed, and continued answering. I walked out of the classroom and waited for him in the hallway.

When he walked out of the room, I ran over to him and jumped. He caught me and we hugged.

“It’s finally over!” we rejoiced.

76

Depose Nicole Serrano

A tail, then; or else the outbreak of lumps erupting on the expanse of her flesh, a sin only absolved by shame or display. What else could be written but the spectacle made sinful, the erring memory made holy?

Vashti had known that day—when she refused the king’s demand to make a banquet of her body, a feast for his men— the words would not be hers. Who but the righteous would gouge out the voice of a traitor, the last wife who spoke? Here, a memory (thus, a truth): the crown rests upon no worthy head, but the void of a queen is easily filled. This is what Vashti thinks when she first sees the new queen, faultless in the morning; in the evening, a girl stumbling into her chambers, She remembers the treachery of night. The hiss of the unforgiving dark, the moon’s teeth bared like claws, when soft she sings the elegy of the sun. Vashti understands: she, too, mourns the light. She watches the girl stagger, marred by an uneven gait. This is, after all, what the king does: take his violet breath and bloom it into stains, the weight of him devouring symmetries until the only prayer left within is for hunger.

Was the girl never taught? no one can sate the avarice that gorges on dried pleas falling like ashes from lips, the quiet carved-out and unwept, but kings are never divested the freedom to try. Esther, her name. Hadassah, the truth. She has never belonged here, and so she begins with pity: a washcloth to the forehead, water coolly sliding,, dripping. The night after, a fervent kiss to the bruises budding on the wrist. Finally, her breath that cleanses. A hand outstretched tentatively, and Vashti teaches her to hold, to fill the crevices in the cusp of hips hollowed like silences, with a rush of limbs, the dilemma of formless gods. Isn’t this the object of the body’s creation, the soul wrapped in skin? The careful awe of parting lips, back pleasure-arched, fingers exhaling the length of each stroke until she shudders into becoming, until here has never been warmer. How cruel it is to make of flesh the enemy, Vashti thinks. Touch treads lightly across the valleys of her ribs, counting 77

the metaphors of possession the king left scattered across each depth. Is this sin, then? The shining reverence of a kiss, where once had only known the bruises of a swirling trail of the misdeeds of the mouth, the penance for her lack.

And is this having—holding her, bare-breasted and lovestarved? It is beautiful to love her in the morning, when light breaks with lack of fetters. Vashti lifts the girl’s chin, drapes her in garments to frame her shoulders fully; to fill spaces with her presence, body brought to sight. More and more Vashti sees the unfolding of flames in her eyes; when the threat to eradicate comes upon her people, when Esther recounts the cloying words she had whispered in the king’s ear, the kiss pressed to his ring the way her lips left the spark of tingles on her skin, she scoffs: the king’s knees have, trembling, bent. He doesn’t know it yet, only knows the victory over the queen’s enemies, but he has been fed his share, and only the queen is all the fuller, always the wiser, and Vashti nearly preens.

The queen demands the traitors of the of the king’s reign brought before her and Vashti should’ve known: the way Esther leaves marks through the extent of limbs in the roar of heat, Esther’s hands, the grip unyielding until she has taken, until she knows only to seize.

When Vashti sees her on the throne, smile weaved from sugar and body ascending, she thinks betrayal. The queen feeds the dark of ashes, the guttural rumble in the unseen belly, the fullness of shadows to a gaping ache for light. Wouldn’t this be easier? Let the wind carry what her feet cannot. But memory persists; recall Esther at dawn, curls splayed smoothly to the caress of her hands, the feather-like humming between the fissures of morning voice, fractured from merciless thrusting of the night. in the end, all that remains is that the queen has her fill, and how Vashti loathes that seething smirk on her face, tugged at the edges like ill-fitting clothing, and she 78 is never grateful for the famine that had brought them here, to this horrid

sunset, light suddenly with edges . The queen lifts a finger to allay the crowds— the thinning hush reminds of the first song of a sword, the sweet sharp whistle of blood in the air, the first time Vashti heard Esther’s stifled, beautiful cry— there is strange gentleness in the afternoon. Vashti recalls how afternoon rain pads softly, the giggle of Esther’s footsteps tiptoeing through marble, always the delight in small things, in the smallness of their hands twined, the sloping gaps between filled by their fingers.

“Execute them.”

Vashti only smiles, lips Tight around her teeth.

79

By My Side

Thomas Leonard Shaw A figure treads through a worn, rugged path, looking through the dense overgrowth of Michigan forest. The occasional rustling as small critters hide from the unknown presence. A small, sad smile graces his lips as he nestles into his faux, leather jacket; shielded from the cold night air.

A deep silence fills the air, reminding him of a night years past, his mind drifting away.

“I feel cold, Tom.” A small voice whispers shakily into Tom’s ears.

He looks to his right, staring into dark azure eyes.

“Come closer then, let’s share my jacket,” Tom murmurs before pulling his jacket over the both of them, and embracing a petite, freezing body under his grip.

The voice sighs in contentment as she snuggles into the nape of his neck, inhaling deeply. Tom chuckles while tightening his grip around her.

“Thank you.”

A branch cracks beneath Tom’s feet, snapping him from his trance. To the right, he can see a gap between two sugar maple trees, opening up into a grassy, winding path.

“Almost there” He whispers as he pushes his way through drooping branches and hanging leaves. Suddenly, Tom jumps in place as a prickly leave brushes the nape of his neck.

He looks around to see if someone was there. But he was alone.

Her gentle laughter floats through the night air, as Tom whips his head around in anticipation of attack, only to see a lone, dangling leaf behind him.

“You should have seen the look on your face,” She chokes out through her laughter. He rolled his eyes.

“Very funny Grace. But you won’t be laughing if we’re caught unaware by bears in this place,” 80 The reply only makes her laugh more. “Oh yeah? A bear hiding in that small, little bush.” She points to a bush.

“Ever heard of bear cubs? They could fit. And their momma won’t be happy if we’re caught near them.” Tom says before reaching out and pinching Grace’s right cheek.

She squeaks, before slapping his hand away.

“Stop that, I told you that I hate it when people do that. It makes me feel young,” she huffs before attempting to glare at him.

“Stop what? I love doing it. Besides, you are young,” He tries reaching out before getting his hand slapped away again.

“Stop it already smartass, do the thing I prefer.” Grace says, a hunger burning in her eyes.

Tom chuckles, reaches down and kisses her.

“I prefer this, too.”

Tom looks ahead, seeing a dark lake forming, its surface glistening under the eerie night sky. Nostalgia overtakes him as he finds a small plot of flattened grass about five meters from the water. The signature smell of Lake Michigan, of lady slippers and sassafras, wild columbines and trilliums, drifts through the air.

Tom closes his eyes in contemplation, before reaching inside his jacket pocket and pulling out a small journal. Opening his eyes, he reads the letters written on the front cover.

“Where art thou Romeo?”

“Wait, are you serious?”

“What do you mean? I love this journal,” Grace pouts, reaching over and snuggling back into Tom’s chest.

“I mean, it’s not even correct. Pardon me, I’m not the English major, but isn’t it ‘Wherefore art thou Romeo?’” Tom mumbles under his breath, brushing away the locks of hair on Grace’s forehead.

“Tom, what do you expect? It was a gift from my sister, who’s seven by the way, and just watched Romeo & Juliet for the first time. Against her will may I remind you?” She rolls her eyes, daring me to continue.

“Couldn’t you have at least told81 her the correct line? And why did she even write this? ”

“First off, she’s damn seven. The suicides and all that teenage angst went way over her head and she thinks of it as a sweet love story. Let her have her moments, we can bring her to reality when she has her first boyfriend.”

Grace grins.

“Oh is that what happened to you? You were brought to the real world

by Shakespeare?” Tom sarcastically mumbles.

Suddenly a bit of pain erupts in his right shoulder, as he looks up at Grace holding a fist.

“No smartass, that was George Orwell, but back on track, she thinks it would suit our relationship well.” Her eyes flicker with humour.

“What do you mean?”

Grace sighs, rubbing her head in annoyance. “She thinks it’s Juliet calling out for Romeo, which, although very incorrect, is very sweet. Apparently, when one of us is missing, we’ll always find each other, starting with this line.”

“Childish optimism at its finest” “Oh please, as if you weren’t a child yourself once.” Grace scoffs.

“Okay fine, fine I give up. But I think we know what the answer is anyway,” He whispers, a crafty look in his eyes.

“Do tell,” She replies, a hint of mischief in her voice.

“Where art though Juliet? That’s easy enough, you’ll always be forever by my side.” Tom says, before embracing her with his right arm.

They both gaze at the luminescence of a never ending sea of stars, smiling at the bliss of the moment.

Tom glides his hand over the intricate etching on the hard cover, the material pressing neatly into the palm of his hand.

“To open or not to open? That is not the question,” he mocked before flicking to the first page.

“May 14, 2009. Today, on my birthday, Jade gave me this journal, to keep track of my relationship with Tom. Until now, I still don’t get how a seven year old girl who enjoys Spongebob and82My Little Pony knows this much about love. I mean seriously, she’s seven. She didn’t even hear the correct line from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet and she still knows more than those two

suicidal flirts.” Tom’s eyebrows rise a little.

“But I’m getting off track. So I might as well begin with how we met. It was a typical day in the UM garden.”

Tom smiled. “This klutz bumped into me as I was walking with friends, thereby throwing my coffee all over him.”

“Stop being so droopy dude.” Tom looked up into the face of a snotty, white kid.

“Can’t help it Paul, I mean I feel like my life is a disaster of epic proportions.”

Paul rolled his eyes. “Tom, for crying out loud, you’re a physics major not a goddamn drama queen. So what if the girl at the bar thought you were trying to hire her for sex, instead of, well asking her on a date. She probably thinks that of everyone who asks her out. I mean so what? It’s a free country.”

“Not helping, Paul, not helping.” Tom breathed through the palm of his hand.

Suddenly, Tom felt a right hand pull on his shoulder. “Tell you what, let’s try again now. Let’s see if we can spot a pretty girl we know, and you can try asking her out on a date. It should help you cheer up, you’ve been moody all week.”

“But, what if I get rejected again? Or worse, what if I get made a laughing stock?”

“Please, what’s the worst that could happen?” Paul grinned.

“Knowing you? Everything.” Tom whispered beneath his breath before seeing Paul point at someone.

A pretty girl, with long, black hair appeared through one of the typical archway exits. She was dressed in plaid green shorts and a light green t-shirt.

She held a cup of Starbucks’ coffee in one hand. She gazed towards Tom and briefly flashed him with her deep blue eyes. Then she turned to one of her friends and started chatting with her.

“Wow.” Tom spoke, his breath catching in his throat.

Paul smiles mischievously. “Go83 on then go say hi.”

“What? No. I’m just going to mess up again.” Tom spoke, only to get

shoved in the back by Paul.

“Damn it, Paul.” Tom shouted only to approach a meter away from the girls, none of them noticing his appearance.

“Play it smooth, Tom. Play it smooth, like a frictionless surface.” Tom thought before approaching the girls.

“Hi, I’m To-“ Suddenly a large screech tore through the air as the girl in green threw the cup of coffee straight at Tom’s chest. Tom screamed in pain as scalding hot coffee ran down his chest, into his shorts.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” The girl in green whimpered as she and her friend helped him to his feet.

