The Weekly LitWit Challenge 8.9: I lost/found it at the movies
Charming story in the L.A. Times about a pathologically shy man who meets a woman at a film series and falls in love. Read it here.
We have friends who have fallen in love at the movies—with actual people, not characters onscreen.
Many years ago, when Jean-Baptiste (not his real name) was studying film in Paris (the real location), he went to a screening of Wim Wenders’s Kings of the Road. It’s about a couple of guys who go around Germany in a van, fixing broken film projectors. Naturally life gets competitive with the movies: during the screening the projector kept breaking down. Yes, this story is meta.
When the lights went on during the first of many interruptions, Jean-Baptiste noticed this cute girl sitting across the aisle in the near-empty theatre. At the next interruption they exchanged a nod. Next, a shrug. Next, a half-smile. When the movie finally ended, Jean-Baptiste should’ve gone up to the girl and introduced himself. (Well that’s what we would’ve done, but we are more guy than most guys. Hmmm we should give lessons.)
Instead Jean-Baptiste slunk off to the metro, berating himself for being such a timorous weenie (torpe). He got on the train, where he promptly ran into the girl from the screening. Jean-Baptiste may be a timorous weenie but he knew that if he didn’t strike up a conversation with the girl he deserved to be struck by lightning.
He didn’t strike up a conversation with the girl.
Fortunately she had fewer issues than he did and she struck up a conversation. They ended up dating. Never mind how it turned out.
The assignment for LitWit Challenge 8.9: Using the basic plot of the Jean-Baptiste story, write a story in 1,000 words or less about two people who fall in love at the movies. You may change the location, names, genders, the movie they saw. In fact you can ditch the Jean-Baptiste story altogether, but you have to stick with these rules:
1. It has to be romantic (not a smash and grab operation).
2. It has to start in a movie theatre.
3. It has to be unlike a Star Cinema romcom, you know what we’re saying.
We have a real screenwriter on board to judge this LitWit Challenge: Raymond Lee, whose recent credits include Zombadings, Endo, Maximo Oliveros, and yes a bunch of Star Cinema movies from years ago including Tanging Yaman, Anak and Milan.
The prize: Php2500 in National Bookstore gift certificates. (It’s tuition-paying, textbooks-and-school-supplies-buying season, as our friend reminded us.)
Post your stories in Comments on or before 11.59pm on 25 May 2012.
The Weekly LitWit Challenge is brought to you by our friends at National Bookstore.
Answers to questions you might be asking, unless you wandered onto this site purely by accident >>>
May 16th, 2012 at 08:35
Kakakilig. This is a better love story than many Star Cinema produced movies
May 20th, 2012 at 04:32
It was already half past ten in the evening but I was just about to start my day at the university videotheque. Despite a rather stubborn hangover from last night’s post-midterms party, I had to drag myself from the dormitory to watch Casablanca for my film class.
I entered the small, dark room filled with rows of about fifty chairs divided in the middle by an aisle. I took a seat at the back row near the aisle; my head was feeling bad and I thought a front-row seat would make it worse.
I noticed two female classmates chatting in front and five guys seated behind them. It’s the last screening for the night, and I thought most of my classmates had probably attended the earlier schedule. We were only eight in the room that Saturday night, all of us students.
As the projector screen lit up, the door at the back creaked and a fair-skinned girl walked slowly to take the seat beside me. There was a slight tremble in her soft steps as she made her way to her seat. It was dark inside but the light bouncing from the screen showed me that she was wearing a green dress with white polka dots. She had her black hair tucked in a neat ponytail, her cheeks almost blushing, her pinched nose freckled and her eyes small and round and bright. Retro cutie, I told myself. She glanced at me for a second and smiled. I managed a nod, followed by an intense throbbing of my temples.
The film already started and I was having a hard time focusing. Her skin was almost glowing in the pale light bouncing off the screen; I never saw someone that fair before. There were moments when she noticed me staring at her, particulary when she silently sang along to Sam’s As Time Goes By. Oops, sorry, she whispered, her cheeks now blushing. No worries, I told her, feigning nonchalance despite my sheer embarrassment.
Before the end of the film, as Ilsa was about to board the plane, she stood up, whispered “see you” then left. I never got to ask her name, but I promised myself I will the next time. I will meet her again, anyway; she told me so.
It took a week before we met again at the videotheque. It was the last screening of Atonement. This was not a requirement for any of my film classes; I like this movie and I just wanted to see it for the second time. I also wanted to see her for the second time.
She sat beside me again at the back just before the film started. This time, she was wearing a white dress with a red waist band. Hi, she told me. Hello, I replied. Looking good. She managed a shy smile, afterward focusing her full attention to the film.
Her eyes glistened at the scene where Robbie was arrested. I noticed a tear sliding on her right cheek when Robbie’s mom was washing his feet. All the while I didn’t notice I was looking at her more than I was watching the film. I’ve seen this before anyway.
When old Briony was in the dressing room before resuming the interview, she stood up and was about to leave. This was when I mustered all the courage I had, grabbed her hand and told her, this is the best part. She looked surprised, but she got back to her seat. I noticed some of the guys seated in front looking at me but I didn’t care.
The movie finished and she was wiping her eyes with a white hanky. I’m sorry, she said, chuckling. It’s okay, I said. Are you kidding, it was great! Lily, a classmate told me as she was leaving the room.
