When he arrived at Leah's hotel room, the door was unlocked. He heard some movements inside, an indication that she was already home. He opened the door and stepped inside. He found her at the living room by the fireplace with her back on him. When he closed the door behind him, Leah turned her head and saw him.

"I was looking for you back there," Leandro said as he walked toward her.

"I got tired and sleepy," she said. The wine softly swayed in the glass she was holding as she turned around. "And I rather not disturb the two of you."

"She asked me if I still love her."

"And?"

"I don't love her anymore," he said. He walked closer to her until their heads touched. He gently placed his right hand thumb and forefinger on her chin, and made her look at him. "It's you that I love, Leah."

Leah was about to say something when he kissed her passionately on her lips. He wanted to make it last longer, but Leah backed her head and turned it sideway. She looked down, away from his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Leandro said, wondering.

"Leandro---" she let herself free from his left hand that was wrapping around her waist. "Please don't get everything wrong."

Leandro was perplexed. He couldn't understand it at all. His heart raced so hard and so loudly. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Leandro, I don't love you."

He heard it. And then he felt like his heart was stabbed with those words and left him bleeding. Suddenly, the world around him was spinning wildly. Muted. Blurred. Numb.



They were sitting on the couch side by side; she was sitting there feeling sorry for him, feeling down and sad for him, and feeling guilty of not telling him earlier when it wouldn't be this painful yet. Leandro, on the other hand, was sitting there, feeling the world collapsed cruelly unto him.

"I love Donald," Leah said after a long silence. "I love him so much that I couldn't love anybody else like this again."

Leandro said nothing. He was just sitting there, his body leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands cupping over his head.

"And I would do everything to make him happy," Remma continued. "He wanted the three of you to reunite. And I'm doing my part to make that happen."

Leandro was confused. He looked at her with questioning eyes. "What do you mean?"

Remma couldn't look at him. "The reason why I brought you along tonight, is for you to see her."

Leandro grimaced in rile and disbelief. "You planned this?"

Remma weakly nodded. "This is what he wanted for the three of you."

Leandro breathed in heavily and then sighed. He had just dumped Remma, and then Leah dropped him and watched him rolled down a bottomless cliff. Now this.

"Why is this happening to me?" Leandro desperately asked not her but the world.

"Leandro---"

But he wasn't listening; he was breaking.

Silence. None of them wanted to speak. None of them had the courage to break the silence. But after some time, Leandro asked, "Does he knows?"

Leah nodded. "We talked one summer, way back in college."

Leandro said nothing.

Leah stared down and sighed heavily.

"But he don't love me."

Leandro was astonished and, simultaneously, turned his head to her.

"What?"

"He," Leah stopped herself from crying. She was fighting back her emotion when she continued, "He don't love me, Leandro."

"And he don't love Remma, too."

Leah knew so well why. After fighting it over, after fighting so desperately not to tell him the truth, she heard himself say, "He's gay."

Leandro froze. Then he laughed at it as though it was hilarious and ridiculous at the same time. "Oh, ho-ho-hoow. You're not serious."

"He told me," she continued. "I know I am not in the position to tell you this, but I thought you deserve to know. He's your friend after all."

Leandro's face suddenly changed reaction. "Don't fuck with me!"

Leah went silent.

"You're just fucking with me, Leah," Leandro defended.

"I have no reason to do that."

"NO! YOU'RE LYING! YOU'RE FUCKING LYING! DON'T YOU EVER SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT!"

She said nothing.

"This is bullshit!"

"He realized it by the time Remma came back. He had been through alot of time facing himself and asking who he really was, and why he suddenly felt that way to you," Leah went on. "His feelings for you became intense when Remma was around. It was so intense that he finally heard what his heart wanted to tell him for so long. He finally understood what it was, and what it was screaming for. And that was the reason why he didn't love Remma, because it was when he discovered the answer to his own question."

"Oh, God. This is unbelievable!" Leandro said after a long time thinking it over. He was weighing her words, her intention, her motive. But he couldn't find anything that would tell him she was lying.

