Note: Blogger’s original work. Don’t plagiarise. To those who would dare, as Ayn says it, may the wrath of heaven and earth fall upon you. This is fiction. Please see legal and ethical reminders on the sidebar. Thanks very much.

7 missed calls.

When I saw this flashed on my cellphone screen this morning, I knew my day would end this way. In a walk along this road connecting the college to Commonwealth Avenue. With you.

It’d been a while.

“How have you been?” Your voice was a bit shaky. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were nervous.

“Great,” I answered with a slice across my lower face. “And you? How’s London?”

“Well, it’s still London.” A slight laughter went through your lips.

And then, silence. I tried to come up with something to say to keep the conversation flowing but I couldn’t. I just felt I didn’t know you anymore. After two years of being away, I felt like nothing was ever the same with you.

You rebooted the conversation. “I want to tell you something.”

“Go ahead.”

You paused. Seemed hesitant to say it. “I’m leaving again. Next week. For good.”

“For Brisbane, I know. For what it’s worth, Australia is nearer than UK.”

“Yeah.”

And then, there was silence again. We were walking much more slowly than usual. I felt like I didn’t want to reach the end of this road.

“I want to tell you something.”

“You already told me.”

We reached the end of the road.

(more…)

Note: Uhm, no disclaimer this time. This is not fiction. Uh, does it matter? Everytime I say something is fiction, you don’t believe me anyway. So what the heck? Here it goes.

Tagaytay City is more or less 30 minutes away from my mum’s house in Batangas so I’m always there. (Lucky me!) I was in Tagaytay again last Saturday night with a good friend. We were in his car parked somewhere near Starbucks, music-trippin’. I was enjoying my cup of hot white choco, and he, white choco mocha. My friend bears the same name as the performer of the song that was playing that time. Of course, I was singing in the car. (More like a mini-concert, really.)

It was “When I Get You Alone” by Robin Thicke.

“…When I get you alone (’lone)
When I get you you’ll know baby (know)
When I get you alone (’lone)
When I get you alone now (it’s all mine)….”

I was just singing when he suddenly threw me a look so sexy and displayed a mischievous grin. I turned down the volume, almost inaudible, and said, “What?!”

“What would you do if you got me alone?” He asked.

“Well, right now I got you alone and I’m not doing anything. So I guess, uh, nothing?”

“Why don’t you do something?”

“What? You’re Britney Spears now?”

“Come on. Do something. Do it.”

“Do what?”

“You know. It.”

“Oh I can’t do that. You have an effin’ girlfriend. My parents raised me well.”

“But you’ve done it once before with someone who was in a relationship. Still, you did it. Why not do it again now?”

“I can’t do that.”

“Oooh. I know, someone here is just afraid.”

“I’m afraid that you’re afraid that I might really do it.”

“No, I’m not. I dare you. Do it.”

“Do what?”

“It. Do it.”

“What is it?”

“What it is that you want to do! Do it.”

“And what do you think it is that I want to do?”

“It. Just do it!”

“Do what?!”

“Oh for Christ’s sake. Don’t do this. Do it!”

“Now I’m confused. You want me to do it or not?”

“I want you to do it.”

“Do what?”

“IT!!!”

“What is it? Why can’t you say it?”

“Why do I have to say it when you can just do it?”

“Do what?” My smile was the biggest I’ve ever had. Ever.

“Alright. I get it. Fine. I give up. That’s what you want, fine. Well then, as long as you’re in this car, DON’T YOU DARE DO ANYTHING.”

“Hmmkey. I won’t do anything.”

No one said anything for a while. We just sat there. After minutes of uncomfortable silence and unbearable awkwardness, (I was just flashing a wide smile the whole time) I asked, “Can I sing?”

He nodded. I turned the volume up, and played another song. It was Nelly Furtado’s “Do It.”

“…Do it like you do it to me (I’m burning up)
Do it like you do it to me (it’s not enough)
Do it like you do it to me (just open up)
Don’t you know how much I want you….”

He gave me a nasty look, and a cute embarassed grin.

I snickered. “WHAT?!”

pictures courtesy of zingmagazine.com and jupiterimages.com

Note: I already posted this on my previous blog, click here. I just had to move it here so I could file my short stories under one category. Anyway, usual reminder: blogger’s original work. Please see legal and ethical reminders on the sidebar. Thanks very much. Again, this is fiction.

