The Librarian

by Charles Tan

One of my few stories that was workshopped heavily, The Librarian was influenced by Jorge Luis Borges's short stories. It's still my opinion that it was my best work of fiction while I was still pursuing my undergraduate degree. For quite some time, it was the only story I had produced, and my batchmate EJ even teased me about it, calling my name and then saying "librarian", and then laughing afterwards. Admittedly it's not a story that appeals to everyone because of the lack of character sympathy, but hopefully it's just not me that enjoyed this story. Last revised in May of 2003.

Years of research and not even a hint. The closest historical record I could find alludes to the Library of Alexandria, but even that is just a mere shadow. No, the library I am interested in is not limited to any structure built by man.

I do not remember how I had stumbled upon it. I was not even looking for it at the time. Perhaps I was dreaming. Or suffering the effects of hallucinogens. Had I crossed a rift in reality? Or attained the state of nirvana while meditating? Whatever the case, my entry into The Library has been clouded by memory and attempts to re-enter had failed.

I am sure though that at one point, I was in The Library. It cannot be classified as a place in the fullest sense of the word for it does not occupy any space, or time, for that matter. The Library exists outside of our world yet is still accessible to some. One of my theories is that it lies in the nexus between temporality and eternity, still a part of reality yet ignoring its limitations.

The Library is vast. It has no center and all around are endless corridors of bookshelves, each twice the size of any man. At first, I thought it was an optical illusion. Maybe something out of Borges. But there were no mirrors, just shelves and the books they contained. I do not know how long it took me, perhaps the equivalent of an hour in the real world, to verify that. I passed several dozen bookcases only to find that I still had further to go in either direction.

The shelves seemed to be made of wood, dark and thick. There was nothing distinguishing about them, except for the fact that they all looked identical and one could not tell one bookshelf from another. Even the books they stored all looked bland and uniform, each sharing the same size, cover, and paper. I wondered how one files the books.

I tried scratching the shelves to leave a mark, my trail of breadcrumbs in this wooden wilderness. But the shelf resisted and looked no different from the one beside it. I fumbled my pockets for a knife or even a pen but they were empty. Strange, considering I never leave home without a pen.

I was about to grab a book, using the shelf with an empty slot as a reference when I heard a voice. This voice was not something my ears heard but rather something that echoed in my mind, an idea that does not seem to leave your memory. One could mistake it for one’s own thoughts but there was something that separated me from "it". I knew that what I was "hearing" wasn’t my idea for I was determined in navigating this labyrinth through any means possible.

And then it occurred to me. What if this library that seemed to have no end contained all the books in the world? Not just the books that have been written but are being written and have yet to be written. If that was so, what place could hold such an infinite collection?

I realized that I was beyond space and beyond time. Even more mysterious than the place I was in was the source of these thoughts. Who could be here aside from me? But every library has its librarian, the caretaker of knowledge, the guide of souls.

Was it a him or a her? I do not know. As far as I was concerned, the librarian was a voice in my mind, a presence that defied all logic. Not all logic, just my logic. There are scientific journals that explore the possibility of telepathy. And one of the debates of philosophy is the ability of man to communicate directly with the other without requiring a medium.

At this point, the distinction between my thoughts and the librarian’s thoughts became blurred.

Lost histories, forgotten tomes, sacred scriptures, unfound journals, burned books, banned manuscripts, apocrypha, encyclopedias, compendiums, anthologies, best-sellers, short stories, vignettes, novels, classics, sonnets, free verse, litanies, essays, plays, scripts, tragedies, comedies, translations, myths, legends, epics, codices, literature of unborn civilizations – all these were available. I knew where each book was, its subject matter, and which shelf it lay. I merely had to choose. One.

Why one? Such a small number compared to the thousands of books published every year, such a small number compared to the authors born in my lifetime, such a small number compared to the translations of The Iliad and The Odyssey.

Tick. Tock. No clock was ticking for I exist out of time. But my heart was pounding, my brain racing for answers. Breath deeply. Again. Yes, things are becoming clearer now. Which book to read?

Surely not history for even the accounts of what happened on November 22, 1963 are too numerous to be contained in merely one book. And an account is only as truthful as its author. The Library, after all, does not discriminate. There is a twinge of curiosity about the future but this library is not limited by the physical laws of the world. A text written in the future I might read but who can say that what it contains will actually occur? All the possible futures, as well as all the possible pasts, are documented.

