Birthday Story 2012: (One of) The One(s) that Got Away
Yey, a birthday story! I know, I know. I couldn’t come up with an enticing Chapter 4 for Lines Crossed, nor could I ever figure out how to push through with No One Will Ever Get Hurt part 2 (that’s halfway done, but something’s just not right with the plot). So I came up with this story.
I’ve emailed this to a few people already (I just changed the disclaimer, guys, and added a last quote at the end). And while I do have doubts of putting this out in the open, I still would, because I wanted people to know what an awesome person he was. He was that awesome he actually did inspire a story.
And oh, just a note: I wouldn’t confirm or deny any guesses as to who the guy is.
Dig in, enjoy, and let me know what you guys think:
For the PDF copy, please download here.
(One of) The One(s) that Got Away: The last days
March 2009
It was there, Webb, clear as day, for me to see. It was only posted a few hours ago before I logged in on Facebook.
Emmanuel Webber Tan Gozon is in a relationship with Ramona Cecile F. Limtanco.
I knew you could do it to me, but I didn’t realize how much of an ass you’d have to be to do it to me this way.
I didn’t know that this was how you would break my heart.
April 2009
It was my graduation. I was leaving college, and leaving you and our spoiled whatever. You never texted me again after that confirmation on Facebook; never checked up on me. I wanted to tell you how things worked out, how Ces and I got an uno for our thesis and how it hurt to not include you in the acknowledgment page in our thesis because Ces said you don’t deserve it. I wanted to tell you how I got a job offer and how I am so stoked to start to be a part of the working class. I wanted to tell you so many things, Webb, so many things that we used to share to each other, but I couldn’t.
I couldn’t because you were gone.
I couldn’t because you have a Cecile now.
Your sister, Lori, kept on asking what happened to us, because apparently you were bringing Cecile to your apartment. She wasn’t used to seeing any other girl around you aside from me.
Kala ko nga kayo na eh.
I smiled bitterly. I don’t know if your sister told you this, but my reply to her was: Kala ko rin eh.
As the old Filipino saying goes, Maraming namamatay sa akala.
May 2009
I have a job, Webb, and it pays well, and the first thing I spend it on was on a David Cook vs. David Archuleta concert offering here in Manila. I bought the Gold seats, the ones that cost over P6,000, because I love David Cook so much. It’s the first thing I ever bought with my first paycheck.
Remember, Webb, when you promised that if David Cook goes here, we’ll watch his concert together?
April 2010
Webb, what happened?
And I am not asking this in a very bitter, damn-you-broke-my-heart-and-yet-you-act-like-nothing-happened kind of way. I am asking this out of sheer curiosity.
WHAT HAPPENED? HOW DID SHE HAPPEN? WHY DIDN’T WE HAPPEN?
I tried to dissect the anatomy of our non-relationship-slash-friendship. There were so many questions in my head as to what have gone wrong and what went right, but I could never confirm them to you anymore. There were days when I felt bitter towards it, but they are overpowered by the greater and sweeter memories you’ve left behind for me.
May 2010
My first year on the job. Aside from our pseudo-relationship, this is the longest one I’ve ever had, and I am so elated. But it didn’t mean that I was going through an easy road—I was depressed, because I was so wrung out from work and I didn’t have any outlet because there wasn’t any you to rant to.
But you felt me, didn’t you? I wasn’t sure if you had this psychic thing going on for you, but you just felt me.
Hey Liz. Just checking up on u. Hope all is well.
It was your first message to me in a YEAR, Webb, and it sure has one helluva timing.
All isn’t well, but I hope on your end they are. Take care, Webb.
We’re too civil, too stiff. We weren’t this before. Did I do this or did you?
What’s wrong?
Work. Stress. Those kinds of things.
I went vague on you because I didn’t want to need you anymore, Webb. I was pretty sure you’d disappear again, like you always do.
Liz, u r 1 of d best people I know. Tough & strong. Ul pull through.
And I did, Webb.
I did.
–
The END
–
Who knows why
Two people perfectly aligned
Should ever have to find themselves apart
I’ll never understand my heart
-Even if I Don’t, Rachael Yamagata
(One of) The One(s) that Got Away: February 2009
February 2009
My days were starting to get longer and longer and longer as the thesis deadline looms like a big dark gray cloud about to consume me had I chosen to ignore it. The added pressure of my other majors and my electives—tell me, why did I take Italian 11 again? At 7 in the morning, no less?—was also weighing down on me. I was starting to be your Little Miss Grumpy, Little Miss Absent-Can-I-Take-A-Raincheck, Little Miss Too-Stressed-To-Have-Fun. Our computer shop trips were quickly transformed to library runs, with you giving up on me after a couple of hours and heading out to play DOTA. Our movie nights were gone as I spent overnighter after overnighter; my money spent on thesis and thesis alone.
And my birthday was looming too, as you reminded me, a day after the first draft of thesis deadline.
On one hand, I was happy, because it meant we made it—we are going to graduate on time, because we’ve finished our data gathering and our analysis has framework already but no meat just yet—while on the other hand I wasn’t looking forward to getting a year older. To top it off, I’ll be so emotionally and physically drained on my birthday that I couldn’t care less how to celebrate it.
But you do, right, Webb? You cared enough to make my 20th fun.
I had a 7AM class on the day of my birthday, and when I was heading out, you were already outside the door of my boarding house, a bouquet of roses in hand. Red roses. Fun, fresh, fragrant red roses. A dozen of them. Shall I keep on raving on how those roses brightened up my day?