When the two of us were the only ones left inside, I finally stood up. I’m sorry, you’re name is? Marge. I’m Jimmy.
We slowly walked down the staircase, across the gallery, outside the building.
You’re a student here? I don’t see you around.
I don’t live here.
So you’re just a cinephile?
Not really, although I do like films.
How come you don’t seem to finish them? Last time, you left before the ending.
I just don’t like sad endings. No one likes sad endings.
I do; they have this cathartic effect and they make movies more realistic.
Wait, I think I have to go now, my driver is here.
Okay then, will I see you again?
She just smiled before entering a black sedan which drove off to the university avenue.
Bye Marge! I walked alone to my dorm, half-excited, half-disappointed. She seems like the mysterious, out-of-reach type. But I know I like her and I want to see her again. Maybe I will see her again.
A week after, I went to see A Very Long Engagement. Expecting I’d see her this time, I brought a red tulip for Marge, hoping she’d like it.
But the film was already starting and Marge wasn’t there yet. I hated myself for not asking her number the last time. I could’ve been texting her now, asking her if she’s going. The movie finished and she didn’t show up. When The Reader was shown the week after, I was still alone at the back row, a fresh red tulip in my hand.
One Monday afternoon, I arrived at my film class late and a black and white film was showing at the television screen in front.
What’s this movie? I asked Lily, my seatmate.
It’s a documentary about university life before and after the war.
I thought of Marge and imagined the two of us sitting at the back row of the videotheque– her eyes glistening as I appreciate the innocence of her face. I wondered if I will get to see her again. I asked her I if I would, but all I got was her smile.
I stared blankly at the television screen, now a slideshow of old university photos — the old lagoon, the amphitheater, a group of happy college students and a familiar girl dressed in polka dots with a tulip in her hand. She was posing in front of a campaign poster that read: Margareth Thomas for student councilor.
I stood up, shocked and confused. I felt a lump in my throat and a numbing sensation in my hands. I left the room and didn’t finish the class. Marge was right after all. No one likes sad endings.
May 21st, 2012 at 15:01
Girl: I think I’m going to like this.
Boy: That trailer?
Girl: No. But yes, the trailer looks interesting.
Boy: I like Keira Knightley.
Girl: Who doesn’t? But really, you’re watching this only because of her?
Boy: No, no. It’s just one of those factors.
Girl: Like what?
Boy: Well, I like reading Ian McEwan. Not a big fan, but I like him anyway.
Girl: So you’re also interested to see how this adaptation…
Girl 2: AHEM, AHEEEM!
Girl: I love this nettle-smashing-whipping part.
Boy: You do?
Girl: Yeah, it feels like, tennis? No, I mean, I used to do that stuff when I was Briony’s age. You might think it’s funny, but there are kids like us.
Boy: Like me and you?
Girl: Like me and Briony.
Boy: Oh, right, right. I’m sorry, hahaha.
Girl: No, no. But if you vent out your frustrations that way, or at least used to, it could be like…
Girl 2: PSSSHHHT!
Girl: The score reminds me of that Bjork film.
Boy: You mean von Trier?
Girl: Yes, the one where Bjork creates music in her read with random sounds, like machinery noise, the scratching of the pencil, and…
Boy: And this, the furious smashing of the typewriter keys.
Girl: I miss using the typewriter.
Boy: I still have one. I sometimes use it for writing stuff.
Girl: Stuff like letters? Or a journ…
Girl 2: HRRRMPFFT!
Boy: That’s too heavy a burden.
Girl: Briony’s?
Boy: Yeah. It must have been a long, miserable life, towing all that remorse.
Girl: I would rather die, I think.
Boy: It’s not worth living being miserable, eh?
Girl: Or maybe not. Surely, there must be some ways to cope with it? She survived. And she’s now a writer, anyway.
Boy: But it was one huge struggle, I wonder if it is really worth it.
Girl: Cee and Robbie will be given their place in the classics section of…
Girl 2: KOF, KOFF, KOFFUGH!
Boy: So, what do you think?
Girl: Well, I like it. I love it, but I’m not yet sure if I like how the ending was tweaked. I’d still want a few more minutes to think of it.
Boy: But you know how film adaptations are entirely different entities from the book, no?
Girl: Yes, please, thanks for the reminder, but I really can’t help separating the two. After all, there would be no vision from the director if…
Girl 2: JEEZUSMTHRFCKNGCHRZZZT!
Boy: C-U-N-T.
Girl: Uhrrrm.
Girl 2: (Shuffles on seat, stands, and leaves.)
Girl: What was that for?
Boy: Are we not allowed to talk during the end credits?
Girl: No, the cunt thing?
Boy: I was merely reading the track list. There!
Girl: Where?
Boy: You missed it. It’s C as in Cecilia’s nickname, U as in the second person, N as in the conjunction, T as in the…
Girl: Right, right, hahaha!
Boy: Well…
Girl: Well?
Boy: Well, uhm…
Girl: I need to go to the restroom.
Boy: Oh, okay.
Girl: (Humming while washing hands.)
Girl 2: (Appears from one of the cubicles, proceeds to wash.)
Girl: Hummm-ha-hum-hum-hummm…
Girl 2: So, have you decided whether you like the ending or not?
