Their lives were never the same again. Though Donald had tried to bring their lives back to normal, the trail going back had long been weathered and gone. The following years had been too hard for all of them; a constant struggle to overcome guilt and pain, a struggle for understanding and acceptance, a struggle to heal wounds, and a struggle for redemption.

During his first year in UP-Diliman, Leandro refused to have his room provided with a telephone by the scholarship coordinator. He reasoned he didn't want any distraction to his studies, and that telephone would be of no use to him anyway. Their barrio had no telephone lines, and even if it had they still couldn't afford to subscribe. His parents sent him letters every now and then, and he wrote them back once in a while. In August of that year he received a letter from Donald, and then another the next month and the following month, but none of them he had opened. All of them trashed and forgotten. On the other hand, he still had no news about Remma, had not heard a word from her. His calls to Canada were all answered by an answering machine, but got no return calls. It went on like this for another year, another hard, painful year.



On a night of mid-March in 2000, the telephone rang and echoed from the walls of his dorm room. His roommate went home in Cebu for the summer vacation. He was left there alone in the room. He missed his parents so much, though, but still he didn't want to go home. He preferred to take yet another summer class to busy himself.

Leandro, who was reading, glanced at the clock. 9:45 P.M. After the fourth ring, he pushed the book aside and picked up the receiver. He realized he needed one after all, especially now that he did not go home for two successive summer. His parents must have been anxious to hear his voice, to check if he was alright. And just last month he requested to have a telephone installed in his room after learning that their barrio already had a telephone service, and that his parents could call him through a payphone.

"Hello?"

He heard nothing but static noise. At first he thought the call must had been disconnected, but seconds later he heard a familiar voice.

"Lean, it's me," It was Donald, his voice shaky with anxiety and excitement.

He was surprised to hear him, but suppressed it almost instantly. "Yes."

"How have you been, Lean? It's been a long time." Donald could hear his own voice flickering in the line.

"I'm OK."

"How's your schooling?"

Leandro stared at the wall before him; a moth hovered under his study lamp. "It's good. I'm on a summer class now."

"So I've heard. You're not coming home for the fiesta?"

"No," he said weakly.

"OK. So I guess we're not gonna fish this summer, huh?" Donald managed to laugh faintly, but awkwardly.

"Don," he interrupted. "I have an exam tomorrow, and I---"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know," Donald apologetically said. "Listen, I am calling from home. Our barrio has already a telephone service, you know, just last month. Just in case you want to call me ---"

"I have to go now."

Hesitating, Donald said, "OK."

Leandro hanged up and stared at the wall again. A few moments later he grabbed the book and continued reading, but after a few lines he pushed the book aside again. His mind was flying somewhere else. He picked up the phone and, for a hundredth time in two years, dialed Remma's number.



She was having lunch in a fine restaurant outside Chateau Frontenac in Quebec City. She attended university in Montreal, but once in a while went to Quebec to unwind and see the old French architectures in the city. But today she was not alone. They were in a middle of a conversation when her cellular phone rang. She excused herself, fished out the phone from her bag, and checked the caller ID. She thought about answering it for a while, but then pressed a button to cancel the call.

"You're not answering it?" it was her fiance.

"It's my cousin back in the Philippines. I'll make a return call later," she said, and then smiled. It was Leandro. And just the other night, Donald called her, too. But she still couldn't draw her courage back together to face the past.



Donald was in the abandoned wharf that same summer, alone. He was there for an hour, gazing from the open sea to his right to the mountains ahead in the far distance to the mangrove forest to his far left. The breeze was milder, and the waves created lesser white crests. White seabirds hovered above the fish pen near the mangroves. He was throwing pebbles into the sea when Leah appeared and stood beside him.

"I can throw farther than that," Leah spoke.

Donald, startled by her sudden appearance, turned his head to her. "Oh, yeah?"

Leah picked up a pebble and threw it as far as she could muster. Donald followed the stone with his gaze. It landed in the water a little farther than his.

"See?" Leah said, smiling.

"You're good," he said. A pause. "I've heard you're in a dean's list at University of Cebu?" Donald asked still throwing pebbles into the sea.

"I'm not consistent," Leah looked at the water where the pebble had landed. "Last semester I almost did not make it."

"But still you're good," Donald commented.

Leah looked at him and asked, "How about you? How's everything going with you?"

Donald stopped throwing. "I'm OK. My grades aren't doing good, though," he said, turned at her and smiled. "But I'm OK."

"Good," Leah said. She looked away and darted her eyes into a fishing boat not far away.

Donald fished a pack of Salem from his pocket and asked her, "Do you mind if I smoke?"

Leah turned her head to him. "No, it's OK."

Donald pulled one from the pack, put it in his mouth and lighted it.

Remma watched and, after a while, said curiously, "I didn't know that you smoke."

