Paramour Act 2

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Act II: Macchiatos and Frappuccinos

I watched him every day. Is it mere coincidence? In the years I’ve seen him, in college and in high school, he didn’t change. We were batch mates, yet we were never friends. I didn’t have the courage to even talk to him, or even look at him. But I have always liked him.

I have always looked as his aquiline nose, his deep eyes, his whitish skin, and his downcast mouth. I have always seen him be the best he was, as he was one of the most accomplished person I’d ever met – running the school’s publication and being a scholar while being the student council president.

After graduation, I hoped to talk to him. But I hadn’t got the courage to. He was as silent as a tree that day too. I guess, him having no one there to see him accept his magna cum laude medal or hearing him speak eloquently on the podium was driving him into a weird sense of loneliness.

I didn’t even think I would ever meet him again. I was hired as a CSR – Outgoing, sales. I wasn’t anything like him – I wasn’t a high achiever. But when I looked at his Facebook page lately, he was still unemployed. That struck me as odd. He was usually as busy and as scattered as a bee. He wouldn’t want any dull moment.

Imagine the surprise when I saw him walking across the street, walking towards my office. I quickly checked with the people in HR (one of which was my buddy-buddy) and asked if there was someone named Kris Magdantay on the hiring pool today. There was, my buddy said, and told me people were quite impressed by him. I’d asked if he was scheduled to have an interview today too, since it’s past the dayshift were the bigwigs usually work at, and my buddy said an affirmative. He’d have a meeting today. And the meeting will end exactly when my “lunch” break starts.

He was hired. I knew that from the smiles the HR officer had leaving their meeting. And I’d seen his scowling face turn into a somewhat smirk after that meeting.

I followed him, discretely, to see him go into a dainty coffee shop - the same coffee shop where I chanced seeing him after work last week. I guess he was a regular there now.

I should be eating. But instead I followed him to that café, deciding that I should talk to him, just once. I ordered a Venti brewed coffee, just enough for a quick long chat. I tried to think for a lame excuse to sit with him, and good enough there were less than few open seats around the coffee shop.

I was tense and my hands were shaking as I walked towards his table. He was in his usual gloominess, staring outside the window as I stood opposite him and sat. I was thinking: Will he recognize me?

“Excuse me, can I sit here? Apparently, there are no seats available.”

“Hm.” He grunted.

“By the way, I’m Basil Arrieta. Nice to meet you.” He didn’t recognize me one bit. Perhaps, because I had always tried to distance myself from him, he didn’t even remember me. But I saw the faint glimpse of recognition/ pass through his eyes.

“Yeah, you too...”

I think he gave up trying to place me in the numerous people he knew, as he looked towards the streets again. Maybe he was oblivious to the fact that I was here, or that maybe he recognized me as he continued to ogle at the window to look at empty spaces.

Was he always this gloomy?

“Do you regularly go here? I think I’ve seen you a number of times here already.” I took a quick sip of my Venti brewed coffee.

“Yeah.” He averted his eyes back to the street.

“Uhm, so a CSR of a BPO? Night shift?” He looked across the street just as I had.

“Yeah, Sykes. Just two blocks away from here. Just relaxing before going home.” I said. I took another sip. And another. And another.

“What department are you in exactly? I’m at Outgoing, Sales.” Oh, so he works there too. Figures, he seemed so familiar to me.

“Oh, I’m in HR.” I said as I put down my coffee, now emptied.

Yes, I confirmed that I still had feelings for him. The crush I had that I thought I had forgotten was still there. I waited for an opportunity to say what I wanted: a chance to say that I had this inane crush on him. But as I opened my mouth to speak, he put down his cup and started to gather his things.

“Thanks for the time. Are you here the same time tomorrow?” I said, with him still putting his books inside his leather messenger bag.

“Yeah.” He stood up, apparently looking at his watch.

“Ok.”

I spent the entire night thinking about him - about how he changed and how I still had this admiration of him. I could still remember the times I watched (or rather stalked) him – how I knew his favorite food, his perfume, his usual garb – and how it killed me that I couldn’t be with him. The usual face he has, the frown that certainly cannot be wiped from his face and how his body reacts to everything. Ah, I can’t forget him. Ever.

And then we started to talk and drink regularly together. One time, he said he’d rather date men that date cynical women. And he said to me with subtlety that if I were a woman, I had a big chance. I was shocked; he admitted he could like me. That was enough for me. I admitted I loved him, and he said I’ll try to like you back. I could see the sincerity in his eyes.

But I could also see the anxiety in him. Maybe he knows I was too obvious in liking him. Or maybe he knows the real me – the me who had loved him for over years. But I dunno, we gave it a chance.

A year passed by without event. No big fights, no squabbles, no jealousy or something. We were just a happy couple. We dated regularly, watching movies or hanging out in his flat.

Toot. Toot. Toot. Texts here and there, no answers, no replies. Calls. Out of signal or cannot be reached. I was fuming. How can he not remember? And the trouble I put setting up my surprise in his flat.

He came home in his flat, dead drunk. As soon as he saw everything, I started to leave.

“Wwait, please no.”

“You don’t even remember what this day means to us.”

“Wait, sorry. I’ll get you… uhm.”

“An anniversary gift? For what? For me loving you?”

“It’s not like I had a fucking say on this!”

“Yeah. Okay, I give up. Take all this shit and dump them in the trash ok? I’m done.”

“Done with what? You think I don’t regret this?”

“Yeah, that’s the point. You regret. What do you think I would feel when the guy I liked for so many years can’t even like me back?”

“What? I like you.”

“Yeah, enough to forget that on this day, you finally gave me a chance. A chance I was so desperate to get. A chance you gave me, not because you liked me, but because you were trying out other things.”

“I give up.”

“Fine then.”

I left him alone, and I was cold. But I still know that it wasn’t the right thing to do. I conflicted with myself. He was drunk. I was fuming. That doesn’t add up to a nice celebration. By the time I decided to concede and go back to him, I saw a bag full of everything I prepared for today outside his flat, and his door was closed shut. He left, the neighbor said, a few minutes after I left.

We had never talked since. I saw him in and out of office, but I had no courage to talk to him. I wanted him back, I was sorry. I was content somehow in me loving him and him liking my company, but I had a point. Why can’t he love me? I mean real, full blown love that can take your breath away. But I had forgone my feelings now.