And how they now lay dry and wilted, pretty much how our ‘friendship’ went?
You handed me a paper bag, a big one that is half as tall as I was. When I peeked inside, I cussed, because Webb, you got me that big Cookie Monster stuffed toy I wanted all my life.
In my excitement I pulled you into me and I hugged you, and you hugged me back, tighter than I have ever been held, and when we pulled away from each other, your smile was wider than mine.
“Well, glad you liked the gifts,” you said, clearing your throat, a blush creeping up your face. You were almost as red as the roses, but I didn’t say anything. “Happy birthday, Lizzie,” you said, and I just beamed at you. I ran upstairs, leaving the roses and the stuffed toy, and then we headed out, you taking me to my class.
But the day wasn’t all bright, right, Webb? If anything, the next moment was probably the dullest.
“Webb!”
We turned at the same time towards the group of people who called your name. I recognized them as the guys who were in your inter-collegiate basketball team, the one you still play for (and the one whom you will still play for even if you shifted to PolSci since it’s the same college). I endured about three minutes of manly and friendly banter before the boys finally shifted their attentions to me.
“You must be Cecile.”
I heard you choke next to me, Webb. I was pretty sure you weren’t expecting that.
Who in the hell is Cecile?
“Um, nope. Liz,” I said, when it became apparent that you couldn’t recover just in time to save yourself from the hell that your teammates put you in.
“My friend,” you followed up, and I just nodded, slowly at first, and then bitterly, looking up for a split second because I felt the tears rushing in.
Friend.
You placed me in the friendzone again, Webb. After the roses, the Cookie Monster, all those movie nights and those days we spent in the computer shops. After the holding hands and the quiet moments. After the big life decisions we tried to figure out. After the text marathons. After the countless of basketball games I watched as your cheerleader.
I was a friend.
“Oh yeah… You did tell us about her,” was your friend’s lame attempt to make me feel better. I just gave him a fake smile, gave you a fake smile, and then mumbled, “Late for class,” and I was off. You tried to call me back, but I wouldn’t have it—it was still too painful and I couldn’t accept it.
Who was Cecile, Webb?
In the middle of everything we were doing, you still found time for a Cecile?!
It was a deep sword you thrust into me, Webb. A double-edged kind: that I was (just) your friend, and there was a Cecile.
The worse thing about my birthday—well, aside from that act you pulled on me—was that I only had one class, that 7AM one, which meant my day had a very early start despite all the sleepless nights prior. I was already heading home to sleep—I was getting cranky, and that scene you made me go through that morning just made my mood even worse. I didn’t need to see you but you were there, outside my classroom, waiting. You didn’t leave when I left, you stayed when I couldn’t, and it was fine at this instance because I think you were the one at fault here.
“Liz, I’m—”
Was it wrong, Webb, to not ask for explanations? I was too tired, and I didn’t need any more drama. And I think you saw it, because you stopped—you stopped apologizing and you stopped from launching into your explanation, not that I needed it at that moment. I didn’t need it then, I guess, because I was tired, but I need it now, Webb, because it’s confusing how everything happened, how the timelines overlapped, and how everything was gone.
Will we have lasted, became more concrete and real, if I asked and demanded more? If I begged you to put a label on whatever it was we shared, will you not be one of the ones that got away? If I braved through it, told you I think we’re something more than friends, what would you have said, Webb?
You nodded, dropped your head and took a deep breath. When you looked at me again, there were so many words written on your face that I wasn’t sure why I wasn’t able to read them. Was it because I lacked sleep or because you’re confused too? Was it because I hoped, you’d say everything, right at that moment, with you not bothering to care that I can’t handle anything right now?
“Let’s go home,” was all you said, and I just nodded. You took my hand and I followed, blindly, as we went home to your place.
It was already dark when I woke up, and I could hear you singing—more like murdering David Cook’s version of Always Be My Baby—somewhere in the apartment. I rolled off the bed, tried to fix my hair, and then went out, and I had the most beautiful and amusing scene in front of me.
You arranged mini-cupcakes—later on I counted and there were twenty mini-cupcakes, which was my age—on a plate, with the mini-cupcake on the center carrying a lone blue and white candle. The smell of pancit canton wafted in the air—instant pancit canton. Closer inspection revealed you were preparing two hot and spicy and two original flavored ones.
I stood there, just watching you, leaning against the doorjamb, because I was taking in the moment. I didn’t care about just friends, I didn’t care about Cecile—all that I cared about was you standing there, in front of me, trying to make my birthday special.
Webb, thank you. The little things, the little simple things, are all I needed that day.
“Did you have a good sleep?”
I didn’t notice you’ve already stopped singing. I wiped the wistful smile on my face and walked over to you, stopping just when my bare feet are touching yours. “I did. Thanks,” I told you, and you shrugged. You playfully touched my cheek, saying, “Well, at least you’re smiling now. This morning you were still my Little Miss Grumpy.”
I rolled my eyes at that quip and took a step back, but not before you trapped me in your arms, hugging me, and whispered to my ear, “Happy birthday, Elizabeth. A year older and a year wiser.”
When I stepped back, I grinned at you. “I don’t know about the last part, but thanks,” I said, and I pranced away from you. I wanted to kiss you at that moment, Webb, and it wasn’t just because I was thankful for everything you’ve done. I wanted you, at that moment more than ever, but what stopped me was the uncertainty that always came with you.
I was at the table, eyeing the mini-cupcakes when you popped next to me, the pancit canton all cooked and done, separated into two plates. The smell made my tummy grumble and I realized I haven’t eaten since this morning.