"Oh," Donald pinned the cigarette with his two fingers, exhaled the smoke, and said, "Sometimes, yeah. When you're bored you get to learn some things, you know."

"You're not the kind of person who easily gets bored."

"Well, I guess people changed. People tend to get bored more easily than before."

Silence. Donald kept sucking his cigarette and exhaling smoke. Leah, on the other hand, watched the dancing reflection of the afternoon sun in the seawater.

"I've called him just recently."

Donald turned to look at her. "Leandro?"

She nodded.

"Why?"

"Just wanted to know if he's OK," Leah replied. "He sounded so different, so detached. I couldn't almost recognize him."

Silence.

"Do you love him?"

Leah said nothing.

Silence.

"You're so different, too. You're not the same old Donald anymore."

Donald managed to chuckle as he looked away. "What, is that a compliment?"

Leah chose not to answer. Instead, she looked down to her feet and back to the sea, and then went on, "How's it with you and Leandro?"

"Leah, where is this conversation going?" Donald interrupted and asked suspiciously as he looked at her.

Leah faced him. "Donald, I know things are moving the other way from you. You are in pain, I can see it in your eyes. If you just let me---"

Donald quipped, his anger awaiting explosion. "Leah, whatever happens between me and him, it's between me and him. You are out of this. Don't try putting your feet in."

Leah was persistent, "You are hurt. And it hurts me to see you like this. You need to move on. I'm willing to help if you just let me."

"Who the hell gives you the right to say things like that to me?" Donald erupted. He angrily pointed his finger at her, the cigarette clipped between the pointing finger and the middle one. "This is my fucking life! Just keep your shit away from me!" And then he walked away.

When Leah called him, he turned around furiously and snapped. "WHAT?"

Fidgeting, Leah said, "There's something I need to tell you."



"Don, don't walk any farther," Leandro cried to him, but he kept walking.

"Come here, look!" he excitedly cried to his friend who stood by the boulder behind him. "There are alot more fish here!"

Leandro's worry rose to fear when he realized the water was now deeper for his friend who kept on walking.

"Don, stop! The water is deep in there!" Leandro cried as he panicked and ran toward him.

He turned around and saw Leandro running toward him, and then his right foot hit something under the water. He lost his balance and plunged into the water.

Leandro screamed, "DON!"

Deep in the water he could see nothing and could not breathe. Fear crawled all over him. He kicked upward and drank seawater and coughed. Then he felt something grabbed him and pulled him up and away. He blinked his eyes but could see nothing blurriness.



Donald woke up that last night of summer. When he couldn't go back to sleep, he stepped outside his bedroom and into the balcony. He lighted his cigarette and stared into the darkness. There, at the back of his mind, he saw the image of his friend sitting on that boulder staring at him.

The following morning, after spending the whole night thinking and contemplating things over, he went to Leah's house.

"Something wrong?" Leah asked.

"I need to talk to you."



Year 2002. Two months before their graduation, Donald learned something that occupied his mind the entire night, and of the nights that followed. He was finalizing his thesis that night when he received a call from Leah.

"You watching the news?" Leah asked.

"No. Why?"

"Turn your TV on."

Donald picked up the remote control, turned the TV on, and found the news. For a moment he didn't know what it was all about, then it slowly sank in.

Right after he had seen the news he called Leandro on the phone but nobody answered. He called again the following night, and the night after that. On the fifth night, he quit.



An hour after the Dean had called him he heard the phone rang while he was on the kitchen. When he picked it up and heard the voice of the caller, his heart raced so suddenly with overwhelming mixed emotions and disbelief.

"Remma?" Leandro's voice quivered with indescribable exhilaration. He frantically grabbed a chair and sat. "Remma? Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me."

"Oh, I can't believe it! God, oh, God. How have you been? Tell me something, tell me everything's OK with you. God, I need to know you're alright."

"Lean, I'm alright. Although sometimes I---" her voice quivered. She sounded like she was fighting back tears. A pause. "Look, I felt so bad that I don't even know if I can ever forgive myself for being so stiff and coward. I felt so terrible for tearing our friendship apart and did nothing to put it back together."

"Rem, it's not too late to put it back together."

There was silence on her side of the line.

"I'm so sorry I make the three of us suffer like this," Remma said. She was breaking, surrendering. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me---"

"Rem, it's almost four years now and I'm still not over it. Until now I still don't know what really happened. You just left without even telling me what's going on, and you're not answering my calls. So I don't know if, if---" Leandro's mind was swirling so furiously with so many questions, questions that demand answers, yet he found it hard to determine what they were. Then one question emerged. "Tell me Donald was lying, Rem. Please tell me he was lying."