Girl: Well, I don’t know yet. Wait!
Girl 2: Yeah, sorry, I just heard it from your conversation with your boy. I didn’t mean to, you were…
Girl: Huh? Hahaha!
Girl 2: I knew it! I was too distracted by the film to really notice.
Girl: You mean by us?
Girl 2: It’s both ways, yes.
Girl: I’m sorry, I mean, you don’t deserve it. You paid for your movie to watch, not to listen to us noisy moviegoers. I can’t help it.
Girl 2: I can’t help it, too, listening to you.
Girl: Me talking to strangers and you listening to strangers. How’s that?
Girl 2: Yeah. So are you watching the next attraction? Let’s watch next weekend.
Girl: Sure, yes. And you are?
Boy: CUNTS! PHTHUGH!
May 25th, 2012 at 00:01
My fourth time here and my eyes still can’t adjust to the dark. My nose isn’t coping any better either. I swear there should be a word for this—this thick, pulsating, collective smell of sweat, fresh spunk, and pure animal lust. Maybe there already is.
I scan the place as best as I can, all the while reminded of how my mom used to coax me into eating my squash and carrot but never succeeded. How could have I known those vegetables would come in handy someday? Some of the guys I give cursory glances, careful not to stare too long. After all these time, I still can’t wrap my mind around the fact that these macho-looking guys actually like to suck cock.
Over there I think it’s Dan and Mike, the tragic couple who lives two decades apart (They once told me, or at least Mike did—or was it Dan?—after we gave each other a hand job.)
Incidentally, the movie that’s on tonight is, I’m guessing, straight out of the late 90’s, starring Hilda Koronel and Anton Bernardo, so good luck to their little regression therapy session. Respectfully, I steer clear of Dan and Mike, and turn left.
Then I spot a guy who looks just like my build and my height. I’m not usually fussy, but lately I’ve been giving importance to finding my right match, no matter if they say height won’t matter anymore once you two are already in bed. Then again, in the first place, a sleazy cinema in the smoggy street of Recto is just not the place to find love.
This guy has a book, so wow, someone literate, although for all I know he could have hollowed its pages out and is actually keeping a knife there.
“Hey, can I sit here?” I finally venture.
“Sure, what the hell.”
Hot white shirt, short-cropped hair, sexy beads of sweat on the side of his face, a glint in his eyes. He looks like he could be handsome, but of course in the dark it’s hard to tell for sure.
We’re on the disco bar scene where Anton Bernardo aka Berong picks something on the floor and discovers his wife and Hilda Koronel aka George touching each other under the table. We sit there actually enthralled, while around us silhouettes of men are also fondling and tasting each other.
“Let’s get out of here. I need to buy gum,” White Shirt guy suddenly says as if his life depends on it.
“You’re kidding.”
“My treat.”
I sense he’s smiling.
***
So we get out of the building. In the yellow-orange light of the lampposts I see he really looks good. I begin to feel self-conscious, as if I’ve got something stuck in my teeth, although I’m quite sure I ain’t so bad-looking myself.
He buys Double Mint from a nearby vendor, and hands me a piece. Even before I could ask his name, he’s told me he’s going to show me something awesome, but we’ll have to go to his university. That’s how I knew we went to the same school.
We take the jeep to Philcoa, and from there we walk the rest of the way. It’s 1 AM, not too many cars zooming by, so we can actually walk in the middle of the road. The entire time I dread the guards will stop us and ask for our ID’s and refuse entry because what the hell are we doing here at this time of the night. I heard security’s tight nowadays even if you’re alumni.
But the guards are asleep, or else we’re just invisible, so we simply walk past them.
“So that film we never finished, later on Berong agrees on an arrangement where he gets to bed his wife from Monday to Wednesday, while Klaudia has her all to herself Thursday to Saturday. And that’s why it’s called Linggo Lang Ang Pahinga.”
He laughs at that.
“So what is this you’re going to show me anyway?” I’m finally very, very curious.
In my mind I try to be wholesome as possible, and anticipate a sculpture, one of those gimmicky, thought-provoking installation art they’ve set up on the carabao grass field. But a big part of me is trembling, too, at the possibility of us choosing a dark patch of land so we can take off all our clothes and do a quickie there, be our own installation art, or whatever.
After ten minutes of walking, he announces “We’re here.”
We’ve stopped at one of the Beltran benches. He lies there as best as he can, despite the tricky, uncomfortable concavity of it.
I take it I’m supposed to do the same thing, so I take the other side, and together we stare at the 1 AM sky and the strange, beautiful network of leaves and branches of the acacia tree overhead. There’s not a whiff of wind, not a single leaf stirs, which is eerie.
After three minutes of staring like this the way you lock in and stare at 3D images, the leaves begin to look like they’re stuck in a dessert bowl of jelly, and I feel hungry, and maybe in love or in heat, but definitely hungrier, so I suggest we get the hell out of here.
We get the hell out of here.