You whisked out a matchbox and lit the candle, and you turned to me. “Blow the candle, Lizzie. Make a wish,” you said softly, and I closed my eyes, and wished and wished.
You tried to ask me, loads of times, what my wish was that night, but I wouldn’t give in. You see, I wished for certainty and security—concerning you and life in general. I wished you’d be sure, Webb, about me and about us. I wished I would graduate this April without any other hiccups.
I batted one out of two of those wishes, Webb. You knew which one came to reality.
You weren’t there during Valentine’s, Webb. I half-expected another bouquet of roses, another stuffed toy, a simple day with you, no frills. I can do the pancit canton gig over and over because it didn’t matter about all the lavishness, Webb. You didn’t text, you didn’t call. I didn’t feel you.
Did you vanish again, Webb?
Where were you?
(One of) The One(s) that Got Away: January 2009
January 2009
I was wrong when I thought you’d be gone in a week, or in a month. You proved my friends wrong—even Ces—because you’ve been consistent for over a month. You haven’t disappeared. You haven’t been away for so long that I’d forget you existed. You haven’t been away for so long that I’d resumed being bitter.
Why, Webb?
Why did you stay this time around?
Was the threat of the other guy too great that you know if you disappeared one more time, there’ll be no more me to go back to?
I had to talk to him, you know? Give him a clean break. Ask for his forgiveness. I told him who you are, and an approximation of whom I thought you are to me. He asked me, Webb, if I was sure. If I was sure of you. If I was sure if you’d stick around for good.
You see, in retrospect, if ever there was a ranking, he would precede you, Webb. He’d be the top one of those ones who got away. You’d be in the top five—hell, the top ten if the list was ever that long.
But damn it, Webb.
Why?
I cried that day, so hard, because it broke me that I had to break his heart. You tried to call and I didn’t answer, you sent me so many texts that told me you were worried, and you even went to the boarding house and my college just to check me. I sincerely thought we’d have a turning point somewhere during this time—I thought we’d start getting somewhere.
The next day, you were at my boarding house, with McDonald’s takeout in hand, waiting for me. What time did you wake up? I had a 7AM class for that day, and I got out of the boarding house at 6:30AM, and you were already there.
“You okay?” you asked me, handing me the takeout, and we started to walk. I didn’t answer; you took my file folder and my readings from me despite me struggling.
“I was worried. You used to reply right away when I text you. And we were supposed to go to—”
I cut you off in mid-sentence, telling you that I wasn’t able to answer you because I was with him the whole afternoon. I didn’t tell you I was breaking his heart and trying to mend it simultaneously—and how he broke mine when he said he couldn’t be friends with me just yet.
He was one of the good guys, Webb.
I know, I know—you didn’t ask for any of this. You didn’t ask for me to give him up; you didn’t ask for me to go back to you.
Not entirely your fault.
Anyway, telling you about him—was that stupid? The look on your face, you seemed jarred, Webb. Like I betrayed you or something.
Did I?
I watched you as you slowly regrouped. When you got over that hump, I saw you nod, as if everything was already okay. Were they, Webb? Were they ever?
“You okay?” you asked again, and I just shrugged. You placed your arm over my shoulder and pulled me closer. The morning was still chilly—you were right, why did I get a frigging 7AM class during 2nd sem when it was colder and harder to get up in the morning?—and I needed your warmth. We started walking while I munched on the hashbrown.
“So when are we going to Las Piñas?” you asked, skidding along to another topic. Right, we were supposed to do the Las Piñas leg of my fieldwork for my thesis. Ces was doing the Quezon City one. I wanted to take the Quezon City but you said something along the lines of “have an adventure” so I trusted you and told Ces I’ll take the South.
For you. So we can have another adventure.
I finished the hashbrown—we reached my building by this time, but I still had to make two flights of stairs to my 207 classroom—and fished for my planner, the one you constantly tease me about because I have written all sorts of things there, including everything we do. I think that should have clued you in, Webb, about how I feel for you, but you didn’t get it.
“7th,” I told you, and you nodded. Your schedule always seemed to be free, Webb, why is that? Do you really just make it a point to show up when it comes to me and you or you really don’t have anything to do?
“I’ll be there. Are we still on for later or you need more… time?” you said softly. I appreciated it, that you tried to understand, Webb. That was one of the good things about you.
“We’re still on,” I told you, and you reached down, gave my hand a quick squeeze and was off, probably to where I’ll be meeting you later. Read More…
(One of) The One(s) that Got Away: December 2008
December 2008
In hindsight, I should have remembered it was your first Lantern Parade in Diliman. And that you celebrated it in grand fashion—it’s our university’s 100 years.
But I didn’t remember it that day. I didn’t remember that this was your first in Diliman while it was going to be my last one as a student. I didn’t even want to pay attention to you when I passed by you at the AS corridor. We haven’t talked for months after that Baguio trip—you call inviting me to a couple of your games talking? If I knew it, you were just sending mass texts and it wasn’t just for me.
My friends tell me that if you disappear just like that after what would have been a meaningful time together, I should adopt this age-old saying: Out of sight, out of mind. I tried, Webb. Desperately tried. But I see you, every Tuesdays and Thursdays, at that same corridor, even if I didn’t want to, even if I opt to go the other way. I hated you during that time, Webb. You were like a ghost, haunting me, taunting me. You were dangling yourself in front of me and it sucks because I couldn’t have you. I mean, I could have, but you were so elusive.