“The pain, it burns.” Tom hissed, trying to prevent his tears.

“Let’s get you to the infirmary. I’m so so sorry.” The girl said, the pity in her eyes glowing bright.

The two girls then helped Tom walk, leaving behind a hysterical Paul.

“Damn, that boy has shitty luck.”

“I felt guilty as we brought him to the hospital, but I was also a little annoyed. This guy couldn’t stop shrieking in pain and all the eyes were on me and my friend. In fact, when we got to the infirmary door by friend bailed out on me saying she had an “assignment” to do that she completely forgot about. But I’m getting off track.”

“Yes, you are.” Tom thinks, turning the page as if it was a delicate flower.

“The nurse greeted me with a smile only to be alarmed by the guy whimpering at my side. I explained the situation to her and she left to get supplies. I got the odd feeling she rolled her eyes as she left, muttering “teenagers” underneath her breath. I didn’t feel comfortable being alone with him but I decided, hey it’s my fault anyway, so I decided to talk to him.”

“It was the best decision of my life.”

“This is kind of awkward.” Grace 84tried to smile.

She was met with silence as Tom just stared at the floor.

Grace sighs. “We’re not getting anywhere. We might as well introduce ourselves to each other.”

“I’m Marian Grace Geneva, but my friends call me Grace.” She reaches out her hand.

Tom glances up, his expression brightening a little. “I’m Thomas Darian Percival, you can call me Tom.” He shakes her hand.

“So what’s your course?”

“Oh me? I am a 3rd year Physics student with a concentration in Honors physics.” Tom blushes, pretending to be cool.

Grace laughs for the first time.

“That sounds awesome. What do you do?”

“What we do? Oh we do a lot. We’re focusing on the theoretical aspects of Physics and their application in the modernization of the world. Like right now, in now of our classes, we’re reading up on a thesis by a previous student titled Studies on Higgs Mass Resolutions and Mass Fitting with Four-lepton Final States with the-” Tom started rambling.

Grace phased out, looking around the room and reading diagrams trying not to fall asleep to Tom describing decay channels and “god” particles.

“What about you? What’s your course?”

Grace snapped out. “Yeah, okay. I’m a 3rd year English language and literature major. We read up on books done by both past and present authors and then we try to apply what we’ve learnt. You know, the typical classics like Shakespeare, sometimes delving into books written by philosophers like Nietzsche and other great intellectuals. ” “That sounds cool, I’ve never quite understood Shakespeare or Chaucer.” Tom grins.

“We’ll I’ve never understood quantum mechanics.” She shoots back.

They both lock eyes, a silence filling the room for a few seconds before both burst into laughter.

“Point taken.” They both say.

85 Suddenly a chime rings out as the nurse returns carrying some forms.

“Hey, I gotta go, Tom. I still have a class after this. Nice chatting with you, I’m sorry once again.”

“No problem, Grace. It was fun, well except for the coffee but you know what I mean.” Tom chuckles.

Grace beams at Tom before zipping past the nurse, heading towards the door.

“Hey wait,” he calls out.

She looks back at him, curiosity on her face.

“Yeah?” She noticed beads of sweat suddenly run down his face.

“Do you want to grab coffee this Saturday?” Tom chokes out.

She smiles.

“Sure.”

“I never knew why I said yes. There was something about those eyes that seemed to tell a story. I mean, sure he was socially awkward as hell, but he was kind of cute. The way he stuttered around girls but spoke fluently about his course, I don’t know, it attracted me, corny as it is. I mean it’s just coffee anyway.”

“Aww, isn’t that sweet?” Tom smiles.

“However, the dumbass (Love you, Tom), never asked for my number or any of my contact info.”

His smile disappears.

“Shit, Paul, what the hell do I do?”

“Tom.” Paul calls.

“We never exchanged information, I’ll never be able to know where I can pick her up, what time.”

“Bro.” His best friend calls out louder.

“She’ll get pissed off and annoyed 86 with me, adding to a list of girls who already hate my guts.”

“Dude.” Even louder.

“Once again I’ll be forever alone, not even my thesis will love me and my life will be over.”

“Tom, for fuck’s sake. Can you shut up for a second?” Paul shouts, face palming.

Tom freezes in place.

Paul clasps Tom’s right shoulder. “Okay, you’re a pretty, no, very smart guy. The kind of guy who could ace all his exams and still have points to spare, meanwhile we ass hats are just chugging along trying to get 50%. But you are one of the most panicky, socially awkward dudes I’ve met ever and you need this date more than anything.”

“But it’s just coffee,” “Same thing.”

Paul gestures with his hands to take a deep breath. “Breathe in.”

“Now, you don’t have her number, you don’t have her email, so what can you do?”

“Look around campus for her?” Tom asks, a genuine expression of seriousness on his face.

“If you want to become a long distance runner then yes, but think again.

What website online can possibly contain information about her and help you find her?”

“A background check website?”

Paul finally face palms, sighing. “No dude, Facebook. You have her full name don’t you? She’s bound to have a Facebook and a mutual friend right?”

“Are you friends with her?” His buddy asked.

“Point taken.”

“I forgot about him after a while, then out of the blue, I received a friend request from the guy. I accepted it and he sent me a message asking what time on Saturday we should hang out for coffee.

87 I almost made an excuse so I didn’t have to go but then I looked into his profile (I’ll never admit to stalking) and I noticed he only had 70 friends. Most of them were either professors in the

university or someone with the same last name as him. I found that so sad.”

“Thanks for the confidence boost, Grace.” Tom smiled, feeling the rough etches of the worn out journal.

“I decided to actually go out on this “date” and I told Tom around 9am and to pick me up near the entrance of the College of Arts and Sciences. He quickly agreed and I told him that I needed to go, but I actually just turned off the chat box and went back to reading.”

“So that’s why you were in a hurry?” Tom thought.

“Are you ready?” Paul peeped up from his friend’s side, hands in his pocket and whistling a tune.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Tom replied, tugging at his sticky collar.

“No panic attacks? No wondering about how the universe is screwing you over?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, Paul. I’m calm as hell.”

“Yeah right.” Paul mentions, before pointing at a nearing archway.

“We’re almost there, I hope you are actually ready. This is where I leave you.” He pats Tom on the back and then smiles.

“Good luck bro, you’ll need it.” Paul starts walking away as Tom glances over to the spot where he had to pick up Grace.

“Wait, Paul.” Tom shouts out as he turns around with a curious expression on his face.

“What?”

“I think I’ll need your help, can you please standby to give me advice?”

Paul raises his eyebrows. “Are you seriously asking me to stalk the two of you just because you’re scared?”

Tom shifts around on the spot. “Maybe.”

“Oh, Tom. It’s time to try to be confident, you can do this. You’re a junior for Christ’s sake.” Paul then continues to walk away.

88 “Okay then.”

Paul looks back and sees Tom walking back and forth, waiting for his date to arrive. He ponders for a second and then sighs.

“Oh for the love of, am I seriously going to do this?”

He heads back to where his friend is located.

“The things I do for friendship.”

He calls out to Tom. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.”

“For some reason, I was nervous. There was something about this guy that seemed to intrigue me. I don’t know if it were those hazel eyes, or that unsure look on his face. I still remember him in that long, collared, blue sleeved polo.”

“Oh Grace, you and your fantastic memory.” Tom thought, a look of contemplation on his face.

“The guy was a jittery mess when I found him looking for me. I mean, it couldn’t have been his first time on a date right?”

“But I was wrong.”

“Grace?” Tom’s voice drifted through the air as his eyes scanned the area for the lit major.

“I’m here,” a voice called out, Grace’s figure forming behind one of the archways. She was dressed in a light, floral dressed, her hair done up in a braid and a smile on her face.

Tom’s eyes lit up, his heart pumping fast. A voice whispered from a nearby bush.

“Okay, give her a compliment.”

“Wait, what?” Tom asked, his mind fumbling around trying to think of one.

“Hey, Tom.” Grace stepped in front of him.

“Grace, you look electrifying. Like 89 a sudden high voltage burst from a defibrillator.”

“Okay, that’s new.” Paul and Grace thought.

“Umm, thanks. So what café do you want to go to?” Grace asked.

“Café?”

Grace raised her eyebrows. “You know, for the coffee we were planning on having?”

In the bush Paul face palmed again.

Thinking fast, Tom replied. “What about Bert's Café? They have pretty nice coffee and pastries and it’s just nearby. It’s just in the foyer of the Shapiro Library.”

“Sounds like a great idea, I could take out a book by Chaucer I need for a concept paper later.” Grace grins before heading in the direction of the University of Michigan Library, Tom catching up in long strides.

“What book by the way?”

“The book of the Duchess.”

A shape slithered out of a bush and starting trailing the pair.

“Smooth, real smooth.”

“It was just a short walk and I managed to get the guy to open up to me about some of his college experiences. While he talked mostly about concepts in Physics (Which I completely ignored), he had some pretty interesting view point on life. By the time we reached the coffee shop we were already having a lot of fun.”

“Wait, she didn’t even get Kirchoff’s theory?”

Tom flipped the page, a drawing of a bread roll and a cup of black coffee greeting him.

“We bought a few pastries and two cups of coffee and we took a table by the corner, away from the hustle and bustle of the café. It was just the two of us, yet I had the odd feeling that we were being followed.

“So why UM?” Grace looked up from her cup of 90coffee. “My family and I have lived here for a long time, I was born and raised here. I don’t know, but something about UM just appealed to me more than MSU ever did.”

“That sounds interesting. So what are your plans when you graduate?”

“If all goes well, I want to go overseas to do graduate studies in either comparative literature, or just ‘literature’.”

Tom chuckled. “Why overseas? Why not Harvard, or Princeton, or Yale?”

She blinked. “I want some new scenery, besides, I’ve always wanted to study in a country like the UK.” None of them noticed a guy in the back ground looking at them over a newspaper.

“What about you? What do you plan on doing when you graduate?”

He pondered the question for a bit. “I’m not sure really. I might try to find some lab work first and then come back to do a Master’s degree here in UM.” “So why Physics.”

The question caught him off-guard.

“Well, I’ve always enjoyed immersing myself in the world around me. But I never really had any friends, so I guess Science became like a friend to me.

Nerdy, I know.” Tom laughed, but it was a bit hollow.

Grace frowned before reaching over and holding one of his hands. She beamed at him, surprising him and making him smile too.

“I don’t think it’s a bad thing. On the contraire, we need more people who can appreciate the world around them. Besides, I think a smart guy is quite attractive.” She winked at him as he pulled at his collar, a dark blush forming on his face.

Meanwhile, Paul started snickering a table down.

“That boy is starting to get it.” He thought.

“So what can I get you?” A voice popped him out of his trance. fast.

He looked up into the dark eyes of a brunette. His heart started beating 91

“Um can I get your number? Wait, sorry, no I mean can I get a Danish pastry?” He sputtered quickly before moaning into his palms.

She giggled before reaching for a slip of paper from her pocket and handing it to Paul.

“Sure, I’ll be right back.”

Suddenly, a loud bell rang, signifying that it was already 12 o’clock.

“Hey it’s already after lunch, I still have to checkout that book. Want to join me?” Grace asked.

The physics major stood up. “Sure, let’s go.”

In a flash, they were out of the door, laughter following their path. The same brunette waitress come upon their table.

“What the? They haven’t paid yet.”