How about books on empirical data? Somewhere in this library is the formula that will convert lead into gold. But would I really care to know what that formula is? Would I even remember it once I leave this place? Would I risk the answer to one of the many questions that plague my life for something as trivial as this?

I think The Library is playing a cruel game on me. I could spend the equivalent of years in this place and still not decide. I am Althea and Meleager both at once, holding my fate before me. Choose and I regain my mortality. Not choose and I will be trapped in despair. I envy the All-father who was able to exchange one of his eyes for a draught in the Well of Wisdom.

Wait! This place is a library, even if it is the result of some cosmic machination. There is one person who would be able to read all the books in The Library for that person is as much a part of The Library as its books.

Who art thou, librarian? You have neither name nor gender, merely is. You know where all the books lie, what each one contains. Surely one must have been tempted? Ah, I see. Every treasure has its own safeguards against its caretakers. Did the Egyptians not bury the architects of the pyramids with the structures they themselves designed? Yours is a harsh existence. You know where all the books are but you are blind. You cannot read the very works you guard. The irony. I wonder what kind of life you live.

Perhaps it is actually possible to know. A biography of the librarian. That is the book I want to read. Unfortunately that is the one book that does not exist. There is no one to write about the librarian, no soul to narrate your existence.

What if I write a book about the librarian? But the nature of The Library is to have all the books, including that which has not yet been written. All the books except one is a contradiction. Would I create a paradox? There is a book on paradoxes.

A book I have written. Yes, that is a more plausible request.

Immediately, I knew the exact location of the book I was interested in. I passed a few shelves, turned a few corners, and then passed several more shelves. There was this book that looked plain and no different from the rest but I knew its pages contained my name. I held its leather covering and started turning the pages. I saw the title and I saw my name. It was indeed the book I had written, or rather will write.

In my hand was a book about The Library and its librarian. A paradox it seems. I wonder what would happen next. I turned the pages. And turned. And turned—

Gemini

by Charles Tan

In order to graduate, my batch was required to come out with an anthology featuring our works. I wanted to do a speculative fiction story, except the one I worked on earlier got rejected (even if I thought it was superior to this one). While perhaps not my personal best, it shows what kind of fiction I was writing back in 2003. It was last revised in October 22 of the same year. Maybe I'll come back to it in the future.

Fables. Legends. Myths. It does not matter to me how different they are from each other; they're all one and the same as far as I'm concerned: they're stories. If there's one thing I enjoy more than listening to them, it's telling them. And perhaps that's why I find myself as a bard. But enough about me. As much as I love to prattle about myself, the story I'm about to tell is not about me. At least not at first.

Several years ago, I was drawn to the realm of Twin Peaks. It was originally named after the two valleys that surrounded the place, but some people speculate that the reason for its name is because of the frequency of twins that are birthed in the area. That being the case, it was not surprising that the king and queen of the realm gave birth to twins two decades earlier.



My story revolves around them, the twin princes as they were called. Some kind of conflict had arisen when the king and queen had passed away, and the one who now sits on the throne is Jason, the younger of the twins. I had ventured far from my home to hear his story, that I might add a new tale to my repertoire. I thought myself fortunate when King Jason approved my request for an audience with him.

I will skip the details of how I lodged in a nearby inn (paying for my board with song) and how I covered quite a distance to reach the castle. Suffice to say, I was escorted by guards to the throne room, which had purple drapes covering the walls and a crimson carpet leading to the actual throne. With the exception of the two guards escorting me, the king was alone, comfortably sitting in his throne, his eyes somewhat eager to see me. King Jason was far from what you'd expect a hero would look like. He was skinny and bony, his overflowing robes exaggerating the thinness of his body. His skin was dark and parched, totally unexpected coming from royalty. And then he stood up.

Whatever King Jason lacked in his physic, he made up for in body language and confidence. His poise was firm and his gaze never wavered. He was assessing me just as I was assessing him, that much I was certain. With a quick wave of his hand, the guards beside me nodded and left the room. I was now alone with him, which was strange since kings usually take more precautions than this.

"Greetings," he said. "I am glad you have made the journey safely."

"Thank you for your concern, my lord. I am used to long travels and I am eager to ask for a certain boon from someone such as yourself."

"And what might that be, hmmm?"