"You promised him something, Leandro. I think it's about time to visit him. As his friend."



The day before the New Year, Leandro went to the living room and picked up the telephone receiver. He dialed Donald's number in the Philippines. He also called him the night before Christmas, but failed to talk to him. He wouldn't want to confront him or harass him and push him to tell the truth; he couldn't do that partly because he knew his friend so well, and partly because he wasn't convinced Leah was telling the truth. He just wanted to check if he was alright, thinking that failing to keep his promise to visit him would somehow be outweighed by a simple phone call.

The phone on the other end of the line kept ringing for several times before it was picked up by Mr. Gulle, Donald's father. Leandro could hear no loud voices or music in the background, which was unusual for the family whom he knew had never failed to welcome the New Year expensively. But tonight he felt it was very quiet in the Gulle house.

"Hi, Mr. Gulle," he said. "It's me, Leandro. Is Donald there?"

"Yes, but he's already asleep. I'm sorry Leandro, but I can't wake him up."

Leandro checked his watch. It was still 9:30 in the evening there. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, everything's fine."

"Please give my best regards to him. I'm just dropping by to greet him a happy New Year."

"OK. I'll tell him."



One Wednesday night in the first week of May, he woke up from last night's party and booze to a phone ringing by the living room. It was a long distance call from the Philippines. It was his birthday last night, but he was not expecting a call from overseas. His parents had already called him yesterday. When he picked up the receiver he knew it was Mrs. Gulle, who sounded in pain and was crying when she spoke.

"What's wrong?" he asked. He suddenly felt tensed and afraid.

"I can't take it anymore. I can't take it anymore," Mrs. Gulle mumbled. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry."

"Please tell me what's going on?"

"Leandro, Donald is dying."



Mrs. Olandria explained everything he needed to know. After he heard it he felt so unimportant and trivial to had been excluded from being informed about his friend's illness as early as he should be. But then he couldn't really blame Donald for having that decision because, in the first place, it was he who had started it. But what his guilt was screaming of was the reality that after ignoring his friend for a long time, and after how his friend felt for being neglected and almost forgotten, still Donald cared so much about him that he had spared him from worrying. And in the end, though they had been through such fragile past, he still understood and respected Donald's reasons. Because after all, he had no reason at all not to.

He couldn't blame all those people who had kept it out of his life either. And he thought this was what he deserved to feel, this was what he rightfully deserve after wrecking their friendship and after letting Donald suffer to an extent he would never know.

Leandro was slumping beside the table, crying all his guilt away and all his pride and remorse for not coming back to see his friend. He could have done it if he really meant to, and if he really wanted to. But because he thought Donald would always understand, that Donald would always be there waiting, he chose to postpone it to another year, and then another, and another year. He couldn't stop blaming himself for so many things, for all those stupidity and arrogance that consumed him. He couldn't even forgive himself. He found nothing to console himself, so he let all of those things out and cried them out loud hoping that somehow all of these would just disappear. He cried so hard all night.

Before going to work to file for an emergency leave, he called Remma and told her about Donald. Remma took it very hard, too. After composing herself back, he told her that he would be going home the soonest time possible. The call had ended several minutes ago, but Remma was still standing before the telephone, leaning on the wall. And she was crying, too.



It was a Friday when he arrived in Tagbilaran City airport. From there he hired a taxi to take him to the town of Candijay, a small, quiet town on the eastern part of the island province tucked between the low-lying mountains and the sea, a two-hour drive away from the city.

When he arrived, he immediately went to visit Donald at their house several meters away from the church and a few meters away to the park beyond. Mrs. Gulle met her at the gate with a happy smile and sad tears. She told him Donald was spending the late afternoon at the park, just like he had always done for the past five years. Mrs. Gulle explained that Donald began spending his afternoons at the park after he secured a job at the town's only college, and was even more determined after he was diagnosed.