When one of my bestfriends and I were at a resort somewhere in the south three years ago for his despedida party (he would be flying to London in less than two days), we decided to leave the crowd for a moment and stay on the beach. We were lying on the sand. I was staring at the moon and I was quite sure that he was staring at me.

He was the first to speak. “Have you given it a thought?”

“Not much,” I replied.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t. Why does it always have to be a reason?”

He didn’t utter a single word. And then he sat up and felt the grains on his palms.

Then he spoke again. “We’re bestfriends.”

“Yeah.”

“And it’s all we could ever be. We’re bestfriends. And we’re both guys.”

I just looked at him while he stared blankly at the sea. Then he somewhat rubbed his palms against his knees, and said, “So you really don’t feel anything for me? Anything more than friendship?”

“I don’t.”

Silence fell.

“You’re too honest, it hurts. You never lie. Never.”

Then the moon caught my attention again. I just stared at it for God knows how many seconds.

“I just did,” I said.

By the time I could even finish that sentence, he was already standing, about to leave. He didn’t even hear what I just said. I watched him as he walked away.

“I just did.” I whispered.

We’ve never seen each other again since.

picture stolen from jakehowlett.com

Note: Blogger’s original work. This is fiction. Please see legal and ethical reminders on the sidebar. Thanks very much.

Here we are again. In the usual corner. Usual table. Usual diner. Usual time. And most probably, usual meal. I’m getting tired of this really. Everything’s a routine. And for what it’s worth, you’re the only same old thing that I’m not tired of. But I’m tired of this. Having the same food for breakfast before we go to work.

“What are we really?” I speak first.

You give me a puzzled look.

I speak again. “You said we’re friends. But the things we do — the things I do with you — the thing’s I’ve done FOR you — and the things I’m so willing to do. They are things I don’t usually do with or for my friends.”

You reach for the menu and browse through it like you’re not hearing a thing.

“And the things you’ve done. They are things no other friend has done for me…. Are we really friends? Is that all we have? Friendship?”

You refuse to talk. You just sit there.

“Just friendship? That’s all we have?”

But I seem to be talking with myself. You give no decent reaction to the question I’ve long wanted to ask you. The question I think I’m wasting all my energy asking.

Disappointed, I release a deep sigh. You continue to pretend trying hard to decide what to have for breakfast when we both know you’ll be having the same old thing. You’re just avoiding the topic. So I just let go of it and try not to spoil this morning like it hasn’t been yet.

I change the topic. “You ready to order?”

“Sure. I’m starving.” Finally, your first words for today. It’s so clear how much you hate talking about that topic. Talking about us.

I call on the waitress, the one who’s always served us our meal. In fact, she knows our name and we chat when she’s not busy. We are regular customers. She approaches our table.

“What are you two having?” Her tone sounds like she never really has to ask for she knows exactly what food we are gonna order.

You put down the menu, look at the waitress, smile, then turn to me. And say, “Something more than friendship.”

(I swear I heard the waitress say “I know, ‘right.”)

picture courtesy of associatedcontent.com

..

Note: Blogger’s original work. Don’t plagiarise. To those who would dare, as Ayn said it, may the wrath of heaven and earth fall upon you. This is fiction. Please see legal and ethical reminders on the sidebar. Thanks very much.

It’s been a bad day. After wasting hours at a cafe drinking practically every cup of coffee that place had to offer, here I am now. Alone. And waiting for the bus. I’ve been to different places in Europe but this is my first time in Bulgaria. And it turns out to be the most frustrating day I ever lived since I stayed in Europe. Four hours at a cafe. And almost an hour here at this bus stop. I just want to go home. And just when it seems like it can’t get any worse, it starts to rain. I can’t believe it. The forecast said it would be sunny the whole day. I’m pissed. This is really a terrible day.

When suddenly a man in his late 20s, runs towards the bus stop I am at. He’s all wet. Probably walking when it started to pour. And I’m just glad he found shelter under this shed. And I just can’t believe I’m sharing this shelter with him. This man is ruggedly beautiful. Seems to have been very lazy to shave off his facial hair for five days now, he still looks so handsome, I just can’t take my eyes off of him.

Not to mention his height. Probably a little over six feet. Just like the distance between us, a little over six feet. I want to talk to him but I don’t want to freak him out. He doesn’t even look at me. He’s just so quiet, it’s like the only person at this place is him. But god, I can look at him for like, forever.

And here I go again, I’m starting to imagine things. I really wish he would face me and ask me, “Hey, you’re not from here, are you?”

And I would answer, “Yeah.”