May 25th, 2012 at 16:05
November 2001
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone
Although it was a weekday, the queue for this movie was quite long that it will be mistaken for a queue of a lottery betting station. On that very line was Henry, a high school senior student built with a small body. He never read the book but enthusiastic when he was invited by his classmates to watch the movie. When they entered the movie house, it was almost full and they were able to seat in the middle row. As he took his seat, a girl sporting a long hair sat beside him. She had blue eyes, rosy cheek and a near-perfect nose. “I hope this seat is not taken”, said the girl. Nope, Henry replied. For the whole duration of the movie, that was their only conversation. When the movie ended, the girl left immediately. Henry was blaming himself of not talking with her. Then he saw a notebook in the floor. Apparently, it fell down and the girl forgot to pick it up. When Henry opened it, he saw the personal details of the owner. Her name was Sophia. Fortunately, a phone number was there so he borrowed his friend’s mobile phone to communicate with her. It turned out that she was just in the exit path so it was not hard to find her. Henry gave her the notebook then Sophia said, “Thank you.” And that was it.
November 2002
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secret
After a boring day in school, Henry, which is now a college freshman, went to see the sequel in the same movie house he saw Sophia. Since that day, he never saw her again. Although the chances were slim, Henry was hoping that he might have chance to see her again. The film already started but there was no sight of her. He was frustrated when he approached the exit when someone called him. When he turned around it was Sophia. “Hey, aren’t you the guy who returned my notebook last year”, asked Sophia. “Ahm, yes”, Henry nervously replied. Sophia asked if he was hungry. When he told that he was craving for food, they went in a restaurant together.
June 2004
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
One and a half later, the two were still friends even though Sophia moved to their province in order to study because of financial circumstances. It was still her summer vacation so she went to meet Henry and watch the third installment. They felt it was tradition that they should watch the movie together. Henry was certain that he like Sophia since the first time he saw her while Sophia also likes Henry but she still prioritizes her studies. As a result, there was awkwardness when they met again. Still, they enjoyed each other’s company.
November 2005
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
As the characters the movie franchise progressed to its dark side so were their lives. Both of them were about to graduate and are headed for an uncertain future. Like their situation, their feelings were the same. Henry is still madly in love with her while Sophia feels the same way with him. However, Henry could only express his feelings through his actions but not in words so Sophia was having doubts if this guy really loves him. Thus, she went into a relationship to a guy who religiously courted her. When Henry found out that she has a boyfriend he felt sad. Like in the movie in which Voldemort made his first appearance, our story has a villain as well. Their streak of watching the franchise together has ended. Sophia went with his boyfriend while Henry was alone.
July 2007
Harry Potter and the Order of Phoenix
Henry, who is now a corporate slave, still thinks of Sophia so he communicated with her through a social networking site. Henry was happy when he found out that Sophia broke up with his boyfriend. He was able to convince her to go out with him. He bought flowers for her. He showed up early and waited for her. Then he saw her wearing a white dress and sports a short hair that fits her well. “Beautiful flowers for the most beautiful girl”, said Henry. Sophia smiled and thanked him for the flowers. They spend the whole evening together. But eventually they have to bid goodbye to each other.
Henry was just day dreaming. She never showed up. He never knew why she did it. Henry was crushed like a fly swatted by an angry cook.
June 2009
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Sophia was happy that he found out where Henry was working. She want to explain to him why she did not went to see him that day. She called the office but Henry kept on avoiding her. So she just left a message that she will wait for him in the same movie house, which they first met.
Henry was not mad at her. He convinced himself that Sophia does not want to see him again. But with this development he was surprised. At first, he decided that he will not patronize anymore the film franchise but he succumbed to his feelings for her.
He went to the movie house in which he saw Sophia in a wheelchair. Henry was crying when he reached her. She explained that she had an accident on the day she was about to meet him. He told her that he is not angry with her but she should have told him so that he could care for her.
July 2011
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2
Since that day, the two were inseparable. Obviously, they went out to see the last installment. Right after the credits had ended. A message was shown. Sophia will you marry me. She said yes. As they about to kiss each other’s lips.
Present day
Sir, wake up. Piolo’s film has already ended.
May 25th, 2012 at 19:21
Pagtapos ng sine, bubukas ang ilaw. Ito ang hudyat para simulan ang aming trabaho. Susulpot sa kung saan, dala dala ang malalaking plastic bag, nililibot namin ang buong sinehan upang pulutin ang mga kalat na iniwan ng mga nanood. Pagpatay ng ilaw, finished or not finished kailangang maglaho sa paningin ng mga manonood.
“Nakakabugnot naman ‘yang ginagawa mo”, sabi ni Mildred.
Natawa na lang ako kasi sya’y isang usherette.
“Tignan mo ‘yung babae o, nagiisa”, sabi ko kay Mildred isang araw
“E ano naman?”
“Hello. Avengers to. Pinapanood to kasama ng syota o kaya ng barkada mo”
“Hindi pare-pareho ang mga tao”, sagot ni Mildred.
Ganumpaman, nahiwagaan ako sa babae. Nakatingin sya sa screen pero tila hindi nanonood. Ang isip nya ay nasa ibang lugar. Walang reaksyon ang mukha.
“May problema kaya sya?”, tanong ko kay Mildred.
Tumingin sya sakin at napangiti.
“Crush mo no?”
“Anong crush, di ko nga kilala yung tao.”
“Uyy nagba-blush”
“Tumigil ka, pano mo malalaman nagba-blush ako. Madilim.”
Binuksan ni Mildred ang penlight at tinapat sa mukha ko. Sabay tawa.
