When We Say Out Loud What We Think, The Conclusion

I took my time in the shower. By the time I stepped out, it was just MF dressing up; CB had already left. Our lockers were on the same row, so MF turned to me and gave me a polite smile; I politely smiled back.

MF asked me how long I’ve been working out. I answered him as civil as I can; there were still other guys in the dressing room. He asked me if it was bad to hit the showers right after a strenuous workout. It was small talk, sure; but no reason for me to be impolite, right?

We properly introduced ourselves. He told me about enrolling at the gym because the call center where he works in had a corporate discount. He mentioned he was a teacher before. Of what? I asked. Music and Fine Arts, he replied. And now you want a higher-paying job, I teased him.

“No, I stopped teaching because I had a friend, a co-teacher, who died, and every time I teach I am reminded of him too much. So I had to stop teaching first.” And so unfolded his fascinating personal story.

He and his best friend were in a jeepney when the robbers struck. His friend, who was into taekwando, tried to put up a fight; he was stabbed on side with an ice pick. He was rushed to a nearby hospital, but by that time it was too late. Unfortunately the family of his best friend blamed him for his death. Why didn’t he put up a fight too? Why was he able to get off unscathed, while his best friend was bruised and stabbed? His best friend’s wife stopped talking to him, and her children—his godchildren—blamed him for their father’s death. “That’s why it’s still too painful for me to teach,” he said. “I’m always reminded of him.”

Something about his story nagged me. But he continued, “It’s a good thing the investigators released the information that my best friend was stabbed by another accomplice using an ice pick, not the guy who pointed the knife at us. His family always thought that I could have stopped the stabbing because I was in between him and the guy pointing the knife. What they didn’t know was that he was stabbed by the guy right beside him. His mother had to tell the wife to stop blaming me.”

“Why don’t you write about it?” I suggested. “Like a blog or something. Not really to set the record straight, but just so you’ll have an outlet.”

He sighed. “I did. It was in my Friendster blog. That’s where his mother read what really happened. But when I learned that after she read it she was crying and crying, I deleted it.”

I couldn’t help myself anymore. I stepped closer to him and asked in a soft voice, “Your best friend, he wasn’t just your friend, right? He was your partner, right?”

He lowered his voice—and gaze—too. “Uhm, kinda. Well, yes in a way. He was married, I was also for a while; separated now.” Then he looked me straight in the eye. “But, yeah. We were partners. But we never had, you know… I mean, we would hug and kiss and… you know… but we were both top kasi eh.”

“Really?” I most curiously asked.

He nodded. “But sometimes we’d have a bottom with us, and… we’d…” his voice trailed off into a silent smile.

He told me how he always had feelings for his best friend. “Pero galit yun sa mga bading noon eh,” he told me. But when he separated from his wife, he came out to his best friend. “Natanggap naman niya. Tapos… ayun, yun na.”

“But just hug and kiss? Were you guys ever naked in front of each other?” I asked.

“Oh yes.”

My eyebrows shot up. “But… sex…?”

“We’d jack off together,” he said.

Back down went my eyebrows. Hmmmm. “Does his family… know?” I was cautious in asking.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

My phone beeped a warning. “I really have to go now,” I apologized. By that time I was all ready to leave. I shook his hand. “It was fascinating meeting you,” I said. He smiled and nodded.

I turned and left.