Paul’s ears peaked. “Damn it, Tom.” He thought before sighing.

“Miss, I’ll pay for them.”

“It didn’t take long, but soon I found the book I needed. For some reason, I felt kind of sad that I found it that quickly, it just meant that I had to leave already. Just when I was enjoying myself with this guy. So I decided to ask him to walk me home, or the dorm if you want to be specific.”

“Hey, Tom. It was great hanging out with you and I had a lot of fun, but I think I have to head home now.”

Tom’s smile dropped a little.

“Oh really? I understand.”

Grace could hear the slight disappointment. “I don’t live that far, I mean I live on campus. Do you want to walk with me?” She smiled.

Tom’s expression lit up. “I’d love too.”

Soon they walked out the library, through the archways, and unto a cement path headed to the dorms. Unnoticed, their fingers slightly intertwined as Paul gazed at their retreating shapes. 92

“Well, I guess I better leave them alone. The boy’s learning fast.” Paul grinned before walking back to the bakery.

“Time for me to have my date.”

Tom’s eyes watered slightly, before he broke out into a small smile.

“Memories I wouldn’t give up for the world,” He thought before gazing out at the dark clouds slowly covering the stars and the moon, casting a strangely beautiful veil on the lake.

“I wonder, indeed I do.”

Tom looks down and, instead of flipping to the next page, flips to a random page.

“It was another Saturday night, Tom called me up and told me he had something to show me. He picked me up around 8pm and we drove to the outskirts of Michigan forest. The night was beautiful and we went down what seemed like a pathway hidden by a couple of trees.”

“Where are you taking me, Tom?” He grinned, taking her by the hand through the trees.

“Just trust me, it’s beautiful. Although, not as beautiful as you.”

“Cheesy sonofa-“ Tom chuckled.

“Your cheesy sonofa.”

“I know.”

He pulled her close and then kissed her.

“We arrived at this stunning lake, illuminated by the moon. It was like falling in love, at least all over again, it was that amazing.”

“Tom, this is amazing. How did you find it?” Grace asked, her eyes drifting out towards the lake and darkened maple trees, their shadows casting shapes on the lighted lake.

93 “I found this place once when I went hiking with Paul, we never told anyone where it is. I thought it would be more beautiful at night and turns out, it

is.” He smiles, holding her by the side as she snuggles into the nape of his neck.

“I guess you’re right,” she whispers, before looking up into Tom’s eyes.

“Hey, Tom?” “Yeah, Grace?”

She sighed. “We’ll be graduating in under a semester, what do you plan on doing?”

All was silent for a few minutes.

She felt him place his head on top of hers. “Didn’t we already have this conversation during our first date? I still plan on continuing my masteral studies here.”

He wrapped his hands around her. “Why bring it up again?”

“I think it’s time I told you.”

“Told me what?”

He felt her move under his grip. “Tom, I got a scholarship to do graduate studies in Cambridge.”

Tom froze.

“I’m leaving after graduation.”

Silence once again took hold.

She could feel tears stinging the back of her eyes.

“I’m proud of you, Grace. Always have, always will. You deserved it and I’m going to support you all the way.”

“But what about us?”

Tom forced a smile. “Well, we still have a few months to make the most of it. The thing is Grace, no matter what happens, I’ll be there to support you.”

“Where art though Romeo, am I not right?”

94 She socked him in the shoulder. “Oh you dumbass, I’m going to miss you.”

Grace felt Tom lie on his back on the smooth grass, his eyes looking up at the sea of glowing diamonds.

“I know, Grace. It hurts me to know that you’re leaving so soon, but it’s your hopes and dreams we’re talking about.” Grace followed, looking up.

“Besides, it doesn’t mean I’m never going to see you again right?”

“I guess, Tom. Besides, I still have to introduce you to my parents.”

“On second thought,” he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear.

She chuckled as their hands wrapped around each other.

“Where art though Romeo? Here in my heart. Thanks little sis.” She thought.

Tom could feel the stinging behind his eyes as the first teardrop fell.

“Damn it, Grace.” He flipped to another random page.

“Today, a week before graduation, I decided to introduce him to my parents. We were both scared of their reactions, but Tom had it the worse, the poor boy was sweating bullets. If I didn’t feel nervous, I would have laughed at him.”

“Hey daddy, so this is Tom.” Grace beamed in Tom’s direction while embracing a lumbering 6’2 man with bulging tree trunk muscles, deeply set dark eyes, and greying hair.

His hands shaking like a leaf, Tom extended a handshake.

“Oh calm down, I won’t bite. Contrary to appearance, I’m quite gentle.

You can call me Jack.” Grace’s father suddenly smiled before sweeping Tom in a brief masculine hug.

“Great, you guys are getting alone already. I’ll be in the kitchen preparing some coffee, see you guys in a few minutes.” The lit major giggled before walking into the kitchen.

Suddenly the smile on Jack’s face dropped and beads of sweat starting rolling on Tom’s face.

“Okay, she’s gone but not for long. I’ll make this quick, if you hurt my daughter, yadah yadah, I’ll crush you into 95 pancakes with these biceps.

Capisce?” He let out a small groan, Tom gulping.

“Daddy, I heard that.” His daughter yelled out from the kitchen.

“Now that that conversation is out of the way, have you done the Milligan oil drop experiment yet?” He asked.

Tom quickly smiled.

“Wait, these doesn’t seem bad.”

“Oddly enough, the two got along very quickly. I guess the stereotypes were either wrong, or my decision of not telling Tom that dad was a Chemistry major was a good one. It’s just a shame that he never had the chance to meet Mom, and that Jade was having exams, she would have fussed over him and made him a pan of her beautiful chocolate chip cookies. But anyway I’m treading into painful territory for another time.”

“I wish I met her too, Grace.” He thought.

“Anyway, next week, he agreed to introduce me to his mom and dad, and I am pretty damn excited. He’s going to drive us a few states down for the weekend and I’ve already packed well ahead of time.”

“So mom doesn’t actually know we’re coming here and I wanted to surprise them.”

Grace frowned. “What if they’re not home?”

“I’ve known them my whole life, how much do you want to bet they’re home?” Tom chuckled before knocking on the mahogany front door of a small, white house. The suburb buzzed around them as little kids played on the streets, and people walked by calling each other by first name.

A woman with grey hair and a slightly hunched back answered the door, her hazel eyes looking at the two, her facial muscles freezing in surprise.

“Hey, mom.” Tom weakly smiled.

In a flash, the woman screamed and flung herself into an embrace around Tom. “My beautiful baby boy, it’s been awhile.” She cried into his sleeve, Tom flushing in embarrassment.

“Honey, your son is home.” They 96could hear a stumbling inside the house and several things crashing to the ground as a grey-eyed man in overalls and slightly torn pants came to the door.

“Son, you’re home.” He clasped his hands in excitement before noticing the girl at his side.

“And you’ve brought home a girl, lucky day. Why don’t the two of you come home and your mother can fix us up some tea and biscuits.” He chattered before rushing back inside with Tom’s mother in tow.

Tom and Grace looked at each other before shrugging their shoulders and following the uncanny couple inside.

“Tom, you didn’t even come home during the semester break, why didn’t you? All of a sudden you come out of the blue, with a very beautiful girl none the less.” Tom’s mother rolled her eyes.

He looked at me from the corner of his eyes, trying to think up an excuse.

“Well, we we’re trying to do a new experimental approach to quantu.”

“Don’t start that shit with me young man, mom has missed you all this time and you try to make a silly excuse.” She huffed before entering the kitchen and picked out one of her best kettles.

Tom groaned as he pulled out a chair for Grace, before seating himself at a small white table.

“Oh by the way, I never got your name dear,” She asked.

“Grace, ma’am, my name is Grace.”

“What a beautiful name, suits a very pretty girl like you. Now don’t call me Ma’am, I’m not that old, just call me Elizabeth. So I guess you’re the girl my boy can’t stop babbling about in all his letters and texts.”

Grace raised her eyebrows at her boyfriend “Do you now?”

“Mom,” he yelled out.

Out of nowhere Tom’s father appeared with a collection of albums and cities, and a small laptop. Tom visibly paled at the sight.

“I see you’ve found it, Alex. Now Grace can see all of her boyfriend’s cute baby pics.”

97 Tom just placed his head on the table and groaned. Grace chucked and started rubbing circles on his back.

“I can’t wait.”

“I immensely enjoyed how the weekend started, Tom was so embarrassed and I had a great time poking fun at him over those baby pics, I think I’m going to have a great stay here.”

Tom couldn’t stand it, he shut the book and screamed in frustration.

“Why, Grace?” He shuddered before standing up and throwing a pebble into the darkening lake, its swirls causing memories to come back.

“Damn it, Tom. I thought you said you were happy about me leaving for college.”

Tom mumbled something incoherent.

“What?”

He looked up, a fire in his eyes. “Do you really expect me to just feel happy, Grace?”

“Yes.” “Then that would make you selfish and ignorant, you of all-“A sudden pain went across Tom’s face as he held his cheeks.

Grace had just slapped him.

“How dare you, you of all people knowing that this was something I’ve been waiting for a long time, a childhood dream of mine.”

“I never said that you shouldn’t go, Grace. That’s never what I meant. I just said I wasn’t happy. Is that so hard to understand?” Tom turned around, stuffing a small box back into his pockets.

“I do support you, Grace, YOU of all people should also know that.

When I told you about how I felt, I wasn’t asking you to cancel everything for me, I know I’m not that special, I never was.”

Grace’s frown softened as she reached out with her hand “Tom.” “All I wanted was your sympathy, because I’ve never had to handle anything like this, and God knows I’m nowhere near as strong as you. But I’m sorry you had to get a weak boyfriend, and I guess this scholarship grant of yours was what we both needed.”

98

Tom glanced at Grace before walking towards the door. “I’m sorry for upsetting you, I’ll just leave now.”

Before she could react, the door slammed behind him.

“Tom, wait.”

Her knees buckled beneath her as she dropped to the floor.

Tom sighed before sitting down on the edge of the lake, balancing the journal in one hand, and pulling at the grace with the other.

He flipped near the end of the journal.

“In a few hours, I’ll be graduating from University of Michigan.

Tomorrow, I’ll be leaving for the UK, and it might be years before I get to see Tom again. We’re still not speaking after that fight and I don’t want to leave without any closure, he deserves at least that. After this day, I’m not going to write anymore entries in this journal, I’ll be leaving them with my younger sister, so that when I return I can look back on what I’ve written with a smile. So I guess this is a goodbye to my journal, farewell my friend, you’ve served me well.”

“Damn it, Grace.” Tom shut the book, before holding it to his chest.

“I guess this is it, right?”

Tom looked back in surprise, Grace staring back at him with those blue encompassing eyes. Draped in dark black togas, they stood there in silence just staring.

“I guess it is.” He coughed.

Grace sighed before lunging into Tom and wrapping her hands around him. Startled, he wrapped his hands around her before placing his head on top of hers.

“I’m sorry, Tom.” He could feel tear stains pattering his sleeves as his own eyes watered.

“Don’t be, I should be the one sorry.”

“No, let’s both be sorry. We tried to force each other to understand, not knowing how they felt about it. God knows how I would have felt, spending what should be the happiest moment of our lives so far without each other to celebrate it with.”

99

“I’m just happy, Grace that we’re finally here, and I don’t care anymore that you’re leaving, and just that finally we’re over that stupid fight.”