Leandro was so stunned to learn this. He couldn't believe at such drive, such patience, such effort, and such dedication to the promise they had made. He was so enthralled by his friend's passion to spend all his afternoons there, watching the sunset like they used to. Such passion was so immeasurable and astounding and intense that he doubt if he could ever manifest the same and he wouldn't trust he could do the same thing himself either.

And he was even more emotionally and physically shocked to see how much the park had changed beautifully. It had transformed from being bushy and undeveloped and deserted to manicured and landscaped and maintained. The weeds and bushes had gone; the grasses were trimmed and maintained; cobblestones replaced the dusty trail toward the end of the park; street lamps installed at uniform interval and were elegantly designed; concrete fence ran along the perimeter, surrounding the park. He walked slowly toward the edge of the park, admiring the view as he went along and couldn't help but wonder how come he had never thought of doing it himself for their friendship.

From where he was he could see at the far end a man on a wheelchair beside the unfinished lighthouse; he was facing the sunset. As he continued walking a young woman emerged and stood beside the wheelchair. He recognized her, and he knew she was tending his friend. Phoemela sensed his arrival and turned her head. She was surprised to see him there and to see him back, because in the first place Leandro told no one that he would be coming home. But she was also aware of not disturbing Donald from his drifting away into deep reverie. She silently smiled and stepped away from the wheelchair to meet him halfway.

Phoemela hugged his kuya whom she saw for the first time in almost ten years now. She hugged him so tightly, letting him feel how much she missed him. After a while Phoemela told him about Donald's present condition and stood aside to let him come closer to his friend. As he went nearer, the reality of Donald's rapid wilting became clearer and horrifying.

His heart began to ache and his soul began to break into fragments by the time he reached Donald. Nothing had prepared him to see Donald like this. He couldn't dare stare longer at that feeding tube that was being inserted into the skin above his stomach. He couldn't dare look at the neck support or the plastic thing that seemed to be inserted into his throat. He felt his heart was crushed; he felt weak and numb and shivering. Guilt and self-blame wrapped all over him at the same time he felt pity for Donald.

Leandro walked a few more steps and turned around to face him so that he was blocking Donald's view of the sunset and his back on the sea.

With so much difficulty speaking, he said, "Hello, Don." But it was far more harder to say those words or any words at all, than he thought he could.

Donald fought so hard to look up at him. His eyes beamed with so much happiness and excitement to see him at last. Oh, if Leandro only knew how much he longed to see him again. His mouth quivered, his eyes began to water and his body started shaking. But that was all he could ever do. The disease had totally shutdown not only his feet and arms, but had also damaged the muscles that controlled his ability to talk and swallow. And his breathing would be next. Those words he longed to say, those words of happiness and thank you and sorry, they all came out as groans and moans. But Leandro could still hear those words somewhere in his mind and heart, and he could also feel how much Donald had wanted to hug him so badly.

Leandro couldn't take it anymore; he surrendered totally to all his emotions. He slumped on his knees and hugged his friend as he wept; he hugged him for all those times he had ignored and wasted, and he wept for all those times he had let his friend suffer this much and made him fight the disease alone. He asked him to forgive him, and told him over and over how sorry he was.

And though Donald couldn't hug him back, Leandro could feel his friend's arms wrapping around him in return. Accepting him.

Leandro was closing his eyes and tears were flowing profusely as he was hugging his friend, when he felt someone was walking toward them. He could still hear Donald groaning and could still feel his body trembling, but Leandro sensed someone else was there. When he opened his eyes he saw Remma standing silently not far away. Failing to hold back her tears as she watched the two of them, she wept silently. Beside her was her five year-old daughter holding her right hand.

When she saw Leandro smiled as he looked at her, her emotions rushed in so furiously that she broke into crying and ran toward them. With all the words she wanted to say, she hugged them longingly.

At that point, though they had not realized, after a very long time of walking their own lives and chasing their own dreams, the road that led to three different highways had finally led them back to where they had started and into the very place where they had promised to be together once again.




The photograph used in this entry is from Vanilla Coquelicot's Flickr page. To view the owner's webpage, please click here . Thanks!