it was never meant to be just the two of us

he was holding his cigarette the way  you do: tucked safely between the thumb, the middle and index fingers. as if scared that a strong wind might blow it away from you; or some stranger from out of nowhere might snatch it from you.

i guess you were like that on everything that  you thought you owned. you wanted them secured, fastened close to you. i used to wonder what made you behave that way. so insecure, so afraid that someone you love might leave you or be taken away from you.

it took me years to understand it. to understand you.

but i am digressing.

let me go back to my story.

&&&&&

he was a stranger. a nameless guy with movie star looks. i don't know why i have always been drawn to guys that reminded me of you -- smooth, cappuccino skin perfectly baked under the sun, neatly combed short but thick black hair, sad dark brown eyes, long, lean limbs, a confident but elusive smile, and soft, dreamy voice. dark jeans. tight-fitting v-neck black shirt. hint of muscles in the arms.

see? my thoughts were straying back to you.

why have you always doubted it? there was only you. it was all about you.

and yet.

unlike in my previous conquests, i was the one who approached him. maybe it was the fact that he was alone and looked like he needed company. someone who will assure him that, what ever happens, life is still worth living for. or maybe i just saw a glimpse of you (and of myself) in him. a stranger. an outsider. a lone wolf. lonely but too proud to admit it.

he did not say anything when i asked him if i could join him. he just signaled with his hand (nice, long fingers like that of an artist) for me to sit down on the empty chair right across from him.

i sat with my legs crossed. my hands resting on the small table. i was nervous even after i finished two glasses of frozen margarita and three bottles of beer. yes, i was counting them. that's the o-c me.

"can i buy you a drink?" i asked.

he nodded his head. still clammy.  still unfriendly.

i called the waiter by flicking a lighter.

"you want the same beer?"

he nodded again.

i smiled. there is a chance. perhaps.

"two san miguel pale pilsen please."

when the waiter left, i tried to start a conversation.

"i am here on a holiday. what about you?"

he took a deep breath. as if annoyed.

"i live here."

i nodded my head.

"please tell me if you want me to leave. no offense taken."

he smiled. at last. embarrassed.

"no, stay. please."

"oh stop it. if you are just being polite, then i would rather leave."

"please. stay."

as if on cue, the waiter arrived with our frozen bottles of beer, covered with tissue paper. wet.

we talked. a little about each other. the usual chatter among strangers. ok, let me correct that. i did most of the talking. i asked him questions. he would give me brief answers. at first they were short, polite answers as if he was in a job interview for a job that he wasn't really interested.

later on, as we emptied more beers, he started to open up. started talking about himself, about everything else, in fact. he  wanted to be a writer. a poet. he works in an online magazine reviewing restaurants, bars, shops, resorts, hotels, anything that would interest its mostly bored, rich housewives readers. but there was something else he wanted to tell me, i could feel it.

like most conquests, we ended up in bed. in the motel room that i was renting for the week.

he was good. hesitant at first. but once he got into the beat, into the rhythm, he gave in. he indulged. he was a good dancer. his moves were amazing.

&&&&&

later, much later.

"it was my first time." he was seated in bed, smoking cigarette. a scene straight out of a movie. cigarettes after sex. i was lying in bed, my hand stroking the tiny hairs on his legs. at the now soft and embarrassed penis that, a while ago, was angry, hard as a rod, tall and elegant. the red helmet glistening with blood. all pumped up. ready for war.

he was naked, but unlike you, he did not cover himself with a towel or a blanket. i like his body. trim, but not gym toned. ordinary, like mine. a hint of beer belly. hairs on his chest down to his navel.

"you were a virgin?"

i reached for his cigarette. we shared his fag.

he smiled. "no. i had sex before. but only with women."

i laughed. i heard that line so many times, it seemed like all the boys i had slept with had read the same book or had learned from the same teacher.

he seemed embarrassed. "it's true."

"ok."

"you don't believe me?"

'i do. so why?"

"why what?"

"why did you sleep with me?"

"you seemed lonely."

i laughed again.

"i thought you were lonely too.. that's why i approached you. you seemed so distant, so not there. your thoughts were so far away. you looked so sad."

"i just broke up with my girlfriend."

oh. silence. an awkward silence as if someone has just died. we continued smoking. then i said:

"sorry. what happened?"

"she left to work in canada. she wanted me to come with her. but my life is here. my family is here. i like it here. i like my job here even if it doesn't pay well."

"but you can always see each other. talk to each other. on the phone, skype. there is facebook."

"i want her here with me. beside me. always."

i kept quiet. he was so you. even the way he said those words. with so much conviction. with so much emotion. he meant every word.

"you realize though that that's not possible. you can't be together all the time."

"i know that. but for her to just leave me here. it hurts. i felt abandoned. discarded like an old shirt or something."

"i thought she wanted you to go with her."

"yes, but.."

"what?"

"never mind. you won't understand."

(he's complicated. like most men.)

oh i understand it more than you would ever know.

"i have been in the same situation too."

he put off the cigarette on the ash tray on the corner table beside a small porcelain lamp. i liked that motel. cheap but decent. it did not scream of quick, illicit, paid sex. it did not reek of body odor, sperm, cigarettes. there was even a plant, a real one, on the other side of the bed. all green with no flowers. the walls were painted blue. like the sea. there was a black and white photograph of a naked man and woman, standing and facing each other, on the wall, about to have sex. the guy's penis already aroused.