"A story, my lord. Your story to be exact."

"And might I ask why you are interested in just a story? Why not ask for gold, or perhaps an artifact I had obtained from my quest?"

"I am but a bard and stories are my way of earning a living. I am sure many people would be interested in hearing your tale. As far as everyone is concerned, you left your kingdom while it was in the hands of your brother, arrived several weeks later, revealed your brother to be an impostor, and ruled the realm ever since. As much as it leaves much room for embellishment, I'd rather have the details so as to give the story a ring of truth."

"And what if you do not find the story I have to tell pleasing?"

"I am a bard, my lord. Making it sound pleasing is what I do best, no matter how unlikely that might be."

King Jason merely smiled at my reply and returned to his seat.

"Very well then. I will begin with where it all started, the birth of my twin."

***

"My parents wanted an heir to the throne. But fate intervened when you least expect it and so my mother had given birth to twins. I was later told by my mother that I was originally supposed to be the eldest, crawling out of her womb first. But my brother grabbed my leg and pulled me before I could get out entirely. Thus it was he who had emerged first and proclaimed the eldest. He was then named Jacob."

"I do not know whether it was because of chance or because Jacob had been proclaimed the heir to the throne, but several days after we were placed in a cradle, someone abducted my brother and replaced him with a creature that looked identically like him. It was just as plump and pale as Jacob, or so I remember. I wailed but when the wet nurse had arrived, it was too late. No one could distinguish the impostor from my real brother. I obviously could not speak at the time and the only way I managed to express my distress was through my screams and tears. The impostor merely mimicked me and started crying as well."

"I would only find out later, after some thorough research, that the impostor was a changeling, a creature that takes the place of newly born babes to be raised by a family that was not its own. The legends say that it would grow to be a mischievous and ugly creature. Unfortunately, only the former was true. The changeling was as handsome as Jacob would have been: golden locks, smooth skin, a firm build—all accented by his confident demeanor. As for me, I would grow to be a pale shadow of him. Mind you, I wasn't as confident as I am now. I was the meek and shy one, the one who would hide in a corner whenever guests would arrive, or the type that would look at his feet whenever someone would stare. The impostor, however, would play tricks on the maids, charm the maidens, and banter insults with the other boys. But whenever we were alone, Jacob would threaten me, and none too often hurt me, just to scare me even if I didn't dare tell anyone about my childhood memory."

"It was on our nineteenth birthday that the impostor had been proclaimed king. Father was ill at the time and was confined to his bed. Mother was too much in distress. Everyone agreed it was the right time for ‘Jacob' to assume his place as king. I, on the other hand, was relegated to court duties. Honestly, I did not want to be king. But I chafe at the idea of the creature pretending to be my brother as ruler of the land. And so on that day, I set out to look for a magical talisman that would reveal the falsehood of the impostor."

***

"I was told by an oracle, after making a huge donation, that beyond Twin Peaks lay a mirror that would show a person's true form. However, I was warned that there were three challenges I had to overcome. The first lay in a hall near the mountains. I must pass through it in order to get to the second challenge. And so I went there, fending off wild animals and brigands on the way. I finally got there but all I saw before me was a huge marble hall shrouded in darkness."

"I entered and was consumed by the putrid smell of rotten bodies. I could not see where the stench came from though because of the darkness. I fumbled through my belongings to get a torch and lit it. I saw the corpses of men still garbed in their armor, a torch in one hand, a blade in the other. There did not appear to be signs of a struggle, only a gaping expression on their faces. And then from the corner of my eye I saw something move in the darkness. A silhouette of my size and shape appeared, creeping out of the fringes of the light. It encircled me, moving from the floors to the walls which was lighted by my torch. It made no sound and all I heard as the crackling of the flames of my torch. And then it slowly drew its sword from its sheath, preparing to thrust its immaterial blade at my beating heart."

"It was actually my folly that saved me. Instead of drawing my own sword, I got frightened and dropped my torch. The shadow suddenly lunged at me, a quick change in tactics considering it was taking its time the other moment. But the light gave out before it could reach me and when I expected its blade to pierce my heart, all I felt was the cold darkness around me and the stench of dead men."