“Where art though, Romeo right? Wherefore?”

“Right where we’re supposed to be.”

He takes her by the hands.

“When do you love, Grace?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Silence takes over again. Grace tries to smile, the pain shining in her eyes.

“So I guess this is goodbye, Juliet?” He laughs hollowly.

“It is, but it’s not forever.”

“I hope.”

“I love you, Tom.” “I love too, Grace.”

He stands up once again and overlooks the lake, flipping the journal to an empty page and pulling out a pen.

“Dear Grace I know you told me our goodbye isn’t forever, but what do I believe now?

I know you’re not coming back like you promised. You’ll never get your masters and your PhD, I’ll never be able to tease you as Doctor Grace like we often did.

You’ll never be able to see me win a Nobel Prize like I told you I would, nor would I see you write a New York Time’s best seller.

For what? I guess I would have never been able to stop you, and I guess that nobody would have predicted that the plane would have lost its Hydraulics, I mean I sure didn’t.

I don’t know what to say anymore, 100 Grace. Knowing you, you would have forced me to move on with my life, but it’s easier said than done. I’ll try, but I’ll never stop clinging to the hope that maybe we’ll meet again, this life or the next.

I love you.

Tom” He gently places the book on the ground and pulls out a white rose, gently placing it on the cover.

“I hope you take this with you, Grace. It belongs with the owner.”

Slowly he stands, takes one last glance then walks away, the journal fading in the distance.

She snuggles into his chest.

“Tomorrow I leave, and I want to spend as much time with you as possible.”

He smiled. “Thank you for that.”

She reaches up and pulls him into a deep kiss.

Without another word, they gaze up at the twinkling stars, making a wish upon them, a wish for them, and a wish between them.

“Where art though? Forever by my side.” They both thought.

101

Thank You Chenie Villaluz 0 I quickly stubbed the cigarette on the ashtray.

It was 4 p.m. when Leo went inside the car, and she grimaced when she smelled the smell of nicotine in the car. I felt her glare as I started the engine, and though I promised that I won’t smoke anymore, I really needed one.

“You really need to clean this car, Krista.” Leo said as she brought out a can of cologne from her bag. The smell of her cologne did not suit my taste, so I only sat in silence as I drove the car. She scowled when she saw some used tissues and a few wine bottles at the back, so I stopped her when she pulled out a plastic from her bag.

“I’ll clean this car, Leo. Don’t worry about it.”

“You said that last time when I told you not to smoke.”

“Look, I promise that it will be the last time. I just need something to calm down, so please don’t worry about it anymore.”

Leo didn’t look convinced. She started looking at the different compartments of the car to check for cigarettes, and even when I told her that she won’t find any, she didn’t stop. Obviously, she turned to look at me with doubt when her search came out fruitless.

“I told you that you won’t find any.”

“Alright already.” I stopped the car as soon as the red light flashed, and soon I found myself gazing at her eyes. Her face was etched with worry, and I can’t help but swallow my saliva because of nervousness and guilt.

“I’m sorry.” My voice came out somber, and I found the atmosphere getting gloomier and darker. Leo didn’t immediately respond, and I saw how disappointed she was when she diverted her gaze to the window. The guilt in my heart deepened.

“Promise that you’ll never smoke again.” I remembered the last time she said that to me, which was six months ago. It was actually difficult for me to keep 102 events started to pile up, and what up the smoke free lifestyle when many happened at school earlier was the last straw. But, she didn’t need to know that.

If I could control myself, then maybe I could do this.

I gave her a nod as I started driving again.

We reached her house without any interruptions. I was prepared to say goodbye when she took my hands and clasped them with her own. I couldn’t help but bite my lip because she looked so angelic, yet at the same time, so fragile that I wanted to protect that smile on her face.

“Promise to take care of yourself, okay?” Her voice was filled with compassion, something that I only felt from her. “You’re my best friend, Krista.

Chat or call me when you want to talk about anything.”

I nodded. She gave me a tight hug. We then said our goodbyes and soon I found myself driving alone, still picturing that radiant smile on her face. I wondered if I can see another smile like that.

After I finished eating dinner, I called her many times but she didn’t answer. She didn’t respond to my private messages on Facebook and texts.

When she did call the next morning, it was actually her father calling.

He told me that Leo died last night.

I I paced around MOA, contemplating whether to smoke or not. It’s October 23, 2009. It’s been three weeks since Leo died, and I still can’t grasp the reason why. She shouldn’t have died. Why was she involved in a car crash?

Her dad told me the details, but I can’t remember any of it.

How the hell did she die? Damn I couldn’t remember a fucking thing.

There’s something wrong in this that I refused to accept that she died that easily.

I fucking knew that I brought her to their home that day. She was still alive back then. I mean, her hands were real. Maybe something happened in their home that night that caused her to go outside to get some fresh air because of the frustration she was feeling or something. Maybe she didn’t notice a car coming right towards her and caused her to die from a car crash. That seemed like a possibility, but I wanted to talk to her parents about it to be sure.

I went inside a bookstore and saw a sequel to a book that I wanted to buy. Leo would have wanted to read this as well because the series was our favorite. I even saw some people who were talking about it, saying that it was a good book and all.

I left the bookstore without buying 103 the book. Reading it wouldn’t be the same without Leo.

I then went inside Timezone to play or sing. There were some people playing Just Dance in the corner, dancing with such coordination that there were many people watching them. Leo would have loved that. She loved dancing that she would force me to dance with her because she didn’t like dancing alone.

Then, I saw people playing fighting games in another corner. I remembered that she would whine every time that I beat her in Tekken that she resorted to spamming the same moves just to make me frustrated. She wouldn’t talk to me for weeks because she never won against me. I turned away as soon as I saw some people left after they finished playing. I can’t bring myself to play them alone since it wouldn’t be enjoyable without Leo. With a string of luck, I went into one of the karaoke rooms. I looked at the song selection, dismayed that there wasn’t a single song that I wanted to sing. I wished Leo would tell me what song to sing because she knew what genre I like. When I chose a song, my voice cracked many times that I stopped singing. I’m surprised that I wasn’t crying yet. I left Timezone with my card still filled with load.

Then, when I went inside a café, I couldn’t even enjoy the coffee and bread I’m eating. Leo loved drinking coffee. She would drink four cups a day because of her love for it. She would hide her sorrows by drinking coffee because every time that she went to school, she would tell me that her parents would fight on and off in front of her. Maybe that’s one of the reasons why we’re best friends: our home life was full of shit that we would always share stories on how our parents fight in front of us all the damn time.

I wished Leo’s here.

I left the café and started to contemplate again whether to smoke or not.

God, I really need a smoke right now. I don’t want to break my promise to Leo though. I broke it once and I don’t want to disappoint her even if she can’t see me smoking anymore.

I took a cigarette and put it in my mouth. I played with the lighter many times, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I wanted the taste of nicotine and calm down. I wanted to not have a care in the world because everything seems bleak and hopeless. I just wanted to sit, puff out some smoke, and close my eyes as I imagine myself floating on air.

I threw the cigarette in the trash. Damn I shouldn’t have left the condo.

104

II “Why are you here at Manila Bay?” I tensed as I see Jerry coming near, and when he gave me a smile, I only grunted. How the hell did he know I’m here?

“I feel at home when I’m here.”

“Oh, really?” He then sat beside me, but I didn’t turn to look at him. I’m too fixed on gazing at Manila Bay. All those ships, the people, they’re always there.

Why can’t that be the same for Leo? “You’re still grieving.” He sputtered nonsense again.

“I’m surprised that you actually moved on pretty quick, considering that Leo’s your girlfriend.” That came out more spiteful than I thought, but when it comes to him, I don’t give a fuck.

“We all have to move on one way or another. We shouldn’t let her death take over our lives.” How can he be so heartless? So nonchalant? Did he even love Leo? I remembered that they became together last year, hell I even remembered on how Jerry proclaimed his love for her in front of everyone after History class.

I’m sure that Leo loved him, to the point that half of our conversations involved him.

“You shouldn’t wallow over her death. Look at you. You’re growing terribly thin, your eye bags have eye bags in it, you’re barely passing school, and every time that your parents call you shut them down. You shut everyone down. It’s like you build a wall around yourself that no one can penetrate.”

“Can’t I grieve and move on at my own pace?”

“Eight weeks have passed since then Krista, yet you’re still so down and depressed. Your heart didn’t even lighten up a little. You need to socialize and not mope about her death over and over. You need to start anew.”

How sensitive of him to say that.

“Are you implying that I’m weak?”

105 “I’m trying to help you.” Bullshit.

“Trying to help? You’re saying that you’re trying to help? Well, you aren’t doing well honestly. You say that I need to move on and start anew, when I’m still obviously grieving? Well, how can I exactly socialize and start anew? Can you tell me how?”

He couldn’t answer.

“While I’m grieving and crying my heart out almost every fucking day, you act as if Leo never existed in your life. Did you even love her? Leo always mentioned you in such a loving tone that it gets really annoying, while I rarely hear you talking about her. She always said that she loves you even when you weren’t together yet, but I only heard you saying the same once, and that’s on the day you became together. You didn’t even say that you loved her on the day of her fucking funeral. It’s that why you easily moved on, huh? Is it because you didn’t really love her?”

“I love her and will always will.” He turned to glare at me, yet for some sick reason, I smirked at him. “I just find it heart to tell it all the time like she did.

You think I treat her as if she didn’t exist? I mourned for her as well. The reason why I didn’t tell anyone that I love her is because her parents doesn’t know our relationship. We agreed to keep our relationship a secret because her family was on the verge of annulment and she didn’t want to add any more problems.

Don’t think of me as someone heartless. It’s hard to accept that she’s dead, but we also have to move on.”

“But I know that you also want her to be alive.” His eyes softened as he sensed the feeling of futility inside my voice. “If only we can switch places, I’m sure you’ll be glad. You and her, you look so great together, and her attention will be undivided when it comes to you. Her parents will still be together.

Besides, when I’m dead, no one except her will care, not even my parents. Why did they allow me to rent an empty condo unit for college without even asking why? Why is that when I smoke in front of them they don’t scold me? Why is that when they’re fighting, even when I’m crying, they’re still fighting in front of me?

Why is that when I told them that I failed half of my subjects they don’t even bat an eye? It’s better if I was the one who died instead of her. If I can bargain to God my life for her, then I will do it without hesitation. What is life anyway when the only person who cares for you is gone? Life, life is never a bed of roses, but I know I had that one rose, that sadly wilted with all the others.”

Jerry took out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the tears off my face that I didn’t know I have, and I can’t help but whimper as I felt my heart getting heavier.

“Tell me Jerry, why did Leo die?

Fuck Jerry I’m still so pissed! It isn’t fair 106 to her. He should have taken me instead of her. I mean, I’m a fucking scum of the earth and she’s like an angel for crying out loud. But, Leo never gave up on

me even when I always told her that failure can actually taste so sweet. She would always yell at me and tell me that I should never lose hope and that I should find my beacon of light. But now, I can’t even find a glimpse of that light.”

“But, I care for you.” I scoffed at what he said, the doubts outweighed the hope inside of me. “I care for you because you’re my friend, not just because you’re Leo’s best friend. I don’t want you to live like this. If you see my meddling as something unhelpful, at least remember what Leo said about life and others.