Remma collected herself for this. She needed to compose herself, to make sure she could do as little damage to him as possible. "When you asked me why I didn't write you back, I was lying when I said I wanted to surprise you with my visit. The thing is --- the truth is that I couldn't find within me the right response to your feelings for me."

"Just say it."

"I love you, Lean. But not like the way you love me," she said, and closed her eyes.

Leandro was glued to his seat, numb and drifting. He hadn't noticed how firm and strong his grasp to the receiver had became.

"It's Donald. I love him, Lean," she continued. And in a soft, faltering voice, she said, "I'm so, so sorry."

Leandro closed his eyes as his chest tightened, his limbs soft and supple. He couldn't take it anymore. This was just too much. He bowed his head and wept.

After trying to compose herself again, she added, "But he doesn't love me. And it's so heartbreaking for me."

Leandro was taking it all so hard that he wasn't listening on the receiver anymore. When Remma spoke again, he thought he was just imagining it. "He doesn't?"

"He doesn't."

At first he couldn't believe it, but then his heart and mind started to take it in. And Leandro felt so terrible. He felt so bad. He should have listened to Donald, he should have believed him. He felt like he couldn't forgive himself for making it hard for Donald and for them. And for making him suffered the way he did.

"Oh, GOD!" Leandro said as he closed his eyes and exhaled loudly.

"Wish I could go there, to start things over. To put us back in one piece again."

Leandro opened his eyes. "We miss you. I miss you--- so much."

"Lean---"

Leandro quickly said. "Please come back."

Remma paused. "I can't."



When everything had settled in clearly, Leandro decided to finally move on and start healing wounds. He needed to forgive himself, but before he could he needed Donald to forgive him, to take him back as a friend. He needed his acceptance and reconciliation in order for him to redeem himself.

He dialed his friend's number the following night. Donald picked up the phone on the fifth ring.

"Hi."

Donald immediately recognized his voice. He straightened up and spoke. "Oh, hi. I'm so glad you called. I've been trying to reach you."

Leandro noticed that Donald's speech was loose and fluid, but went on. "I'm sorry I called back only now."

"It's OK," Donald replied. A pause. "I've seen the news."

"Oh, that," Leandro almost forgot about it.

"I'm so proud of you, you know, for winning that award, and for that scholarship from NASA," Donald said, trying to be sober.

"Thank you."

"Am I invited for the celebration?" Donald asked jokingly.

Leandro replied, "You're still my friend."

"Really?" Donald's voice raised not with anger but with his longing and anticipation to hear words like this from him.

"Listen, Don," he went on, "Remma called me last night. And---"

"She did?" He was surprised by this that he stood up subconsciously. The beer spilled from the bottle that he was holding with his right hand. He struggled to keep his balance.

"Yes, and she told me everything."

"And you believe her?"

"Yes, I do."

"And you don't believe me."

Leandro went silent on the other end. "Look, Don, I'm so sorry for making it so hard for us. I wish I could turn back time."

"It's OK. It doesn't matter now. What matters is that you're back, and you don't hate me anymore."

"No. I don't hate you, I never did," Leandro was fighting back tears when he spoke again. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry, Don, I'm so sorry."

"Sssh," Donald closed his eyes. "It's OK, it's OK." He said as he leaned on the living room wall. Tears silently streamed from his eyes.

"I felt so fucked up and stupid. So stupid!"

"No, no. Listen, I completely understand how you felt, Lean, and why this all happened. But I don't blame you, because it wasn't your fault, it wasn't your fault."

A momentary silence.

"Don, please, let me make it up to you."

Donald smiled. "Let's say, let's go fishing again. How about that?"

And they both laughed. Just like they used to.

After a while, Leandro spoke again. "Look, I'll try my best to find time to go there, OK? To see you. It's been so long, y'know. And I miss you."

"When are you leaving for the US?"

"Right after the graduation. They want me to be there that early."

"Your papers all ready?"

"No, but almost."

"Then you don't have time to waste," Donald said. "Just come back here when you're ready. I can wait no matter how long."

"When is your graduation?"

"Second Friday of March."



On Donald's graduation day he did not expect Leandro to come, because he knew he was preparing for his flight the following day. And neither did he expect a package to be delivered to his house right on the day of his graduation. There was no return address on the box, just his name and address neatly written across one face of the box.

When he opened it, he saw a miniature model of a Spanish Galleon about a third of a meter in length, its brown polished body complemented with white sails protruding from the body. It was enclosed in a clear fiberglass box.It was meticulously and painstakingly crafted to perfection and, right below the bow, a name DONALD was artistically painted in white. The boat was breathtaking.

It was where Leandro consumed his time during those moments when he needed to be consoled. During those stormy nights he found solace and serenity on crafting the boat.

It was the most beautiful thing Donald had ever seen.



The photograph used in this entry is from www.johnnytrapper.com. Click here to visit the site. Thanks!