"I hesitated to pick up my torch and reflected on what had just happened. Was the shadow a mere illusion or a real threat? If it was the former, that would not explain the corpses. Of course I wondered why I didn't join the fate of the others if that was the case. And then I remembered the torches and swords the men were holding. Swords would be ineffective against incorporeal monsters such as the shadow I just encountered. The men needed the torches to see their foe, but shadows need light as well to exist. That was their error, and I considered myself lucky that my torch had gone out in time."

"Groping in the darkness, I eventually found my way out. I do not know how much time I spent in that hall and the only way I managed to track my progress was through the fading smell of the corpses I left behind. You also cannot imagine how tempted I was to light a torch even for just a moment; a man can go crazy at not seeing the light. But I remembered the gaping expressions of the dead men and I did not want to share their fate."
***

"The second challenge I faced was something more mundane, albeit just as strange as the first. After exiting the hall I had emerged into a courtyard. Tress and shrubs surrounded me and best of all, I finally saw light. After wandering in the courtyard for some time, I was finally greeted by a two-headed giant garbed in wolf's skin and carrying a pair of wooden clubs."

"The giant approached me and one of the giant's heads introduced himself; the other head appeared to be sleeping. He told me that he had not always been like this. He too was a prince but was born with two personalities. People could not tell the difference between him and his ‘other self' until his other self had committed murder, and was cursed into this form by a wizard as punishment for his crime. To atone, he has been guarding this place ever since."

"I thanked him for his story and asked where I could find the magic mirror. He told me that it was ahead but that he was guarding the mirror and could not let me go any further. It was his duty to protect it, after all, and waved the club he was holding in his left hand to make sure I got the point. He did not sound threatening and in fact said it with a smile, and I did feel his reluctance in having to harm me."

"But the giant's other head seemed to be waking and the head that I was currently conversing with told me to run away. I honestly would have if it were not for the fact that I thought this was probably some kind of test as well as feeling ashamed for not standing my ground in the first trial. The other head finally stirred and the first thing he did was swing his club at me. I managed to dodge it but my courage wavered at that moment. It was strange, hearing from one head to run, while the other was muttering curses and told me to stand still. My sword was not drawn out yet so I thought it would be best to do as the kinder head said."

"The two-headed giant chased me, his stride significantly longer than mine. I did not expect such an abrupt change in my situation but I had to think fast. I headed back to the hall, knowing that the giant would not enter the place. I managed to get there before he could reach me but he guarded the exit, waiting for me to come out. I took a deep breath and planned my next move. I would not win over the giant with strength so I had to do it with guile. Unlike most foes, he had two personalities, hence the personification of two heads. It seems that the two heads were not cooperating with each other and perhaps that is where the giant's weakness lay."

"I drew out my sword, went out, and charged at the giant. One of the giant's faces looked sad and did not even bother to raise his club. The other was eager, his club raised and ready to smash me when I came into range. But I halted before that came to pass and asked the giant a question. I asked which of the two was the strongest. The ferocious one laughed and told me it was him. I then asked both of them what their names were and they both blurted out the same name. As I suspected, no one ever acknowledged them as individuals so the concept of two different names never came up. This caused some confusion between the two as they quarreled over their names, each one wanting the other to choose a different one. I offered to parley between the two, me being a neutral party in their conflict. In exchange for arbitrating, they would not harm me and allow me to continue my quest. I rationalized that there would still be a third challenge awaiting me so letting me pass would not mean automatically failing in their duty to protect the mirror. After all, if I did manage to succeed in conquering the first and third challenge, would it not be logical that I would have succeeded in the second? At least this way, we did not have to slaughter each other and at least they would have one of their problems solved. Either I was more persuasive than I thought or they were quite dim-witted, but the two heads agreed to my proposal."

***

"I left, giving the two-headed giant totally different names altogether. The more violent one I gave the name of Strength, appeasing both his ego and attitude. The other I named Gentle, for I thought he was a kind person at heart. I sheathed my blade and continued on my way until I found a shrine housing the mirror I was looking for. My quest seemed at an end as I gazed into the mirror and saw my reflection."

"Behind the mirror though was a doppelganger, a creature with the ability to take on my shape as well as my memories. As I was looking at the mirror, the doppelganger was assuming my form and prepared to strike me dead with his copy of my sword."

"Suffice to say, I came home with the mirror in tow. I revealed that the changeling was actually not my brother but a foul creature masquerading as him. Everyone saw in the mirror that the creature's reflection was that of a malformed creature, its eyes bulging from their sockets, ears sharp and pointy, skin greenish and pale. The changeling was slain on the spot by the guards, and I eventually took his place as king."