I was walking down that same corridor with a new ‘friend.’ He was my crush from the pep squad, a drummer, and I have been eyeing him for so long, way before I eyed you. One of my blockmates finally introduced us to each other, and he met me that day so we’d have lunch. He wasn’t like you, Webb, because he doesn’t flutter—he stays. He was one of the most consistent people I know—a good morning text every single morning, a personalized one, not like the one that you send me when you have plans of showing up, a goodnight text when we see each other and even if we don’t, and texts in between. He was the healthy kind of relationship, Webb. He was perfect, to say the least, and—and but—he wasn’t you.
I was laughing, I remembered, because he was telling me some corny joke and I had to laugh—I needed to laugh, I was too stressed that week that even the corniest of all jokes can crack me up. We were at the point in this dating stage or whatever where I can allow him to place an arm over my shoulder, to sometimes hold my hand while we walk. We were that close, Webb. That close.
At that moment he draped his arm over my shoulder, pulling me into him, and I leaned against him. I felt him kiss me on the hair and I let him—he feels nice, which I bet you wouldn’t want to know but I’m still telling you. I was still smiling that silly grin, and when I looked up, I nearly froze—you were there, a few steps away from us. Your arms were across your chest, but it wasn’t in the relaxed, casual way you had. There was this deep frown on your face and your lips were in a thin, straight line.
Did you like what you saw, Webb?
“Liz,” I heard him say, and I had to pay attention to him.
“Pizza,” I told him brightly, and he agreed. Before he cracked the joke we were deciding on what to have for lunch. That was how the cookie crumbled between me and him—it was always a discussion, Webb. We weren’t into flipping coins to decide which movie to watch or which resto to go to.
You opened your mouth when we passed by you, but I didn’t want to hear it, Webb.
You were too quiet the past months, that even if you open your mouth to say something, I wouldn’t hear a thing. Read More…
(One of) The One(s) that Got Away: October 2008
October 2008
I never understood why you flicker, Webb. I never understood why you show up, make me happy and grand and like the only girl in the world and then disappear. I still see you, at the corridors when I have my Geog100 class, but I pretend that I don’t because you pretend you don’t see me. Sometimes I even make it a point to pass by that corridor just to see you, but you still don’t see me. I wasn’t sure if that hurt—it confused me as hell—and I had moments where I wanted to confront you.
Why aren’t you texting me anymore, Webb?
Why don’t you see me anymore?
No more IMs too.
I can’t do mixed signals because I’m not good at this game. I always lose in this game, Webb, did you know that?
Or is your disappearance directly related to the fact that I started missing your inter-collegiate games and I stopped being your cheerleader?
I still went to your games, Webb, but maybe not as often as I wanted to. Out of the 20+ games you played, I wasn’t in nine of them. Nine, Webb—and only because I had classes when you had your games. Maybe you didn’t see me—I was just there, I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, but come to think of it now, maybe I should have—but I was there. I saw your great games, I saw the games when you were benched, I saw your games.
But it didn’t matter, Webb, because you still disappeared.
And when you appear once more, waltzing in without a care in the world, you don’t have any explanations.
And I didn’t say that I needed any.
Because we weren’t anything, right, Webb? I didn’t have the right to ask, to demand, to look for you.
I didn’t have the right to miss you when I miss you so, so, so much.
Hi.ü Gusto mo punta Baguio?
It was a random question, Webb. A very random, out-of-the-blue one.
After a month or so since we went out, you text me, asking me if I want to do an out-of-towner.
Ha?
I couldn’t think of a nice reply.
My blockmates & I r going to Baguio over sembreak. Gusto mo sama? :)
I’ll be your +1?
Yup. :)
But you didn’t tell me, huh, Webb, that the people going on the trip with us, that your blockmates, are bringing their +1s who are their boyfriends/girlfriends. I had to figure it out along the way—in the van, our seatmates Mike and Tessa are holding hands, how in the division of rooms in the rest house we rented, everyone had ‘coupled’ up. I expected a boys-and-girls division in terms of rooming up, but that didn’t happen (not that I cared, I wasn’t that conservative). The five rooms in the rest house, all contained couples.
We weren’t a couple, but I just gave in when you asked, “Be my roomie?”
You deposited our bags into the room assigned to us—the one at the attic, which was cozy and warm and dark. I liked that room—I told you it was my dream room, in a secluded place, just me and my thoughts. It was pink, but you didn’t mind—pink comforters on the water bed that was just on the floor, pink curtains that cover the lone small window in the room, the walls and even the ceiling that separated us from the roof was pink.
“But pink?” you asked, and I grinned. You knew that I never was the girly girl and though I never hated pink, it wasn’t my color of choice.
“Blue. An attic room that’s blue.”
You flopped down on the bed and it sagged under your weight, and you pulled me down to it. I landed next to you, the six-, seven-hour trip finally taking its toll on me, and I just closed my eyes. We had two hours before we head out to our lunch at the 50’s Diner. Despite having five rooms, the rest house we got only has two bathrooms, and we were listed last in the list of people taking a bath.
“Tired?” you asked, your voice breaking the silence very smoothly.
“I was in an overnighter before we went here. Needed to submit a paper before we leave,” was all I said—mumbled was more like it. I kicked off my shoes, not caring where they landed, felt for the pillows on the bed and found one, hugged it.
I didn’t know you were watching me all the time I was doing that.
“Sorry,” you said, your voice still soft.