"really?"

"yes. my so called boyfriend wanted to work in another country. he wanted me to join him. but i stayed behind."

he nodded his head and wrapped his arms around me.

then he started kissing me again.

"no more sad stories, please." he whispered.

i could feel him hard again. hungry. like the man on the photograph.

we fed each other. shared each other's misery. because  that's all we have left.

&&&&&

i would see him again days after that. he took me to some interesting touristy places in the city. we had dinners. we got drunk. we had sex.

until i left and went back home.

he promised to call. i promised to call.

we never did. i never did.

not even a polite "hello. how are you?" text or email.

i guess, we were both scared. to fall in love. or maybe i was just being presumptuous again. how could a straight guy ever fall in love with another man, even if he is gay? fairy tales. you used to tell me that i live in a dream world. in a parallel universe where fairies dwell.

i don't want to be left behind again, holding on to an empty promise. that's what he said on our last night together when i told him i was starting to like him. a lot. but he shushhhhed me. like a mother to a petulant child. then more wild kisses.

&&&&&

what makes us scared to love? why are we so afraid of getting hurt? pain, they say, makes us stronger. but they forgot to mention that it would also make you want to kill yourself first.

why do we always aim for that happy ending on our own love stories? when we know that it only happens in movies or in fairy tales.

even snow white did not live happily ever after. she ended up very old, alone and miserable after her prince turned into a frog and was eaten alive by the red riding hood.

&&&&&&

remember when we watched the way we were on dvd? you cried. you were so sad that katie and hubbell did not end up together. that they separated after facing troubles in their marriage.

you were mad at the director. you thought he ruined what could have been a very beautiful luv story.

"but that makes it even better," i told you.

"that they did not stay married and grow old together? work on their issues instead of just giving up on each other?"

"yes.  some people are better off as lovers than as husbands and wives."

"you are so cynical."

"i am realistic."

"so you would just give up the one you love simply because you are going through a rough period?"

"correction. irreconcilable differences. she was a realist, he was a dreamer. she was a mover, he was a writer. katie fell in love with a dream. romantic enough to marry him. then woke up with a totally different person the morning after. she should have just let him go after the night that they first slept together in her apartment."

"you are impossible."

i smiled. i knew then that i won the argument the moment you said that.

that had always been your line every time you lose on our little arguments. "you are impossible" as if i were a mathematical equation or a crime mystery that would need a genius to figure out.

maybe, just maybe if you took the time to know the real me, you will find out that i wasn't so
"impossible" at all. that i was just like you.

but who are you by the way?

we never really got to know each other.

after a few weeks of being together, we started arguing. we became cold and distant. maybe because we expected so much from each other. or maybe like katie, we pursued a dream, a fantasy of who we are and what our life would be like together. then the reality hit both of us and i gave up. in fairness to you, you were willing to go on. even if you were already leaving.

"happy endings happen only in movies," i said on our last night together. in bed. after a few glasses of wine. barbra streisand singing memories on the ipod. "let's just make this our best night ever. no tears. no promises. no goodbyes."

you were crying. you didn't say anything.

then you blurted out, your eyes on the ceiling. wiping up your tears.

"but i love you. let's give it another try."

"i love  you too. but this is not working. this will never work. i hate long distance relationships. after a while we will drift apart. the abyss between us will be so great, nothing can bring us back together."

i let you cry.

then i let you go.

&&&&

i was right. after a year in exile, i learned from your mother that you got married.

&&&&

was i sad? was i hurt? probably.

but i let it go. i let us go.

from time to time, i would hear stories about you. how many kids you have. that you were home on vacation. i wanted to see you. but i fought the urge to do so.

what we had was enough.

&&&&

funny. like in the barbra streisand-robert redford movie, we met again. but not on the busy streets of new york, but at the airport of all places. i was flying to tokyo for a conference. you were going back to london with your family. i met your wife - ordinary looking, not at all the woman i imagined you would end up with. motherly.  i always thought you preferred someone who looked like those tall, leggy fashion models. a stick with a gorgeous face, luscious lips, lush hair.

then your two young children -- a boy and a girl. you were a picture of a happy family.

funny how you introduced me as your "kumpare" (best friend) in college. when it was obvious that i looked way too old to be in college at the same time as you. a professor would have been more realistic. it was even funnier that our few months together were all reduced to one uncomfortable word: "kumpare". it acquired a new, darker meaning.  as if a "kumpare" should be hidden in a closet, never to be outed. it somehow it left a bitter taste. the way you said it. i didn't know if your wife noticed.

"don't be a stranger. please keep in touch." you  said when i was about to go. "i am on facebook."

i simply nodded my head.

i let you go.

i didn't have facebook. yet.

&&&&&

so where is this going? you are probably wondering now.

nothing. nowhere.

i just want to tell you that he is coming to see me.

this weekend.

the guy who reminded me of you.

he was assigned to do a feature on one of the newly-opened restaurants here and he asked me if i could join him for a beer or two.

i said yes. right away. i missed him.

please don't get your hopes high. i am still "impossible".

but who knows?

fairy tales could still happen.

sometimes it starts with a simple -- "can i buy you drink?"

a hello, after all, is such a cliche!

&&&&&&&&&&

a clip from the way we were, the movie:

(ps: i don't own the photo of the gorgeous half-naked guy above, sitting on a truck. it was taken from a website. no copyright infringement intended. please inform me if you want it taken out. thank you.)