Remember on how Leo’s always eager to talk and help you. Also, pray to God about what you’re feeling. He always has the answers and I’m sure that if I can’t help, then He will. I’m sure that Leo’s in a better place, with Him.” I didn’t answer. I just cried on his shirt as he patted my head. After that, I don’t know why but, I suddenly found myself inside Jerry’s car, staring at the Manila Bay as I felt the car moving away. The movement of the water was moderate, and there were more people coming here since it’s almost nighttime.

But, the water didn’t look blue. It looked gray.

“I bought you this.” Jerry said as we reached the condo. I narrowed my eyes as I saw a crudely wrapped gift.

“Why would you give me a gift?”

“Do I need a reason?” I believe that everyone needs a reason why, since everything that’s happening needs a reason.

“Open it.” I grudgingly teared off the wrapper, only to find a journal.

“Why did you give me a journal?”

“Well, if you don’t want to talk to anyone, then at least you can write what you want to say there.” I wanted to leave and go inside, but I knew that Jerry will persuade me to write on the journal. I’m not fond of writing about anything, since most of what I write doesn’t even deserve to be called shit.

“I’ll try. Thank you for giving me this.” I opened the door of his car and I found myself on the bed of the condo, pen in hand. I diverted my eyes on the box of cigarettes are on the table. For some reason, I can’t throw them away, yet I don’t use them anymore. Maybe I still have an attachment to those sticks.

I hope that my attachment to them will waver to the journal.

107

III “I don’t want to play.” I said to Jerry as we went to Timezone. Like me, he also likes playing Tekken, but I still didn’t want to play because I rarely play with anyone other than Leo. “Come on. It’ll be fun.” I grudgingly sat beside him, and when he swiped his card to play, he looked at me, persuading with his eyes to swipe my card as well.

“I’m not going to be a pushover so you better get ready.” I sighed but I gave in. Damn he beat me two times already.

“Stop using that character and stop spamming his moves! It’s really annoying.” He laughed as if he didn’t care what I just said and he continued to spam. Fuck. He’s getting on my nerves.

I changed my character in order to beat him, and finally, I beat him. He was laughing so hard that I wanted to punch him in the face. What the hell was he thinking?

“What’s so funny?” I clenched my fists in frustration but he still continued to laugh.

“You’re finally playing seriously, that’s all.” My eyes widened as I realized his intentions in bringing me here.

He was actually trying to distract me from my grief.

When were finished playing, we went to a café that Leo and I used to go. I was going to buy coffee but Jerry stopped me. He ordered our meals and honestly, I didn’t know what to react.

We sat on the chairs beside the wall. I didn’t want to talk because the café reminded me of my memories with Leo here. It’s been three months since we last went here, and I still remembered how much she liked her espresso that she ordered two more cups.

“Did you know what Leo and I always used to play Tekken?” I narrowed my eyes. I didn’t know that. “Every time that she saw me in a distressed state, she would always bring me here. She would always spam for some reason when she couldn’t beat me. Still, she would never back down from a challenge because she knew how distraught I was at that time. She would always smile even when she lost most of the battles.

108 That’s what I did earlier to you.

Sometimes, you need to have a distraction if the weight on your shoulders is getting unbearable.”

I chuckled when I heard that. I didn’t know Jerry can be this . . . supportive, for the lack of a better word. “You could have used someone other than the character you used earlier though. I hate spammers.”

“I’m not a spammer, but you need a distraction so you get the drill.”

I stared at him, and for the first time I noticed his eyes bags, which were actually deeper than mine. I noticed how messy his hair was and how rugged his clothes were. He also has some scars on his face. They don’t look fresh, but they seem permanent. I realized that because of me wallowing myself in grief too much, I didn’t notice how others were grieving.

“I’m sorry.” I tensed when he gave me a smile. Come to think of it, he didn’t smile that much, just like me. It seemed that he’s really good in hiding his own problems.

“It’s okay. I understand.”

“How much do I owe you?”

“You owe me nothing, Krista. This is my treat.”

“You shouldn’t have.” I looked down on my lap, and I couldn’t help but bite my lip. Damn. No one has treated me to something before except Leo. Mom and dad would rather fight than take care of me.

“If you want to talk to someone about anything, then you can tell them to me.” To be honest, I’m not comfortable when it comes to talking to people I don’t have an established relationship with. I’m afraid that they will just judge me because of my background. My parents were infamous in high school that they would rather embarrass me when the day of claiming the report card came.

Their reputation was carried on to college for some reason.

“Leo also told me that you have problems with your parents.” I wanted to go away, but I knew that it wouldn’t do me any good.

“Frankly, Leo and I had the same problems when it comes to our parents. They would rather fight with each other than make up. I know that the marriage of Leo’s parents were finally annulled. It’s sad, but maybe their marriage is broken beyond repair and Leo’s death was the final straw.

Meanwhile, my parents had this crazy love-hate relationship that always drives me nuts. I mean, they would rather fight than take notice of me. Fuck I think it’s their way of showing their twisted love. Who the hell would fight each other on a daily basis to show their love? I think they’re 109 the people who would do just that.”

“Did you try to talk to them about that?”

“They won’t even look at me. They treat me like I don’t exist and I think that I’m just a mistake that they created.” Jerry’s eyes widened, but thank God that our orders were served before my eyes could drop their tears.

“You should still talk to them.” I bit my bread, not liking the sound of his idea. “I know that you think that it’s futile, but you still have to try again and again. Your parents have this troublesome relationship and if you don’t tell them your problems then your relationship with your parents will always be broken.”

“How will I do that if they don’t even take notice of me?” I sounded harsh, but really, I didn’t know what to do.

“First, call them and invite them over to your house. Tell them everything and say that you three need help. Look, I know it’s really hard for you and I may sound like a jerk, but you need family counseling since I feel that talking them at home won’t be enough. I’m giving this advice as a friend since that’s what I did when my relationship with my parents got so sour. Did I mention I was a delinquent back then? It was normal for me to engage in fights that I would always go home with bruises on my body. Naturally, my parents were always furious with me all the time. Anyway, continuing on the topic at hand, don’t hide your problems, tell them. If you continue to hide them, you’ll be the one who’ll suffer the most and I don’t want that to happen. If you can’t talk to them yet, then tell your problems to God. I know that it’s hard for you to accept He’s real, but that’s how I found my newfound hope. You know that it’s the same for Leo. I know that He will always listen so don’t be afraid. Cry out everything to God. He will surely find a way to solve the problems you’re facing.”

I looked at the cup of coffee I was holding. Jerry was being so helpful, but I felt so helpless. Leo told me that Jerry would always give great advice, and I thought she’s right.

I wanted to overcome my grief and other problems. If I continued to grieve, then my life would just go around in circles and my life would never be productive. I wanted to recover not just because of Leo, but because I wanted to change this life of mine.

God, if You are real, please help me.

“I’ll do my best to do that. Thank you so much.” For some reason, when he smiled, it lightened my heart. His smile was . . . different from the others.

“You’re welcome.”

When Jerry gave me a ride 110 back home, I immediately stared at the phone in front of me. I still had doubts, but if I wanted to change everything, then I at least should made the call.

Finally, I dialed the numbers. My hand was shaking from nervousness that I almost threw the phone when someone answered.

“Hello?”

“Mom. It’s me.”

IV R.I.P. Leonora H. Pascual Born: March 3, 1990 Died: October 2, 2009 Leo’s gravestone was still giving me the shivers.

Ten months have passed since Leo’s passing, but for the first time in years, I gave a bittersweet smile.

I stared at the gravestone, reminiscing the past as tears started to flow.

God, I missed her so much and will always will. She would always have a large impact in my life and I’m thankful that I had a best friend like her.

“Hey there.” I put my palm on her grave as I stared at it with longing.

“God, it’s been ten months since then, huh? If you want to know my current condition, then I’m happy to say that I’m doing okay.”

I bit back the tears, but it wouldn’t stop flowing.

“Did you know that my parents finally listened to me? After all these years of neglect, they finally noticed me. I listened to Jerry’s advice and now our therapy sessions are coming to an end. My parents kept apologizing to me because they realized how much they neglected me. I still feel awkward around them but at least they stopped fighting. It’s because of their never ending frustrations with each other that caused to fight over and over again. Maybe they didn’t back down because of their pride. I mean, they both have high positions in their respective companies after all. But, I’m glad that my problems with my family are almost solved.

“At first, they didn’t want to attend the therapy sessions because they thought it was a waste of money. I almost wanted to give up but I remembered what you said, and that is to never give up. I didn’t give up so now here I am, better than I was before.”

111 I looked up at the sky, noticing that the sky is blue. When I stared at

them before, they always looked gray that I didn’t want to stare at them after that. Now, they looked so clear, so blue. It’s my first seeing them as a beautiful sight.

“Jerry told me to say that he will always love you. He dedicated his senior year to you, by the way. He even became a cum laude! He said that he wouldn’t be in the position he’s in if it weren’t for you. You made such a big impact in his life, and he’s proud that he has someone like you.

“That can be said for me too. I’m happy to say that I officially stopped smoking. I threw my last box of cigarettes if you wanted to be sure. I’m so proud that I met someone like you. I’m so thankful that I had a best friend as understanding as you. I will never forget you. You’re my best friend and nothing will change that. If it weren’t for you, then my life would still be in the rut. I’m sorry that you’re parents annulled their marriage though. It must have been so hard for them. You’re parents still blame themselves for your death you know?

They said that if it weren’t for them fighting at that night, then you would still be alive. I know that you have forgave them already though, but they still can’t forgive themselves.

I lay down the bouquet of white roses on her grave. She liked white roses, and I’m sure she would appreciate it even if she isn’t here anymore. I also wanted to lay down my journal, which contained letters that I wrote to her.

Maybe I’ll just give it to her father since they have a much more intimate relationship than with her mom, or maybe I’ll give it to Jerry.

“I will never stop thanking you, Leo. I will also never stop missing and loving you. You’re the one who’s always there for me you know? You never left, even when you aren’t here physically anymore, I still feel your presence. You’re always there to help me even though that I didn’t ask for help. I hope that you’re okay up there. I still have a hard time believing in a God, but I want to believe that He’s real. I want to believe that there’s a heaven because that’s where you currently are, right? Thank you so much Leo. Thank you so much.”

I stared at the gravestone one last time, thanking Leo for everything that she has done to me. I then saw the world in a new light. It wasn’t gray anymore.

The world to me regained their colors and I wanted it remain like that.

Leo. Thank you so much.

112

I’ll Be Happy Chino Mendiola

The living room is filled with happy memories. Sprayed out across all the walls are pictures of their family, many old ones and a few new ones, all filled with laughing and smiling faces. The shelves are filled with many worn-out, hard, leather bound law books and old dvds and vhs tapes of comedy classics. There is a scarcely used sewing machine at one corner, and an obsolete record player on the other. Two old rocking chairs are placed near the center of the room, facing the table where an out of place flat screen television stands.

Lia Tomas sat on her usual rocking chair on the left, talking to her husband about their grandchild’s upcoming birthday. She could almost smell her husband’s cooking from the other room and she could faintly hear him whistle to the tune of his favourite Sinatra song, the song they danced to on their wedding all those years ago.

“You know Jose is going to turn thirteen in a few days, he’s turning into a real binata.”