When I opened my eyes, I saw that your head propped on your elbow, and you were watching me. I felt a blush creep up my cheeks and I forced down my panic. “For what?” I asked, my voice coming out in a squeak.
You were so close, Webb. I couldn’t function well.
“Dragging you here?” you said, and I gave you a tired smile.
“I wanted to go here. My lack of sleep is not on you.”
You nodded, and then you slid next to me, your hand creeping over my hand that was around the pillow. Your cold fingers laced with mine, and I closed my fingers over yours. I saw you smile back, heard your contented sigh.
“Liz,” was all you said, and then you closed your eyes as well. You scooted closer, our foreheads touched, and I could feel you breathing, exhaling, on my face. You were warming me up because I was feeling chilly, and I didn’t need the comforter because you were so near. You’re too warm, and I liked it.
I loved our silence, Webb.
I didn’t know where we were anymore, but we were still in Baguio. I wasn’t listening to whatever your friends were saying because you were busy telling me something about I couldn’t remember. What were you telling me then, Webb? Were those sweet nothings?
I could only wish.
I haven’t heard any three words from you that I had expected to hear—I love you, I miss you, I like you.
It was nearing sunset, and we were at the edge of some cliff. You whispered, “We’re at the highest point of Baguio” into my ear, and I wasn’t sure if it was just the air or it was your whisper that made me shiver. I had expected it was cold in Baguio, but not this cold. My long-sleeved black shirt and my jacket were nothing compared to the chill that was in the air at the highest point of Baguio, wherever that may have been. For all we know, we weren’t at the highest point of Baguio—we just thought we were because they told us we were.
I stood there, taking in the view. The clouds seemed like they came from the ground—or was that fog?—covering the mountains and the houses. It felt like the sky and the ground was one giant mass of white cotton candy—I didn’t tell you there was this part of me that wished I could jump into it even though I know I wouldn’t float and that I would die. It felt like we died and we were in heaven—it was so white. And the sun peaked out of the clouds, spilling orange and yellow and red all over the white canvas that lay before us.
It was beautiful, and when I looked at you, you were beautiful, and I had an internal debate as to which one was more beautiful and ended up just saying I am blessed to have this moment.
You didn’t say anything—you just looked at me, Webb, and then at the scenery before us. And then you smiled the smile I wanted to bottle so I always have it with me, the smile that chipped away a piece of my heart because I couldn’t see it again anymore. I never trusted my memory at how good that smile was; the memory wasn’t enough for I needed the real thing.
But I couldn’t have it, anymore, right, Webb? I couldn’t see you smiling at me anymore.
You leaned in, kissing me on the forehead, and then in a quite subtle move, you were behind me, wrapping your arms around me. I could feel you resting your head on my shoulder, and I leaned against you. I knew if I turned my head slightly, just to look at you, I can kiss you, but I didn’t do that—no, I wanted to, but I didn’t. We were breathing as one—the silence, the calm… everything was powerful, everything was beautiful.
No words could ever capture that moment and how much I want that moment back, Webb.
No words.
(One of) The One(s) that Got Away: August 2008
August 2008
I have a game tomorrow. Noon. CSSP vs. CMC @ CHK. Be there?
We haven’t talked for a couple of months, not after that day in May when we saw each other. I knew you got into Diliman. I tried to think you were still adjusting—new blockmates, new rules (or non-rules, for that matter), new course, new profs, new everything. But didn’t you have the summer to learn some of those? And I could have helped you along the way.
And then you text me. You want me to be your cheerleader. A pseudo-basketball girlfriend. While I do love basketball, I wasn’t sure what you wanted me to get into.
But Webb, I was there. Your first game in the inter-collegiate league. Even if your team is playing versus my college’s team, I was cheering for you. Did you know I made a banner? I didn’t wave it, or show it to you after the game, because it exuded too much fan girl support. Nobody in the audience, as little as we were, had banners to show support.
I was taking my being a cheerleader to heart too much.
You finished the game with 28 of your team’s 70 points, hauled down 8 rebounds, and dished out three assists. I think you also stole the ball twice, but I wasn’t sure. I was tired, my throat hurt from too much cheering, and I was thirsty.
You were at the other corner, getting pats on the back from your teammates. I found a happy place, the end of the second tier of bleachers, waiting for you to notice me. But I was enjoying watching you—the smile on your face, the adrenaline from the win evidently still coursing through your veins. You accepted the towel one of the boys handed you. A Gatorade was thrown into the air and for a moment I was scared you wouldn’t catch it, but I shouldn’t have doubted you, right, Webb?
After a few minutes you spotted me, and you walked over, your gym bag slung over your shoulder. You were sweaty, but not the eew kind of sweaty. You actually looked pretty hot, but I wouldn’t tell that to your face. That was the kind of ego boost I never provided you, Webb, because I know you could get it from other girls. Then you stopped in front of me, offering me your Gatorade, which I took because I really needed it.
“Thanks,” you said, watching me as I gulped down the red liquid, half-emptying the bottle. I passed it to you and you finished it in a couple of gulps.
“Good job,” I quipped, and you winked at me, as if it was a normal thing for you to have a spectacular game.
“Let’s eat and then watch a movie?” you said so casually, not even bothering to ask if I have a class, or if I had any plans, like do my thesis for example.
“Sorry, wh—” I started to ask, but the rest of my sentence was stuck in my throat because you just took your jersey off in front of me and I couldn’t think straight, not with a flat set of abs staring right back at me. I swallowed, and I closed my eyes momentarily, and then I realized I would look stupid if I did that, so I just opened them and then looked away.