And he would tell me, “So where are you from?”

And before I could even answer, he would speak again. “Uhmm, let me guess… uhm, Thailand?”

I would shake my head. And he would try again. “Malaysia?”

“Philippines,” I would correct him.

“But, of course.”

“You know any Filipino?”

“Personally?” He would pause, and then say, “No.”

And I would feel sad. But he would not notice. He would ask me, “So what is a Filipino guy doing in Bulgaria?”

I would smile at him. “Oh, nothing really.”

And then he would give me that cute puzzled look. “You flew from Southeast Asia to Europe for nothing? You must be really wealthy!”

I would laugh with him. “It’s not really like that. I’m a diplomat, and I’m based in Munich.”

“But still, Germany is miles away from here. What are you doing here in this humble city of ours?”

I would release a deep sigh. “I was supposed to meet someone who lives in this city. We were supposed to meet… over there. At that cafe.”

“Someone, eh? A lover?”

“No. Just a friend. A special friend.”

He would look around. “Wow. Flying from Munich from here, that friend must be really special. So where’s that special friend now?”

I would not answer. Instead, I would look at him intently.

“Oh… I’m sorry. Ey, you got stood up!” He would laugh a little.

“There’s nothing funny about it,” I would complain.

“Oh, I apologise. That’s too bad. He might’ve forgotten.”

“Surely.”

Again, he would give me that puzzled look. “What makes you so sure?”

I would reluctantly answer, “Because, we made the promise that we would meet up here… eight years ago.”

He would be so shocked. And even when he looks surprised, he’s still so damn goodlooking. “No kidding?”

“No kidding,” I would smirk.

“That’s so nice of you to have actually remembered that promise.”

“I don’t break promises.”

“So how did you meet?”

“We haven’t met personally yet. Had he shown up today, it would’ve been the first.”

“He?” Again, he would look surprised. But he would just smile afterwards. “Oh. How did you become friends, then?”

“Online. Ten years ago. We met in cyberspace. He’s from this city. We became really good friends despite the distance and the fact that we’d never met before.”

“That’s interesting. I used to have online friends, too, you know. But anyway, what happened?”

“We used to always talk about meeting at that cafe,” I would point to the cafe I was in an hour ago. “We were very excited about it. We promised each other that no matter what happens, we would meet up at that place on the first day of December ten years after we first met online.”

“First day of December…. That’s today!” He would look excited.

“But he never came, you see. I waited there for more than four hours. He never arrived.”

“Maybe he was there. You just didn’t recognise him.”

“Oh no, I have so many pictures of him, and we used to chat with our webcams on. I would surely recognise him if he was there.”

“Maybe, he will arrive. Maybe you should wait a little more.”

“I doubt that. I think he has already forgotten about the promise. Or even me.”

“How could he forget about you?” He would be confused.

“You see, after two years of chatting, we eventually became good friends. Almost special. We didn’t really feel the distance. Or the fact that it was only online. But all of a sudden, he just disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“Yeah. Disappeared. He was never online again. I don’t know what happened. He never returned any of my e-mails. I’ve never seen him again in cyberspace. It’s been eight years since we last talked.”

“And yet, eight years later, you’re here. Hoping he hasn’t forgotten about you and your promise? That’s sweet.”

“Sweet. Yeah. And sad.”

He would finally come closer to me and break the six-foot distance between us to tap my shoulder. “So what happened next?”

And then, the rain turns to drizzle. The rain stopped. And my fantasy is over. I’m back to reality. The truth is, that beautiful man I wish would talk to me is still standing a little over six feet away from me, and has never said a single word. And now, he steps forward, and looks at the sky, checking if it would rain again. Pleased with what he saw, he begins walking away from the bus stop. Until he disappears.

It pains me. We didn’t even have a chance to talk. And why didn’t I approach him? But it’s too late. He’s gone.

But in my mind, in my fantasy, the man is still there. Tapping my shoulder. He would ask me again, “Hey, so what happened next?”

And I would look at him in the eye, and tell him as I shed tears, “He never arrived at the cafe. But after I waited for four hours, I was at the nearest bus stop. It rained suddenly and to my surprise, walking in the rain towards the same bus stop I was at, was him. Probably a coincidence. And he just stood there. Stayed a little over six feet away from me. When the rain stopped, he just left. He never said a word to me. He didn’t even recognise me.”

And then it starts to pour again.

Inspired by: Haruki Murakami’s On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning, the best contemporary romantic short story for me.