“Deny ka pa dyan”
Inaamin ko maganda yung babae. Ngunit higit sa kanyang itsura, mas nabighani ako sa kanyang pagiging misteryosa.
“Mildred, pakuha naman number nya, please”
“Nahihibang ka ba?”
“Oo ata”
“Tignan mo nga itsura nya. Tignan mo pananamit nya. Tapos tignan mo sarili mo. Sa sine lang nangyayari yung mayaman nagkakagusto sa mahirap. Ang maganda nagkakagusto sa pangit”
“Aray ko naman”
Oo aray. Aray hindi dahil tinawag nya kong pangit. Aray dahil may katotohanan ang sinabi nya.
“Malay mo mabait”, dagdag ko.
“Huwag ka nang umasa. Masasaktan ka lang”
Nagbukas na ang ilaw.
“Mildreeeed. Please! Baka umalis na. Sayang yung pagkakataon. Please.”
“Ikaw may gusto, e di ikaw kumuha ng number”
“Nahihiya ako”
“Sus, Para kang bata. Wala kang bayag. Pano ka na lang nyan”
“Ililibre kita”
“Ng ano?”
“Kahit anong gusto mo. Bilis”
“Sige na nga.”
Niyakap ko si Mildred
“Wala pa nga e. Saya mo na”
****
“Galing galing mo talaga. You’re the best. Sigurado kang tama yung number ko ha”
“Oo nga ang kulit. Sinulat nya nga sa papel. Itetext ka na lang daw nya pagdating nya sa bahay.”
“Baka naman kunwari lang naiwan cellphone nya para hindi nya ibigay number nya”
“Di ko alam. Basta yun ang sabi nya”
****
1 message received
“Hi, This is Ice. Your friend gave me your number.”
‘Langya, English.
“Hi Ice. I am Jem. Nice to meet you. Thank you for texting”
Sa unang gabi ng aming pagtetext, nalaman kong kakahiwalay lang nila ng kanyang kasintahan. Dapat daw magkasama sila sa panonood ngunit nahuli nya itong may kasamang ibang babae.
Araw araw kaming naging magkatext ni Ice at unti unti naming nakilala ang isa’t-isa. Tama ang sinabi ko, mabait si Ice. Kahit na may kaya ang kanyang pamilya, hindi sya hambog. Simple lang ang kanyang mga gusto at mababaw ang kanyang kaligayahan. Tuluyan nang nahulog ang loob ko sa kanya.
“Pwede ba tayong magkita?”
“Next time siguro. I’m not ready to move on. But I already like you.”
****
“Mildred, ang labo diba? Not ready to move on, pero he likes me na daw.”
“Ibig sabihin lang di pa nya kaya mag commit ulit. Baka takot masaktan.”
“Di ko naman sya sasaktan.”
“Sa palagay mo hindi yan sinabi sa kanya ng dati nyang boyfriend?”
“Pero iba ako”
“Sigurado ako narinig na rin nya yan”
Last full show. Bago patayin ang ilaw, may dalawang taong dumaan sa aming harapan at umupo sa bandang likod ng sinehan. Pagkaupo umakbay ang lalaki sa babae. Kumabog ng malakas ang aking dibdib at nanlamig ang aking kamay. Si Ice yon.
Hindi ako makapagsalita at kinalabit ko na lamang si Mildred.
“Bakit?”
Hindi ko sya masagot at tumingin na lamang sa kinauupuan ni Ice.
Sinundan nya ang aking tingin. Sa liwanag ng projector, nakita kong namutla si Mildred.
“Jem, huwag kang magiiskandalo, please”, sabi ni Mildred sabay hawak sa aking kamay.
Isa’t kalahating oras, nakatingin lang ako sa screen ngunit hindi nanonood.
Bumukas na ang ilaw. Di ko napansin nakahawak pa rin pala si Mildred sa aking kamay.
“Bitawan mo na ko, kailangan ko nang magpulot”
“Hintayin muna natin sila makalabas”
Dumaan silang dalawa sa harapan namin. Parang slow motion. Humigpit ang hawak ni Mildred sa akin. Nanlisik ang aking mga mata at nakita kong lumingon sakin si Mildred.
“Jem hwag”, mangiyak-ngiyak na bulong ni Mildred. Ngunit hindi ko napigilan ang aking sarili.
“Ice”
Hindi sya lumingon
“Ice!”, pasigaw kong sinabi
Hindi pa rin sya lumingon.
Hinablot ko ang braso ni Ice.
“What the…! What are you doing?”
“Ice, akala ko..”
“Ano ‘to?”, tanong ng lalaki sabay alis sa kamay ko sa braso ni Ice
Humarang si Mildred sa amin.
“Sir, pasensya na po. Nagkamali lang ng tingin kaibigan ko”
“Ice, di ba sabi mo…”
“Wait, I don’t know you. And I’m not Ice”
Napatigil ako. Hindi sya si Ice. Sino sya kung ganun? Sino ang katext ko?
Humarap and babae kay Mildred. Ang itsura nyang nagtataka ay unti unting napalitan ng pagunawa.
“Ikaw yung kumukuha ng number ko before, right?”
Hindi nagsalita si Mildred.
Napangiti ang babae kay Mildred.
“Siguro meron kang dapat i-explain sa friend mo”, sabi nya kay Mildred sabay hawak sa kasama nyang lalaki.