You were playing me, weren’t you, Webb? You were watching me, I saw, with a mischievous smile on your face.
“Let’s grab lunch and then catch a movie. I think Star Wars is showing,” you said, still dangling your body in front of me. I wanted to grab you and punch your abs, just because I can, but I didn’t. I told myself that if I get a chance, I’d make you see what I’ve got too, and I did get that chance. Payback’s a bitch, huh, Webb?
“Death Race is showing too,” I said, swallowing that lump in my throat, and you finally put on a fresh shirt. I looked at you, my eyes sharp, making you see how much you’ve made me blush, and how much an embarrassing situation you’ve placed me in. I reached up to brush your hair away from your eyes, like it was the most natural thing in the planet to do.
You smiled at my gesture, and then you smiled some more. Later on you told me that you liked it that my movie choices weren’t too girly—I told you it was just the movie selection that week. If there was a Rachel McAdams movie in the lineup, I would go for it instead of the guy flicks, depending on my hormones.
“Let’s flip it,” you said, and I shrugged, taking out a coin. “Heads we watch the Lucas movie, tails we go Statham.”
I flipped it, the coin suspended in the air before you caught it. Sometimes I wished, in all the chances we’ve got, Webb, that we just flipped a coin. Heads we stay together, forever, without having to disappear on each other. Tails we go our own ways. I needed something definite, not a gray area. Gray can be fun, but sometimes it’s tiring.
You pulled me up to stand, my hand in yours, and we headed to the jeepney stop.
You didn’t let my hand go, Webb, not even when paying for our fares, not even when we went down the jeep when we got to the mall.
I had a Geog100 class at 10:00AM to 11:30AM, and when it let out, I was rushing because I had an 11:30AM meeting at my college, which was half an Acad Oval away from where my Geog100 class was held. When I got out I couldn’t care less who I pass by, but I did see you, Webb, at the end of the corridor, making me slow down my walk.
To hell with the people I’m meeting. Who the hell gets to meetings on time?
You stood there, at the end of the corridor where I will pass. You leaned against the wall, eyes on me, your arms crossed in front of your chest that I had a view of the day before. You stopped talking to your blockmates who were getting readings at the photocopier at that spot, because I held your attention, Webb. You were good at that, Webb. At making me feel special in some moments.
Your eyes never left me, not once. Did you even blink, Webb? I wasn’t sure. I was sure, though, that I was praying that I wouldn’t be the one to break the gaze. That I wouldn’t trip. That I wouldn’t bat my eyelashes too much.
The entire length of the corridor, some thirty to fifty steps, I wasn’t breathing. Do you understand that, Webb? Why are you making my bodily functions fail?
When I was about ten steps away from you, a slow smile started to creep on your face. I didn’t want you to see I was feeling conscious already; I didn’t want you to know how much effect you had on me because I knew that would just give you some sort of power over me.
But you have power over me, Webb. Did you know? I wasn’t willing to give it, but you already have it.
That moment when I stepped next to you, not slowing down to stop, I saw you finally exhaled just as I did.
Did I make your heart stop too, Webb?
Did you feel conscious as I ran my eyes over your face, memorizing each line, each curve?
Did you feel the way I did, Webb, and do the way I did?
You were already behind me when my phone vibrated, signaling a message: Nice to see you, Lizzie.ü
(One of) The One(s) that Got Away: May 2008
May 2008
My flight to Palawan was booked. The place where I was doing my OJT wanted me to conduct interviews in Puerto Princesa to gauge the success of their project there, and I was more than willing to do the out-of-towner. After all, this was the first time I was going to ride a plane, first time to be this far from family, first time to be alone. Well, not really, but you get the drift—I’ll be in my hotel alone, I’ll be traveling alone.
I have four companions, but they only have Puerto Princesa as a drop-off point—two of them will go to El Nido, while the other two will be shipped off to Coron. The company’s rationalization for not partnering me with anyone was because I was only in the city, while the others have to take buses and boats to get to their destinations.
I was flying out on Wednesday, and my flight back was on Friday, and I was fine despite the short period of time because I was going to log enough hours to complete my OJT.
It was Monday before the trip, and I got home early from the OJT because I went to the office early (thank you flexi-time). I wanted to drop by the nearest mall but settled for walking around the Acad Oval. I needed peace—Carlo was starting to bother me again—and I wanted to walk it off.
“Liz!!!!”
I was halfway through my second round around the Oval when you disturbed my sanity, Webb. I turned and saw you, dirty ice cream in hand. You waved; I wanted to pretend I didn’t see you, only because I didn’t want you to see me being bothered again by Carlo, the boy I swore to forget.
But I couldn’t.
You see, Webb, I wanted you. I wanted you and me to happen, sometimes pretty badly. I wanted to force things to happen but I wouldn’t and couldn’t—as I promised myself that after Carlo and that tumultuous relationship, I’d just go with the flow, and forcing things to happen is going against that.
And I wanted you slow. I wanted you and me to happen slow.
Huh. Look how slowly we happened, to the point where we didn’t even happen at all.
“Webb,” I said. More relief had ended in my voice than I had intended, causing you to frown.
“What’s wrong?” you asked, casually offering me your ice cream, that same ice cream you were licking while you were walking towards me. We grew closer through time, Webb, but at that moment, we were mere acquaintances with a childhood, a common friend, and your sister between us. We weren’t a couple, we weren’t besties, we weren’t close enough to share one ice cream just yet.
I was amused, and I remembered I wondered if you did that to every girl.