She heard a laugh from the other room, her husband’s boisterous cackle ringing in her head. “I can’t even imagine our littlest apo being anything but the same tiny cry baby whose diapers we used to change.”

“He's still a cry baby. I blame you for that” The memories of all the times her husband had babied and pampered their youngest grandchild made Lia smile.

“God, they grow up so fast. I guess you and I are officially old dear!” said Lia. “Dear you’ve been old for years now, I don’t even think I’m aging anymore.” Replied her husband from the kitchen.

Her husband’s words had confused her, “What do you mean by that?”

She asked him.

“Age is a state of mind dear, not of body. Don’t worry Lia, I’m not making a joke about your appearance if that’s what you thought.” She could almost hear the playful tone in his voice, the same one he used in most of his daily conversations.

113 sit here with me, your rocking chair is “You better not be. Why don’t you getting lonely.”

“You miss me that much? Don’t worry dear, we’ll be seating together soon before you know it.”

Lia smiled in amusement at her husband’s never ceasing stubbornness, “You are going to be the death of me dear.”

“At least yours will be a happy death, my life ended the second I got locked up with you.” She heard him reply. Lia’s husband had always joked about how she was his “lifetime sentence”, a punishment probably for his crimes in a past life as he explained it.

“Don’t act like you didn’t want it. There was no sentence, in fact you just followed me around until I decided to marry you.” Lia joked. “I never could stop following you.” She heard her husband say from the other room.

“You never could. Do you remember when you used to chase me around the fields in old Bacon?”

“I remember running out of breath and almost having a heart attack, I never found out why you never kept still during our courtship.”

“Maybe it was because I was so tired of being followed.” She answered.

She heard her husband laugh again, “Yet I got you! I don’t think there existed a better chase.”

Lia was about to reply when the doorbell rang, “I’ll get it!” she said as she steadily stood from her seat. The walk to the door took a few seconds for the elderly woman, the doorbell had proceeded to ring again.

She looked through the peephole. At the gate, across the unkempt garden was her son, David. He looked distressed.

Betty smiled and opened the door and motioned him to unlock the gate.

“Hello there anak! You’ve been visiting me more often recently.” David’s frown quickly turned into smile as he saw his mother, “Hi mom, just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.”

She motioned David to come in before giving him a warm hug, she noticed how her son seemed upset. “Everything all right champ?”

David gave a small shrug, “Everything is fine mom, I’m more worried about you. How are you holding up?” 114 “I’m doing well, your papa and I are just lounging around. We’re both

very excited for Jose’s birthday, when is the celebration dinner again?”

David did not seem to want to look her in the eye, “It’s tomorrow ma, listen can we sit down? I wanted to talk to you in private.” David’s unusual somber tone worried Lia as he was usually very much like his father, never very serious and always kept things light.

David took a seat on the rocking chair next to hers. Lia found it strange seeing someone else sit on her husband’s favourite chair, he spent probably half of his elderly years on that chair, reading newspapers or watching television.

What made it stranger was that David resembled his father in his earlier years.

The entire image made Lia realize how little her husband sat next to her anymore.

“So what did you want talk about anak?” Lia asked.

“Well I wanted to talk about papa…” David answered before being interrupted, “Oh he’s just in the other room, do you want me to go get him?” Lia rose from her chair before David grabbed her lightly by the hand, motioning her to stop. “No it’s fine ma, I have some things that I want to run by you about him, we don’t need to get him involved.”

Lia was a little confused by her son’s words, but he had been acting weirdly recently so she let it slide. Perhaps he was just going through a lot of stress.

“Listen ma, me and ate, we’re thinking about moving dad to an appropriate place. You know a more appropriate place for him considering his state.” The wrinkles on David’s face were evident, they reminded Lia of how old she had gotten.

“What do you mean? He had this house built way before you were ever born anak!“ Lia replied with a laugh.

“Well that maybe true ma, and I respect that. But maybe this isn’t the best place for someone in his condition.” David started to scratch his head, Lia could tell this conversation was something he didn’t want to have, but something he needed to do.

Lia’s smile disappeared at her son’s words. He tried holding her hand, but she moved it away from him in her upset state. “You know anak, you’ve always been my smart little boy, but I don’t think you’re right on this one. I think his place is still here, with me.”

115 David’s eyesbrows furrowed at his mother’s words. “Ma, me and ate believe that he shouldn’t stay here anymore because there are better places for

him. A place that can actually, you know, take care of him, a safer place.” When David was younger, his ate used to always make him be the one to break the bad news to Lia and their father, seems like things never really changed.

Lia smiled at her son and patted him lightly on the shoulder, something she used to do when she’d lecture him about his mistakes. “I love you anak, but I think I know better about what would make your father happy, and that would be to stay here in his home. He’s happy here and I’m happier with him here. I don’t want to hear anything else about it.”

David could never beat Lia in any argument, or change her mind about anything, and he knew it. She was almost as stubborn as her husband, maybe that’s why they got along. “Okay ma, I understand. We won’t move him for now, since you want it.”

Lia held her son’s hand in hers, “You’re still such a sweet boy, it’s like things never changed.”

David looked at her with sadness, “But they did change mom, they really did. Look I have to go, still gonna get things ready for tomorrow.” He stood up from his father’s chair and walked to the door. “Listen ma, if ever you feel the need to talk or anything, don’t hesitate to call me or ate ok? We’ll head here right away if you want.”

Lia loved how sweet her son was, “Thank you dear. I love you.”

“I love you too ma.” He closed the door, the soft bang made Lia how quiet the room was. She hated the deafening silence. She hated being alone.

Her thoughts started to turn to sadness and despair, until she started hearing her husband whistling from the kitchen.

Lia smiled as she started to sing the “The Way You Look Tonight.”

“You’re not alone Lia, you’ll always have me.” She heard her husband from the kitchen.

She walked slowly and steadily to the kitchen, dancing to the tune that her husband’s whistling created. She looked for her husband, but couldn’t see his frame anywhere. Then she remembered.

She grabbed a large silver can off the counter and held it close to her. In that can was all that truly remained of her beloved husband, all up in ash. She started to slowly dance with it, dreaming of the dance they shared on their first night as a married couple. The song still playing in her head.

116 “You raised quite a son there Lia.” She heard her husband’s voice say.

“I sure did, he is such a caring boy.” She whispered in reply.

“You’re happy here, aren’t you?” Lia asked her husband.

The song stopped for a while, only to be followed by her husband’s voice. “Dear, as long as I’m still following you around, I’ll be happy.”

Lia closed her eyes and started to hear the chorus come in, the loud trumpets and Frank’s booming voice. She could see the faces of her loved ones in the crowd next to them, the ones long since passed and the ones still with her.

She could feel her husband’s arms hold her back as she held his shoulders. And she wished, oh how she wished that when she’d open her eyes, she’d see him again, just the way he looked that night.

Lia opens her eyes to face nothing but the cold steel.

Suddenly the music stops, and so does the dancing.

“When you left, I couldn’t stop crying. I don’t want that to happen again.”

She told the urn.

“Just tell me what you want, and I will follow it. Do you want to stay here? Go rest, hidden away in some church? Just tell me and I’ll be happy.”

Lia looks to the urn for answers, yet it gives no reply. The words that are engraved are still the same, “A loving father and a wonderful husband.” The two dates do not change and his name remains constant. The cold touch of the steel does not bring any comfort to her.

The old woman reflects on how an entire person, all of his body, his memories and his entire lifetime, can fit in this small steel jar. She almost feels the warmth she so desperately wants from it.

“I miss you.” Lia whispers to someone who isn’t there.

“I miss you too.” The voice in her head replies. Lia holds the urn to her chest and weeps, the music in her head starts to play again.

117

Last Words Gio Dungca

“You’re so cute when you’re pretending to be mad,” were the last words Sarah ever said to David while he was alive. They were said as David was leaving to go to the mall to buy more mascara for Sarah, who was experimenting with her makeup collection again, as Sarah was prone to doing. Had she known that David’s body would be lying warm and still bleeding on the highway not two hours from then, she might have said something nicer, like “I love you,” or “I’ll never forget you,” or simply, “You’re not leaving this house.” However, it was impossible to predict that a normal, everyday trip to the mall would have such a tragic, statistically improbable end.

It is not incorrect to assume, just by observing Sarah and David on a regular day, that they were going through a rough patch in their relationship.

When together, they lacked the relaxed demeanor that manifests in people who are comfortable with each other. It is hard to say if there was even any trust between the two; their bodies always tense, eyes perpetually guarding phones from the other’s prying. The terrible secrets they kept from each other would have destroyed their relationship three times over, but neither wanted to admit anything, because both parties still wanted things to work out. If you asked David, he would have said that “That counts for something,” though he wouldn’t have been able to tell you what that something was.

That is not to say that Sarah and David were unhappy, however. Neither were they very happy. They were just comfortable. The familiarity of each other’s presence kept them together; the certainty in their relationship an adhesive between two entirely different people. If you’d asked Sarah what that meant, she would have answered something along the lines of “True love takes work, lasts longer, and has more substance the longer it goes on.”

The car ride to the mall was uneventful, as everyone expected, but we’re not interested in that. Neither are we interested in the awkward conversation David had with the makeup saleslady, where she attempted to flirt with him while he attempted to pretend not to notice. We are especially not interested in the Better Than Sex mascara that he bought for what seemed like an exorbitant amount for a stick of color that weighed less than the packaging it came in. What we are interested in are the events that transpired during the ride home that David never finished.

Before David pulled out of the parking lot, his mother called to ask David to pick up a rack of ribs from the butcher’s shop for the farewell party she was 118argument over whether David was a planning for an old friend of hers. A small good son later, and David found himself driving in the opposite direction of home, towards the butcher shop. Less than three miles away, David’s mother

put down the phone and looked out the window. She hadn’t seen her other son, Clyde in years. David was a bright boy, and the pride of her life, but she never stopped comparing him to the son that got away. This fact always bothered David, who did everything right and according to his parent’s plans, but was hardly ever the talk of the table at the weekly family dinner that his rich estranged brother never failed to miss. Nonetheless, David loved his mother enough to feel a sense of obligation towards her and wasn’t too inconvenienced by a simple chore to turn down his elderly ma. *** Nothing is ever a coincidence. This is a fact, one that I know all too well.

An unhappy example of this is the plight of David himself. The week before David met his fate, he had a few drinks with his cousin at the bar they frequented. They talked and laughed for hours, during which David’s cousin received a call from his wife, who, as wives are prone to do, scolded him for being out so late and getting drunk, even if it was just with David. This prompted David’s cousin to stagger off of his chair and bump into another patron of the bar, who was also quite drunk. This man, however, was a mean drunk, and scratched the length of David’s car with a key while David was busy trying to help his cousin stumble out of the bar. This incident led to David’s car insurance paying out, from which he was able to afford a few more luxuries that month, including Sarah’s expensive and fateful mascara.

The man who keyed David’s car wasn’t even supposed to be at that bar that night. He would have been in another bar in a totally different part of the country had he not been invited to a farewell party in honor of an old friend who was leaving the country. The man, who we shall now address as Greg, was already in enough of a bad mood from driving four hours through frustrating traffic, and when David’s cousin tripped over him, Greg took it as a personal offense, prompting him to gouge the paint of David’s car.