“Let’s go. I’ll explain on the way out”
May 25th, 2012 at 19:33
I had two unfortunate events happen to me one night, which led right up to a very lucky incident. That night I was to meet my friends for the last full showing of “Eyes Wide Shut.” No one showed up, though—no one but me—and that was the first unfortunate event of the night. I wasn’t used to watching movies alone. In fact the only movie I had seen by myself was “Matrikula,” that movie with Rosanna Roces and Jao Mapa, where Rosanna tutors Jao on how to shed his clothes. It wasn’t the kind of movie that my friends watched, so I went under the guise of a false confidence which I hoped masked my shame. I wasn’t ashamed that I was sixteen and I was watching an R-rated movie; I was embarrassed to watch a movie alone.
At the snack bar I gave my order of popcorn and Coke. I quickly proceeded into the theater, lest someone notice that I had a single-serve popcorn and a small soda cup. The movie had already started when I came in. After I had made myself comfortable in my seat, I took a sip of my drink and discovered the second unfortunate event of the night: I was given orange soda and not Coke. I went back to the snack bar to exchange my soft drink.
“Hi. Can I have this replaced? I ordered Coke.”
“Sorry about that. Here, let me.” The cute popcorn seller smiled as she took my cup. Her smile was genuine, and it was enough to rid me of my frustration from being twice unlucky that night.
I stood in silence as she set my cup aside and got me a new one. Her colleague told her to go ahead or she would miss the movie and Tom Cruise. She replied that her friend hadn’t yet arrived, and she didn’t want to go alone. She smiled as she handed me my soft drink order. I checked that it contained dark liquid. I stood there for a little while as I eavesdropped on their conversation.
“Don’t waste your ticket,” her companion urged her.
“Yes, don’t,” I blurted before I could think. The two of them, who clearly didn’t anticipate me butting in on the conversation, stared at me in mild shock. I smiled to cover my embarrassment. “Sorry. I mean, it would be a waste if you didn’t use your ticket. I could join you if you like. I already have a ticket,” I managed to stammer.
Dumbfounded, she looked at her companion.
“Yes, she would like you to join her,” her colleague answered.
“These are two tickets,” she said to her friend.
“Then the three of us will watch. I’ll join you after I close.”
That’s how I spent one evening watching a movie with a stranger and her friend after two unfortunate events led me to them that night. Oddly enough, I enjoyed the experience—even more than I did the movie. I asked them to see another movie with me next time, “because my friends might not show up again.” The second time, her friend was not there.
We spent some more evenings together watching movies. I learned that she was working odd jobs to save up for college, which was on hold until she got enough money to enroll herself again. When I started working I would fetch her from her university on Friday evenings, and we would go see a movie.
Years after our first movie together I decided that we had seen enough movies, and it was time to show her one I had made myself, starring myself. In the movie, my background was me being shot, so that there was a recursive effect. I reminded her of that night, when my friends stood me up and she smiled at me. I reminded her of many different things she made me feel, and finally I bent down on one knee and took out a ring—me mimicking myself on the television screen. She said yes.
I couldn’t be more thankful that my friends stood me up that night, and that my soft drink order wasn’t right the first time. It was the best series of unfortunate events that had happened to me.
May 25th, 2012 at 23:26
Well painted picture. In the canvass, a boy and a girl occupy a café. There is no one around except them. Among the first color you can see is the color of love. In every hue, the vivid shade of contentment is never abandoned. You can almost hear from the heavy lines the sound of settling in.
But the secret behind anything perfect is to zoom in, to look closer.
Already, the well painted picture is not that perfect anymore. The sure and hard strokes obscuring the layers beneath. Sure, you can never ignore the most prominent element, which is the color of love. But what might have seemed a lovely music of settling in is really with tones of uncertainty and fear.
In the canvass, a boy and a girl occupy a café. They are sitting, facing each other. There is no one around except them. And they are remembering and remembering and remembering.
“Hi, I’m Paul. And you are?”
It was more of Paul’s way to see what the girl beside him is suspiciously doing than to know who she is.
The girl turned to Paul and said, “Not nuts, but this pen is driving me crazy.”
She was holding the pen almost like how you would hold a cone. “I’d been holding pens like this since forever. Don’t have any idea I’m doing it the wrong way. To think that I’m a writer. Can you show me how you do it?”
He held the pen and positioned it in his hands, with pen between his first and middle fingers, held in place by thumb. “So, Not Nuts, how’s this?”
“Awesome. Are you from those strict Catholic schools? By the way, I’m Nina.”
The trailers started playing and they both turned to face the giant screen.
“Paul, tell me, why are you here?”
“To watch, of course.”
“I mean, why are you watching this old film? Everyone Says I Love You. Are you a fan of Drew Barrymore’s nips or are you fan of musicals?’
“Not really. But I’m a fan of Edward Norton.”
“Are you kidding me? Edward Norton? I heard he’s such a diva and demands to write his own lines.”
“I think he is talented and has a big potential. No matter what movie he is in, he always does his role well.”
“Could be. But The Italian Job? No thank you.”
“Nobody said he’s perfect. How about you, why are you here? Not much people went to movie house to watch old films. And by not much, I mean ten.”
“I’m a blogger and I don’t have anything to write.”
“Cool. You have a blog.”
“Who doesn’t? So, Edward Norton?”