I shrugged off your ice cream, and you pulled me to one corner, choosing one of those brick red benches around the Oval. We sat next to each other, your envelope filled with your requirements between us.
I placed my hand next to yours, my cellphone facing up, and while I didn’t answer, my phone vibrated, Carlo’s name flashing on the screen.
You saw it, and you frowned, but when you looked at me you didn’t pass any judgment. You took my phone, slid it out of my fingers, and then cancelled the call. I was thankful for you, because you did what I wasn’t brave enough to do.
“You need to change numbers.”
I nodded, knowing you were very much right. My sentimentality over things like the number that I had ever since I was in high school shouldn’t hold over to crazy exes who know the number.
“In fact,” you said, pulling me up to stand, ditching your ice cream and throwing it to the nearest trash bin, “we’re buying a new one now.”
The surprised look on my face told you that I wasn’t ready, but you pushed on, plowed on, forced it. You weren’t going to let me walk away from you without having to buying a new SIM card. I wish, Webb, that you had that same initiative when it came to us.
We found ourselves in the Shopping Center, at one of the stalls selling load and SIM cards, and you ordered the SIM for me, guessing the telco that I was using right. You chose the number, one that was easy to remember, you said, and then handed it to me for my approval. I nodded, still in a daze on your takeover, and you paid for it. We stood there as you copied my contacts to my phone, and then you swapped the SIMs, handing me my old one.
I didn’t tell you that during one of my bored moments, it was only then that I realized that the last four digits of my new number spelled out the corresponding letters of your name: 9322. Did you realize that, Webb?
My phone was still with you while we walked out of the Shopping Center, and you were thumbing with it, before you handed it to me. “I saved my number there already,” you said, just as casually as how you offered me your ice cream a few minutes back.
I searched my contacts and there you were: Webb.
You led me back to the Acad Oval and we started walking, silent at first. I didn’t know how to talk to you again, not after you caught me in a struggle of whether or not to let Carlo in again. I didn’t know how to talk to you after you just took over my life for an hour, and how I liked how you changed it. And then you started the conversation, Webb.
“I passed. But I got into Geog, so…”
“What course do you really want to have, Webb?” I dared to ask, since we’re into changing each other’s lives. Your ripples are getting bigger and stronger, Webb. I was getting closer to the source of the ripples.
“Political Science.”
“Any plans of ever being a lawyer?”
You eyed me, sideways, and there was something naughty in the way you looked at me. “You did, right?” you said, with a grimace. “When we were kids and you and Lori would play, you always played the lawyer.”
I smirked. I was pretty sure you had the memory of me and the childhood we shared locked and loaded.
“I was asking about you, Webb.”
“Yes. I want to be one.”
We were silent for another kilometer or so, and then you said, “I was eleven. You and Lori were twelve, and you guys were about to head to high school. Midway your sixth grade and my fifth grade, you and Carlo became an item. It was a bit controversial—”
“Ha. You tell me. I think he and I would have been kicked out back then!” I said, shaking my head while remembering.
“We were young,” you allowed. Sometimes, I think, you gave me too much benefit of the doubt.
“Carlo and I were stupid, me more than him.”
“Well, yeah,” you said, and we both smiled. You just agreed I was stupid. Thank you for being honest, Webb (and I mean it—I’m not being sarcastic).
“During the entire year that you and Carlo were together, you know what bothered me?” you said, and you really sounded thoughtful, like this gave you so many sleepless nights and you can barely forgive me for it.
“Why I was with him?” I asked, and you shook your head.
You stopped walking during this time, Webb, and I waited. I waited and you baited me in. “Why you let him hurt you, over and over and over and over. He hurt you, each time more painful than the last, and you would stop, turn around and come back for more.”
“I hurt him too, you know. We hurt each other. If anything, that’s what Carlo and I were good at. We were good at hurting each other.”
“But why? It wasn’t healthy. I saw how you cried. Lori saw how you cried. I heard Carlo swear and call you names, and—”
“Webb,” I said, stopping you. I knew what Carlo did or said behind my back—he was the reason I didn’t go back to visit my alma mater, why I chose to transfer to a school that was far away from the school we used to have. But I did that to him, I made him hate me, and he made me hate him, and you wouldn’t understand that.
“We needed the pain. At that time, I lived for the pain, and Carlo lived for the pain. I gave him the worst kind of pain and he craved it, and vice versa. We were each other’s heroine, simply put,” I said, and your frown deepened, and I knew I lost you.
“But why…” you began, but you cut yourself. You gave up on understanding my past that early, and I didn’t know if that boded well for our future. I didn’t know if you giving up on understanding my Carlo chapter had any weight on what might have happened to us.
But I wanted you to know now, Webb. Carlo needed the pain I give him, and I needed him to need me. We were crazy people, we liked testing the limits of our pain thresholds. We had nice families and great friends but it was the pain we craved.
And he gave me the best kind of pain, Webb.
That was before you came. You needed me. On and off, like a switch, but you did. Unlike Carlo, you didn’t suffocate me; you let me breathe (this is debatable—we can talk about how you gave me too much breathing space that I sometimes I still suffocate). You didn’t stunt my growth; you watered me so I would bloom.
But you left me, somewhere down the road, you left me to wilt, Webb.
You didn’t reap what you sowed.
But I was wrong too. I gave up on making you understand why I had that bad relationship for two, three years.
“It’s done. You’re making me close that Carlo chapter. Thanks for that,” I said after a long while. Tens of joggers have passed by us, looking at us weirdly because we were just standing there, in the middle of Acad Oval. You cocked your head to the side and we started to walk again.