At the same time that David was heading away from the mall that fateful day, Greg was speeding toward it. He was supposed to be heading to the farewell party already, but had forgotten to buy a gift for the celebrant the day before. Lost in thought, Greg didn’t notice, almost too late, that he was drifting into the opposite lane. The panicked honk of the car Greg was about to smash into pulled Greg out of his mind long enough to swerve, his car stopping harmlessly on the shoulder of the highway, and the other stopping perfectly in the middle of the road.

“What a mess,” were the first words I ever said to David. He was standing on the side of the road, looking down at his own corpse, bewildered. My words startled him into jumping. His mouth 119 opened and closed, in an imitation of a fish out of water; a very typical response. “Yes, David, you are, in fact, deceased.”

“Deceased?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Yes, David,” I replied, “Dead, bitten the dust, croaked, kicked the bucket. That’s your body on the road: crushed skull, three broken ribs, punctured lungs, and you can see your femur sticking out of your thigh.” Understandably, David started to panic.

“WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK MAN,” he screamed in my ear, “I’M NOT DEAD, I’M RIGHT FUCKING HERE!” It took me the better half of the next hour trying to get him to calm down and realize the reality of his situation. It wasn’t the easiest thing, as he was in hysterics trying to call out to the living, waving his arms around madly, though no one could see. His mad cries transitioned into pathetic whimpers, rage-filled crying, and finally a depressed mumbling of “I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m actually dead.” Eventually, though, I was able to calm him down. I was finally able to get in a word while the paramedics were loading his body onto a stretcher.

“David,” I called, “We don’t have much time.”

“For what?” he mumbled, his eyes mournful and downcast.

“You’ve heard of stories where a person receives a call from a loved one when they’re supposed to be dead in a train crash, correct?” I started to explain, “Well, that’s my job. I’m the one in charge of last messages to loved ones. However, only a few people deserve this luxury. You’re one of the very, very few who actually get to physically visit and have a last conversation with the person most important to you. We’ve only got until said person receives news of your death, so we need to hurry.” David remained where he sank onto the ground, still dejectedly looking at the place where his physical body breathed its last. “David,” I called, trying to get his attention. He slowly raised his eyes to meet mine.

“Who are you?” he asked, in a soft voice. I could see the hollowness in his eyes common with people who have accepted the fact that they have, in fact, died.

“Who I am is not important. What I do, however, is. By my count, you have less than half an hour to say goodbye to whoever you want to speak to last, but there is only one condition.”

“What condition?”

“You can’t let them know that you are dead. You must finish your business with them remaining clueless as to your fate. That is, until they receive the news of your passing from an outside source.”

120 “That’s fine,” David replied, “That’ll be completely fine.”

“So who will it be?” I asked, “Sarah? Your mother? Your estranged brother, Clyde?”

“None of them,” David shrugged, finally seeming to grasp the finality of the situation. “I have a promise to myself that I need to keep.”

Two minutes after David told me of his final promise, we stood outside the bar that he frequented with his cousin.

“Are you ready, David?” I asked, shooting a glance at the doomed man beside me.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said, steeling himself. With a final breath, David steeled himself and strode inside. David walked to the bar and sat down on the stool. He raised two fingers and the bartender brought over a mug filled with cold beer.

“David,” the bartender said, eyebrows raised, “You’re not usually here this early.”

“Rough day, Tom,” David replied, taking a sip of his cold beverage.

“Really rough. I feel like shit.”

“Chin up, Dave. You’ve been through worse.”

“I don’t think there’s any bouncing back from this one, Tom. I think this one’s permanent.” David downed the rest of his beer in one long drink and set the glass down.

“Well then, have another one,” Tom said, refilling David’s mug. “On the house.”

“Thanks, man,” David said. Tom started to walk over to another customer, but David grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Tom, wait a minute.”

“Yeah, Dave?” Tom asked, his eyes questioning.

“Just, well,” David stammered, “Thanks for everything, Tom. All those problems I had that you helped me with. You’ve been one hell of a friend, man.”

“I’d like to think I’ve been more than a friend to you, Dave.”

“That you were…” David trailed off. A few seconds passed as both men stared at something beyond each other’s 121shoulders.

“Well, I gotta get back to tending the bar,” Tom laughed awkwardly. “I’ll

see you a-“ were Tom’s last words to David before David stood up, grabbed the bartender by the shirt collar, and kissed him, deeply and passionately, with an urgency befitting a man who knows his time is well past over.

“Be seeing you.” David walked out of the bar and came over to me.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“Yeah,” David said, “Yeah.” We stood together silently for a moment.

“So… Now what? Are you gonna bring me to heaven or hell or wherever?”

“That’s not my job anymore, David. You’ll have to see the boss for that.”

“The wha-“

122

The Day I Was Banned from Heaven Camille Rosas

Are you sure it’s not there?

Let me see that –keep your panties on, I’m not going to tear it up.

I don’t understand, there must be some mistake.

I know for a fact that I – wait. I remember.

Don’t you know what this is about?

Of course you don’t, and I will tell you why.

Don’t worry, this won’t take very long.

I’m not a man of excuses.

I am, however, one of detail.

It is a matter of perilous importance –you know of its magnitude –that you are aware of the events that placed you and I in this embarrassingly compromised position.

Summer of ’55, I made a legendary swing.

Balcena who? I would have put him to shame; him, and all the shining, spangled, son of a bitch American Heroes with their sepia faces plastered onto our walls after the war.

None but I could hit Jackie’s wretched curveballs.

He had a rat’s eyes, was paper-thin like a lantern’s skin but he had an arm that threw like a catapult, that rolled twice before slowing down when the ball was right between the concave of his ribs so you would think he was going to give you a straight one but then he rolled again stretching back from the bone where my wings will one day grow and then threw the curve.

He was a boy of precarious character, remaining so for the rest of his life.

Forty years later I hired him as my lawyer for a tax evasion case.

If you needed someone to fix something that wasn’t broken, Jackie was the guy to call.

I wish I could call him now but it might take a while for him to get up here.

Wouldn’t be allowed inside either; he probably never even bothered to queue this way.

But then at least I’d have someone to talk to.

Not that you aren’t tremendous123 company, Pete.

Well, I knew he was going to throw the curve.

And so when he did, I stepped forward, shoulder dipped at an angle from the pavement before my torso curled over my hips.

The ball zipped right under the metal rod we used as a bat.

For he knew that I knew that he was going to throw the curve so this motherfucker threw a straight.

But you never can get me twice.

I’m determined like that.

Under my breath, I damned the Devil and prayed to God, though it is entirely plausible that in my haste I got them mixed up, “Give me the fortitude to homerun this motherfucker into the mountains.”

Jackie was laughing, even as he threw the next one.

I do not claim to be a perfect one for I could never memorize a single novena nor the second half of Hail Mary and I could never make all ten of the evening masses before Christmas although who can, really, no inch of free wood left on the pews a literal mass of bodies, sweat from candles and city smoke while outside is a noisy market of rice pastries and pirated tapes.

I might have also, in my youth, broken our Belen’s figurines.

Baby Jesus didn’t make a good action figure, couldn’t fly.

But I maintain that I am and was a good Catholic.

So good that I did not need to go to confession often as I had few misdeeds to report so considerate that I would not want to waste the priest’s precious hours.

Saint Francis, was he not also an angry man?

I narrowed my eyes, imagining Jackie’s head would roll off if I could just swing hard enough.

The rod connected with the ball this time.

I cannot remember a word of what I asked from Our Father, but it worked too well.

We were counting on another storm that afternoon but the ball shot straight into the thick veil of grey Manila haze and the crimson of the dying sun bled through a hole in the wall as though my father, the bum, drunk had fired shots into the air like he does on Wednesdays but this time wounded the sky instead of my sister, whom mother was supposed to124 take with her but like her, the papers never came.

I was bathed in its light.

My eyes, for a second, burned like the acid of an empty stomach was being poured into them.

And then I could see Everything.

I saw, from where I stood on the street the path on which that frayed, dirty-white softball travelled: it flew right past you, its reflection glinted off the top of your burnished scalp but you never noticed it, busy man like yourself.

Head in your book, never in the clouds.

It flew over the golden gates and golden streets.

It flew right into the choir room into the funnel of Gabriel’s trumpet that he played so entrancingly, each note a hue I could never imagine.

I fight hard for my spot today if just so I can hear it again, and hear it until its colors fade into silence this time for it shot out of his reed into the back of his throat before he reached the final verse.

It was a good thing he hadn’t put off delivering the Good News until after this little accident.

Yet he simply spat it out.

It ricocheted from out of his mouth with the trajectory of a bullet and he resumed his song with insouciance; if anything he sounded more beautiful.

I absolve myself of any accountability.

From this point on everything is Gabriel’s fault.

If anyone should be punished for the events that transpired hereafter it’s him, that careless brick, not I. Past Gabriel’s bow-shaped lips the ball proceeded towards a palace of polished marble at the center of the citadel with the same speed as a falling star.

Were it a star, I’d have mortgaged it for a wish to erase the tragic, horrific, black-comedic events that were about to unfold.

It shattered the crystalline window into a hundred pieces, each of those diamond fractals worth a million times their weight in cities their ratio in men.

Consistent with the rest of my good fortune the ball landed in the Archangel Michael’s bath but, unsatisfied with simply rolling down the steady bridge 125 of his spine it timed its grand entrance right as he was getting out of the shower

as he was reaching for his robe and collided with his hairless, chicken-skin sack with ten times the force it did against my bat.

And it was all fucking Gabriel’s fault.

No, there was someone else, I think, but I’ll get to that later.

I hear you perfectly well, you obnoxious little shmuck.

Yes, I do see the line.

You’ll get your turn, but right now it’s mine.

You have all the time in the world to wait and I’m not going anywhere until I’m done.

Wasn’t he rude, Pete?

I’d cross his name off your list and send him down the chute if I were you.

But you’re a patient man, aren’t you?

Must be exhausting, having to deal with a hundred idiots like this one day in and day out.

Now where was I? Yes – This was the legendary general who led heaven’s army against the Adversary who himself cast Lucifer into the pit.

It was this Michael who keeled over like a wilted rose like a sane man’s carrot at the sight of my sister after the accident.

This is the great burden of Man, and I know now, of Angel a pain that calls for commiseration, not catcalls.

But I was a thirteen-year old boy.

I had not yet the finesse of a gentleman incapable yet of empathizing with anything except joy in the cruel, selfish fashion unique to boys who cannot wait to be men.

And so I laughed.

But instead the voice that surrounded mine was cloaked by the late-bloom of puberty I’d been longing for: a deep, smooth voice with a malice I could never be capable of.

And he heard.

You’ve probably been here a heck of a while, Pete.

I trust you’ve witnessed his Wrath.

It’s the greatest sin of the angels, Pride, and his had been insulted.

126 Too blinded was I, however, with my tears of mirthless laughter

to notice the great winged warrior with flames in his eyes that burned more intensely than the white-hot steel of his sword hurtling towards the earth until he was a few meters upon me.

No one else could see him for time had frozen around us.

Here is a valuable piece of wisdom I learned that day: try to outrun the angels, and you’ll only run out of sky.

He had me cornered in a back alley.

I suspect he had led me into a crack in the universe a vacuum of sound where no one could hear my screams.

I beheld the Archangel Michael with a halo over his flaxen hair and murder on his face.

So assured of my own imminent doom was I That I felt the threads that tethered my skin to my soul begin to unravel meaning to admit, I soiled myself.

He approached me slowly.