“I just been a fan of him since Fight Club.”
“Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk. Chuck Palahniuk – another intellectual, nihilistic bullshit.”
“I just like how he writes. It’s different. I think it’s because he knows and he understands.”
“The love for the bizarre and obscure. Everyone has his own themed reading phase. I use to have this horror reading phase where I scared myself to death.”
“You don’t do that anymore?”
“Oh, I do. I’m still scared. But not with horror stories anymore.”
“With what, then?”
“With things.”
“What things?”
“You know, the usual spooky stuff like sleeping, breathing and being.”
“Well that’s kinda weird.”
“Yeah, I’m weird. Surprise. I’m not really Nina, I’m nuts. Ask my therapist.”
“I have this café couple of blocks away from here. There are many left over pastries we can eat while you tell me how weird you are.”
“Oh. I know where this is headed. We’ll date then we’ll be together then split up and hate each other. Let’s save ourselves from that shit while it’s not too late.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I’m nuts. Like, for real. I’m on a brink of depression. You might not like me.”
“I told you I like Palahniuk.”
“We’re very much contradicting.”
“What’s that Latin phrase? De gustave, De gustive?”
“De gustibus non est disputandum. There will not be a disputing of tastes.”
“Yeah. Right on.”
And the fragments of memories are shattering and shattering and shattering.
But the secret behind anything perfect is to zoom in, to look closer. Look, a few years after.
We see Nina and Paul sitting in a café.
“I can’t do it. We have differences and we have fights and it’s killing me.”
“Don’t you remember the Latin Phrase De gustave, de gustive… What’s that again?”
“De gustibus non est disputandum. But it’s different. You are asking me to marry you! And what’s after that? Filing an annulment because of irreconcilable differences?”
“God, Nina. Stop getting ahead of things. Just let it fucking be.”
“But I’m still nuts and I’m not getting any better.”
“I still like Chuck.”
May 26th, 2012 at 00:28
This is past the deadline and over the word limit, but I hope you’d still consider….
——
The cinema was virtually empty. I did a headcount; there were probably 5 or 6 of us. They were all in pairs, except for me and the one figure at the corner near the fire exit, although that would forever be in question as at some point I thought I saw another head bobbing up.
I decided to watch The Social Network alone because my friends broke their promise of accompanying me to the last-full-show screening. One of them was sleepy, another was still working, and the last one I thought I could rely on said she wasn’t really into it in the first place.
I wouldn’t say I was that into it, but we’ve been cooped up for days in this tiny condo for almost a week now, and this wasn’t how I imagined our visit to Manila would be. Day 1, we slept all day. Day 2, we cancelled our trip to Enchanted Kingdom because we were too tired from sleeping the previous day, so we spent all day on Facebook. Day 3, when we finally got sick of Facebook, we played some random DVD from our friend’s shelf, which wasn’t really that random—it was the only movie whose title had the word “nymphomaniac” on it. And now, Day 4: all morning spent on Facebook again, the afternoon on chips and cigarettes and random TV shows, and yes, again, Facebook. We even skipped dinner.
“I don’t understand why you’re not interested at all,” I told them before I left. “All we do is Facebook, and you don’t even want to know how it all began?”
They shrugged. The one who said she wasn’t done working was obviously logged on to Facebook, based on the smile she had on her face. The one who was very sleepy said she had to do something to her farm first before logging off, and the one I thought I could rely on was busy untagging herself from unflattering photos of herself posted by other people.
In the middle of the previews, I started getting sleepy. Four days of doing nothing could really exhaust you much worse than when you do a hundred squat thrusts. I did a hundred squat thrusts before and I still had the energy to do a hundred more after that. I didn’t do a hundred more, though, because I thought it would have been pointless. I stretched my legs and sunk in my seat, ready to get some sleep before the movie started.
I jerked. Something hit my left leg and was now lying face-down on the floor.
“Oh, gosh, I’m really sorry.” I jumped from my seat.
“I’m really sorry,” he said as he rolled on his back.
“No, I’m sorry.” I grabbed his arm to help him up but he seemed to prefer lying on the floor.
“I’m fine. It’s better here.”
I didn’t know how to respond so I just continued on my attempt to grab him up to his feet. He pulled me down instead. I fell right on top of him.
He laughed. My nose was almost right inside his mouth.
“Dude!” I said. “You’re drunk.”
“Tequila!”
I hurriedly jumped away from the smell. “And beer, I’m guessing.” I told him.
“Yes, beer.” He laughed again.
“What’s going on here?” A voice boomed from behind me. When I turned around, all I could see was the glare of flashlights.
“Nothing, sir. This gentleman fell and I’m helping him up.”
The security guard with flashlights approached us and helped the guy up. This time it was successful. The guy seemed to have sobered up because he was suddenly all quiet. I went back to my seat and surprise, surprise, the guy sat right next to me.
“Security guards creep me out,” he whispered in my ear as soon as he saw the security guard go back to his post.
I didn’t turn my head as I nodded.
“You’re not a security guard, are you?”
I shook my head.
“Me, neither. But security guards creep me out.”
“Yes, you already told me.”
“You’re not a security guard, are you?”
I shook my head, restraining myself from slapping the guy silly. “Dude, what are you doing in the theater drunk? You should be home right now, getting some sleep.”