We didn’t talk anymore.
I loved our silence, Webb. It was one of the few things I really appreciated about what we had. The silence when we’re together.
But you know what I didn’t love?
The silence you gave me when you disappear.
(One of) The One(s) that Got Away: April 2008
NOTE:
Nope, this isn’t the part where you usually see the disclaimer that I put here. This isn’t like the first stories I put out. This one is a three-fourths-fiction, one-fourth-nonfiction account of one boy and how sometimes, when I think of him, I still smile.
And how, on some days, I wonder what happened.
You, as the reader, figure out which one’s real from not real. (Very Hunger Games, don’t you think?)
—
Ours wasn’t a love story—at least not the inspired kind, not the kind that was so great and good that you’d wonder when will it happen to you. We were chapters scattered in each other’s life book, a pop-up during some times, but I am pretty sure I have this one nice very long chapter in your life book considering everything that happened—especially towards the end of it all.
It was all blurred and crazy and confusing. It might have been unrequited, or it was reciprocated but no one wants to take that one huge step until we were there at that point of no return, where we couldn’t go back to the chance we missed.
You were—to use Pink and Katy Perry’s words—the one that got away.
Check that—you were one of the ones that got away.
I liked your chapter(s). To tell you honestly, you’re that chapter(s) in my life that’s probably worn out from all the dog-eared tabs I’ve put just so I could go back, remember, savor each moment, because they were—to risk using this word—epic. They weren’t all nice, they weren’t all great, but they were epic, some memories enough to make me smile on a bad day.
–
Thanks for the memories, even though they weren’t so great.
-Thanks for the Memories, Fall Out Boy
–
April 2008
Is it true? That five years have passed since that day we first saw each other again after a very long time? We were kids, the last we saw of each other back in grade school. And our meeting was just pure chance, which made me think, oh gee, serendipity much?
It made me hope, that somewhere out there, there was a love story being written for us. There was this part of my brain that was computing the statistical probability that this is love and not just friendship, but you couldn’t compute love, you couldn’t count ways to fall or the ways to not fall. You couldn’t compute if the way you were looking at me is more of as a potential girlfriend or as a potential friend. You couldn’t predict things like love and friendship because they are all born out of choices we make along the way, like the number of times we glanced at each other thinking, Do I know this person? or the number of times you didn’t reply to my texts or the number of times we saw each other after that.
I was there, by the side of the road, tired, coming from my OJT. I was going home, and all the buses that passed by were full. What do I expect? It was payday Friday, and nearly everyone’s taking that chance to go home to their provinces. I got out of OJT during the rush hour; I didn’t want to make time to go to the terminal so I’m taking chances.
I got on one bus, not caring if the conductor already told me that there were no seats available anymore. I’d have to stand the rest of the trip home—at most three hours. Perfect. Just perfect.
I was in front, standing at the aisle in the middle of seats 1 to 8. My mind was straying just as my arms were tired of holding on to the railings to stop myself from falling.
I looked up, saw the TV was showing a teleserye from one of the leading TV stations in the country (depending on which survey you are looking at), and it bored me. I looked to my right, and there was a snoring grown man which doesn’t interest me in any way. To the left, and the cosmic fates aligned.
You looked up at the same time I looked to my left, and I wish I could capture the innocence I saw in them. I immediately looked away, you see, because I wasn’t sure if it was really you. I think I buried your face somewhere along the way while I was forgetting my ex, who was your friend. I had tucked his memory and the people that came along with him inside an imaginary box in my head and subsequently throwing the imaginary key so I wouldn’t open it.
I looked away, mentally rummaging through my head for the key to open that box. But I suddenly remembered that you are in another ‘box’ in my head, one that I didn’t close, so there was another way to retrieve your memory without opening a can of worms. I closed my eyes momentarily, trying to recall your sister’s name, and I found it.
I smiled, because along with pulling the name of your sister in my mental Rolodex I was able to bring up memories of you and me and your sister playing when we were kids. We had a past—more than what my ex and I shared, because yours consisted of mostly happy memories—and it was a past I wasn’t scared to bring up.
After multiple tries, I found a way to phrase my question so it sounded nice and non-invasive: Uy, Lori, nasa Manila ba utol mo? When I tried to steal a glance at you, you were texting, and then you looked up at me again, your eyes telling me that they were trying to place my face.
You couldn’t pull out my memory just as quickly as I pulled out yours. Read More…
New Story: Four-Letter Word
I know, I know–what is happening to Tease, you ask?
Well, it’s an unfortunate event that I am actually stuck with that one. But despite that hardships that I am experiencing with writing, I am able to come up with Four-letter Word. For the summary, please see below:
Love, lust, hate, fear, pain, care—all the four-letter words Callie don’t want to feel. After Travis and all the other men before him, Callie is now by nature and by design afraid to feel. She likes things muted and calm. But Fate is one four-letter word she couldn’t control, and one that would play with her life in all ways. Will she be ready to play Fate’s game?
For the chapters:
- Fate: April 22, 2009
- Lost: July 4, 2011
- Stop: April 22, 2009
- Home: July 4, 2011
- Calm: April 22, 2009
- Weak: 2004
- Tell: July 4, 2011
- Life: June 28, 2009-January 7, 2010
- Wake: July 4, 2011
- Lust: 2007
- Love: July 4, 2011
By my bedside, in my Aldiko… Current reads:
My Current Reads
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