A menacing snarl marred his fair features and he looked so unlike the beguiling creatures carved into stone church walls.

He raised his sword.

I cowered before him and started to cry eyes bulging, tears dripping into my mouth, like the child I was.

“I’m sorry, it was an accident, an accident, honest,” I sobbed.

His gaze scanned me from top to bottom.

He didn’t seem to find whatever he was looking for and anger relented to reason but his stance remained rigid.

Angels are not perfect.

They’re simply what humans would have been if we were made from fire.

They are prepossessing, bewitching and aware of it.

They are vain.

And Michael is probably the vainest of them all.

Even more so than his brother,127 I think –yes, that brother.

Had he just apologized for the misunderstanding

we could have been gone on our merry ways, you included. But “No being of dirt, flame, or cosmos will know of this,” he thundered, in a volume that made my heart leap to my throat.

His voice was the deep rumble of a slowly shifting continent speaking imposingly, just like a general would and it made me wonder if angels were a bit like us having to fight for their purpose instead of being born with it.

But for all his steroid built physique and cherubic gargoyle face and flaming sword and broken barbecue stick dick in his voice, I could hear his tail swoop between his legs.

I realized that what he said was an order, not a fact.

To this day I am astounded by my own sagacity.

I, the boy, looked up at the giant and asked, “Why? Will you Fall if they do?” and then added, quivering, “Or does this mean you’ve already Fallen?”

His lack of response made me bold.

There was a reality an ineffability to which even he played puppet.

It occurred to him that this may be a trick question on a test a phase in the Plan to which even he was not privy.

He’d put vengeance over honor, and the prince had almost made a grave, stupid mistake being that he was willing to cut his Father’s favorite creation down without hesitation.

There was a line he had crossed somewhere along the stratosphere.

I sought to use it as an escape, so sucking in the snot and tremors and pounding fear, I played.

“Won’t He probably know by now?”

“This universe was crafted by my own hands with His blessing.

The dust is different, for I honored Him with my gifts and was thus rewarded.”

“But He’ll know, won’t He? Even 128if He doesn’t now, when there’s one less little lamb to tuck into bed, He will.”

I, the boy, with my quaking knobby knees and sweaty hands,

just tried blackmailing the most powerful angel in Existence into letting me go.

We play our cards the best we can, and sometimes surviving means cheating, and up until the aneurysm, I’d been pretty good at surviving.

“What will happen when he finds out?”

I, the boy, with my quaking knobby knees, sweaty hands and weak heart, had just tried blackmailing the most powerful angel in Existence.

The fire grew from orange to flickering between white and blue, colder, and more dangerous.

“They will not.”

But I didn’t believe it, and neither did he so like the bully he was, he threatened me.

“I will see to it myself, if I have to sully your spirit with the offer of a kingdom sew temptation into each of your days until you succumb line the perimeter of the golden city in abatis pluck from history the day you were born have the world tear your body apart atom by atom and scatter its remains across the plane and when your soul is naked I will twist and darken and shatter it; that too will be swallowed by the simoom of the abyss. if I see you by the gates, I will stand my the entrance denouncing you to your true master and Heaven’s army will be upon you a thousand swords, one for every pore.

You will never enter the kingdom.”

The words pulled the joints from my bones.

My body felt like it was rotting sixty years too early.

If I was scared before, I was as petrified as mortally possible.

I never wore those pants again.

Without my earlier air of confidence, I said to convince myself more than anything, “But you can’t touch, me, can you?

You can’t kill me, you can’t destroy me.”

And then it was me who was unsure.

His smiled slow and poisonous like the cancer that led my wife129 here.

“You are a human.

You will destroy yourself.”

And then he was gone.

The ink spills of his shadowy pocket realm began to recede And I was left standing alone in a paper room with walls that weren’t there until they came down.

I saw a beautiful smile mouth, “Well done,” and that was the end of my consciousness.

The next thing I remember is waking up with a trey on my chest and my father beside me with a glare on his face that I feared almost as much as the archangel’s.

Dehydration, the doctor pronounced, and that was it.

We won the game but I lost a few friends, for a few days.

That was the only ball we had and it was lost in a cavity of time and space.

That night, I couldn’t get any sleep.

I’d never paid much attention before to the Santo Niño outside my door nor to the cross that hung over my head, and suddenly I became painfully aware of their presence.

Would they protect me or were they on his side? But I knew he would be there in my dreams.

He would be there in the darkness his fire-ice eyes watching me I know his kind; not warrior but predator the kind that plays with their food before they eat it.

But though I caved in to the weight of my body being nailed against my cotton sheets and my bottom and top eyelids meeting like magnets I did not see him.

In fact, I forgot every damn thing the next morning.

That is what he took from me.

For the next sixty-two years I had no recollection of these events until the blood path inside my brain congested like rush hour traffic on the highway before bursting until I got here saw the line and knew.

130

And so you see, Pete, I played the pawn in the crossfire.

I am a victim of political asymmetry.

I bought the ire of the prince.

I paid for it with a lifetime that culminated in an unsteady tower of brittle bones that crumbled into a pile over a mite-infested rug.

Alone.

But I am a survivor.

And I am one because I was never afraid to demand what was due to me.

My name is supposed to be there.

Injustice shall not prevail.

I’m too used to it where I’m from, but not here.

Will you help me, Pete?

Will you let me in?

131

Excerpt from

Leo and Galatea May Cardoso Characters LEO GALATEA MANONG

in his mid-thirties; a young sculptor an unrealistically beautiful young woman a security guard

Setting In an art studio Time The present; early evening

At rise, the mess inside the art studio can be seen. There are sculpting tools, paint cans, colored splatters, and chunks of marble all over the stage. There are also two other sculptures in the background, both similar in Roman aesthetics.

At one side, there is a pedestal surrounded by a curtain that appears to have been drawn open. LEO and MANONG are standing in the middle of the stage.

LEO is in uneasy, and MANONG is perplexed. In the background, GALATEA, dressed in Roman fashion, wanders around the studio.

MANONG Ah...Ser, uulitin ko lang po ‘yung ni-report n’yo sakin ha? Baka po kasi may detalyeng hindi tama.

LEO Ilang beses ko nang sinabi sa’yo?

MANONG Uulitin ko lang po. Bale sabi po ninyo, kakabalik n’yo lang po sa studio.

LEO Oo. MANONG Pero padgating n’yo po rito, wala na ‘yung istatuwa n’yo.

Oo.

LEO 132

MANONG Tapos ho, imbes na istatuwa ang nakatayo d’yan (points to the pedestal) nakita n’yo po ang binibining ‘yan.

LEO Oo. MANONG At hindi n’yo po alam kung sino s’ya at sa’n s’ya galing dahil – GALATEA Master, you have so many strange possessions, and such great works of art!

They are indeed very delightful to look at. It is no wonder, then, why the goddess Venus gazes upon you so kindly.

MANONG Dahil ganyan po s’ya magsalita.

LEO Manong, talaga bang hindi pa obvious sa’yo ang nangyari?

MANONG Ser, nawalan po kayo ng istatuwa.

LEO Oo nga. Pero hindi mo pa rin ba alam kung paano?

MANONG Eh, ser...alangan naman pong paniwalaan ko ‘yung sinabi ninyo.

LEO Manong, pa’no mo pa ba maipapaliwanag ang isang babaeng nag-la-Latin at sobrang kahawig ng sculpture kong nawala?

MANONG Ser – LEO At tignan mo ‘to. (to GALATEA) Galatea.

Yes, Master? I am here.

GALATEA 133

LEO Galatea.

GALATEA (approaches LEO) Oh Master, how sweet it is to hear my name spoken by the one whose hands have created me!

MANONG Ser, ano po ‘yung Galatea?

GALATEA (looks at MANONG, then at LEO) Master, how is it that this strange-looking man knows my name? (studies MANONG curiously) LEO ‘Yun ‘yung pangalan ng obra ko, Manong.

MANONG (scratches head) Ser...paano naman po mabubuhay ang isang istatuwa?

LEO Aba, ewan ko. Kaya nga kita pinatawag, ‘di ba?

MANONG Ho? LEO Kailangan kong malaman kung sino’ng nagbuhay ng sculpture ko.

MANONG Ser, pa’no ko naman po gagawin ‘yun?

A short pause. While they are conversing, GALATEA takes MANONG’s cap and looks at it, fascinated. MANONG takes it back from her and places it on his head.

LEO ‘Di ko rin alam, Manong. Basta, kailangan n’yang maging bato ulit. Sa Saturday na ‘yung art show.

134 MANONG Ser, sigurado po ba talaga kayo na hindi s’ya nakapasok lang basta-basta?

LEO Eh Manong, pa’no naman may makakapasok kung iisa lang ‘yung entrance di – huy!

As LEO is talking, GALATEA approaches an open can of paint. LEO stops her from dipping her hand into it just in time, and he pulls her to the pedestal.

D’yan ka lang. ‘Wag kang malikot.

GALATEA Master, what strange elixir was that? Was it a gift from the gods? Is it the secret to your skillfulness?

GALATEA waits for LEO to respond, but he just stares at her in confusion.

LEO (to MANONG) Manong, sige na, please. Tulungan mo ako.

MANONG Eh ser, pa’no nga po?

LEO Hanapin natin ‘yung nagbuhay sa obra ko. ‘Di ako kikita sa exhibit kung mananatili s’yang...(indicates GALATEA) ganyan.

MANONG Ser, kung gusto n’yo po, tignan ko po ‘yung mga record ng CCTV sa araw na ‘to.

Tignan po natin kung may nakapasok nga sa studio, para mahanap na natin ‘yung istatuwa n’yo.

LEO Pero Manong, ‘di mo na kailangang hanapin ‘yung sculpture ko. (points to GALATEA) Eto na nga s’ya,’di ba? Ang kailangan ko pong gawin ngayon ay malaman kung pa’no s’ya gawing marmol ulit.

MANONG (to himself) Ay wala na, nabaliw na talaga.

LEO Ano ‘yun?

MANONG 135 Ay...wala, wala po, ser. Ah...check ko na po ‘yung CCTV, ser. Balikan ko po kayo kung may nahanap ako.

MANONG makes his way to exit, but then stops and looks at GALATEA. At ser...subukan n’yo pong tanungin ‘yung binibining ‘yan kung may nalalaman s’ya.

LEO Eh pa’no naman kamimagkakaintindihan? Kanina pa s’ya Latin nang Latin.

MANONG Magkakaintindihan po kayo n’yan, ser. (to himself) Pareho kasi kayong nababaliw eh.

MANONG exits. GALATEA watches him leave.

GALATEA A strange man who appears and disappears. How full of strangeness being alive is!

LEO Hay nako...Kung alam ko lang na mabubuhay ka pala, ‘di sana Pilipinong dyosa na lang ‘yung ginawa ko. Maiintindihan ko pa.

GALATEA (laughs) Even your speech is strange, Master! Oh, perhaps I will grow to learn the speech of the living myself, once you teach me the ways of the world.

LEO (to himself) ‘Tang ina naman oh, ang daldal.

Full text of the play: bit.ly/cardoso-leo-and-galatea

136

2

3

Cover design Regine De Mesa Layout May Cardoso Fenella Sto. Domingo Regine De Mesa Nicole Serrano DIS/CLOSURE A zine by UP4Writers Club Applicant Batch 15-16 A Š November 2015

5