The guy sank in his seat. “You’re mad at me.”
I craned my neck to look at his face. The dejected tone of his voice made me worry. I always worry when people sound dejected. “No, I’m not mad you,” I assured him, which wasn’t a lie. If you saw his face, you’d understand. I wouldn’t say he was that good-looking, but he had that something in his eyes that I found attractive on people. I couldn’t quite describe it; it’s not how they physically look. His eyes were—for lack of a better word—soulful.
He stared back at me. “You have pretty lips.”
Instantly, I felt blood rushing up to my face. “Thank you.” I cleared my throat. “Now let’s watch the movie, shall we?”
He leaned his head on my shoulder as the movie started. I thought he had fallen asleep but his breathing was uneven, and he would make odd, choked noises at intervals. I realized, towards the end of the movie, that he was crying.
“Are you OK?”
He didn’t answer.
“Is the movie that emotional for you? Oh, my God! Are you the real-life Mark Zuckerberg?”
He laughed lightly, but it quickly faded.
“I feel like shit,” he said.
“We all do, sometimes.”
“No, no, this is different.”
I rolled my eyes. “Try me.”
“I killed someone today, this morning. I killed someone and now I feel like shit.”
I froze in my seat.
“Yes, that’s right. I killed someone. Is that shitty enough for you?”
I didn’t move as he got up and left his seat, still whispering to himself that he felt like shit for having killed someone.
I stood up and watched him disappear towards the foyer area. My feet trembled with ambivalence. Part of me wanted to run to him to get his name, his number, his Facebook account.
When I got back to our friend’s condo, my friends were still up. They didn’t even look up to see me enter the room. One of them asked mechanically how the movie was, to which I didn’t reply. I immediately booted my computer up and logged on to Facebook, pressing F5… F5… F5… F5….
May 26th, 2012 at 00:50
The Narrator
Ynes and I would often get shushed whenever we find ourselves in a cinema. While we are not an obnoxiously noisy pair, we continuously murmur and giggle to each other during the entire course of a movie. We can’t help it. We have to.
I met Ynes back in college in a film elective course. I clearly remember the day. It was a few days into the first semester. I came to class early. Then her. I always had a thing for tall, long-legged, dusky, slender women. And she was every bit of the woman I’ve always dreamed of waking up next to. She was just perfect. To me, at least.
It didn’t help that her favorite outfit were, and still are, those cut up jeans made into short shorts. Those smooth, mocha-colored-, kilometer-long legs of hers only served as welcome distractions in every film showing. To me, at least.
I wasn’t good looking. But that didn’t bother me. What bothered me more were my terrible social skills. The Myers-Briggs personality test had identified me as an ISFP. Yes, I was a shy, sensitive, needy-feely type of guy. I knew I had to fix my shyness. It was the reason why I became hooked into personality tests. And from the way Ynes carried herself and how she dealt with people around her, I figured she was an INTJ.
In other words, she was an unfeeling, supremely confident and intelligent woman. An Alpha female. Precisely the type of girl who could reduce me to catatonia if for some reason she would walk up to me and strike a conversation—which she actually did one day when our professor decided to make us watch “Battleship Potempkin”.
“Is this seat taken?”
“Uhh, no.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I said it’s not taken.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Then she sat down and crossed her legs. Again, those legs were a source of welcome distraction. The movie had already finished and I barely understood what it was all about. All I could think of during the entire class were those perfect legs just inches away from me.
“Did you like it?”
“Like what?”
“The movie.”
“I guess so.”
“I like it.”
For some reason, in the next few weeks we always found ourselves sitting next to each other and talking this way. And I felt like a complete idiot every time. If only I could gather my thoughts into one coherent entity, I would have come off as a more interesting guy.
But I guess I didn’t have to be the cool, confident guy. Ynes would later reveal she was drawn to me for I showed no attempt at all to impress her. I was apparently cool that way. To her, at least.
There came a point when our conversations turned for the better. They were no longer monosyllabic. And oh, we were soon going on movie dates. I guess the Myers-Briggs test was right, after all. An ISFP and an INTJ are great activity partners. In our case, we were movie buddies.
“That creation of the universe opening was something, huh?”
“It’s beautiful. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“I was expecting it. I read the reviews beforehand. But I was still blown away.”
“Are you alright? You seem pale. Ynes?”
Barely have I finished saying her name when she fainted.
She came to less than an hour later in the mall’s clinic. I ribbed her that she was indeed blown away by the opening sequence. She just grinned and ordered me to help her get up from the bed.
It was the third incident of her suddenly fainting when I insisted that she have herself checked by a specialist. I sometimes wish I hadn’t. Extensive MRI tests revealed she had a brain tumor. And it was spreading near where her optic nerves were. In a few months she would go blind.
And blind she went.
Ynes only has a few months to live. And though she has gone completely blind, we still go to the movies. We’re still the consummate activity partners. I had to learn a new skill, though—talking.
Talking for two straight hours. Sometimes more. Describing to her in the most vivid detail I can the scenes in a movie as they unfold. I guess I’m doing a pretty good job. She laughs in the same moment as everyone else laughs in the theater. And she cries on cue, too.
There’d be no one else I’d rather go to the movies with than her. Parched my lips and throats are every time, Ynes made me see films in her own eyes through my own. She is the perfect movie buddy.
To me, at least.