"My father eventually died of his sickness. An investigation showed that the changeling had poisoned my father to hasten his death. I had a proper funeral for both my father and long-gone brother, while the changeling's body I had it burned and the ashes blown to the winds. My mother is currently residing in a monastery, mourning the demise of my father and brother. The mirror is in the treasury and that is the end of my story."

***

I committed to memory King Jason's narrative. He was grinning at me after finishing the story and I felt somewhat uncomfortable as he peered at me.

"My lord, I am concerned at your tale of the third challenge. For the most part, you skipped narrating your conflict with the doppelganger. And judging from how you conquered the previous two challenges, fighting is melee is not your best ability, if I might say so, my lord."

"How perceptive of you. But I know of the way you bards exaggerate your stories and how the commoners do love a dramatic battle at the end. I will leave the embellishments to your discretion." The king smiled at me as he said those words. Again, I felt uncomfortable, but I pressed on knowing this might be the only chance I might have to satisfy my curiosity.

"I appreciate your trust in me, my lord, but I would be much more content if you obliged me in narrating what happened in the shrine between you and the doppelganger."

"Do you really want me to tell you?" The king was smiling when he asked me that question, and as a reflex, I started looking around, observing that all the guards were outside. There was only myself and him.

"I peddle in stories, my lord. But I am just a bard and at the disposal of the king."



"Do you know that names have power? Names are part of a person's identity and for a creature such as the doppelganger, naming himself confines his power. The changeling, for example, once it adopted the name Jacob and introduced himself as Jacob, could no longer alter his shape. He was locked in the identity of ‘Jacob' even though it originally was not his own."

"I have just noticed, my lord, that you have not introduced yourself to me."

"It's funny that while everyone has seen the changeling's reflection in the mirror, no one has ever seen mine."

The man before me just smiled as his laughter echoed around the room.

Friendship

By Charles Tan

With the deadline of Dean Alfar's Speculative Fiction Vol. 2 looming, I thought I'd just archive some of my short stories here. The most recent short story I've written is this one, which I last revised in September 7, 2005. While not speculative in nature, some people liked my treatment for the first character.

-Paul-

Matthew 19: 30. But many who are first will be last...

This restaurant must be more Christian than I thought. Because my order hasn't arrived yet even though I was the first one at the counter. Mike yawns, taco shell bits on his plate. Marie had a bunch of leftovers, mostly tomatoes and strips of lettuce from her salad. Not much to say about Vincent and his empty bowl. The chili must have been very good.

The waiter finally arrives with my dinner plate. He smiles at me, as if his grin would turn back time and undo the twenty minutes I've been waiting for my beef burrito. The waiter reminds me of the ushers at church, a little bit too enthusiastic. I want to smack him in the face, and demand a refund.

Matthew 5: 22. But I tell you that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment…

Instead, I take the plate calmly and smile back at the waiter. Thank you, I say. It seems I've been doing a lot of acting lately.

I steal a glance at Marie before I start munching on my food. She's facing Mike, telling him how it's been a month since they last saw each other face to face. I concur. It's just been the three of us: Vincent, Marie, and I that have been together, especially since we all go to the same college. It was I who stayed with Marie, holding her hand and comforting her as she failed her first Math exam, who went with her to the play they were required to attend for English class, who drove her back home during weekdays.

Exodus 20: 14. You shall not commit adultery.

Was I committing adultery? It's not like Mike and Marie were married. They're just boyfriend and girlfriend. One that'll be ending soon at that. Marie's been the one approaching me. It's not like I was courting her or anything. I can't deny my feelings forever can I? When she mentions how Oasis is the coolest band around, I agree. When she takes out an Anne Rice novel to reread, I remember my own copy at home. We simply get along, and share a lot of common interests. Is that so bad?

Luke 6: 31. Do to others as you would have them do to you.

It's so easy to be like other guys, stealing the girlfriends of other people. But I'm not like that. Mike's a friend after all. That's why I'm waiting for Marie to break up with Mike. That's when I'll court her. Besides, it's Mike who told me I should be selfish from time to time. I'm just following his advice. And to a certain extent, I'm tired of always being the good guy, the person everyone depends on. If what I'm going to do is a sin, hopefully God will forgive me. Because I can't imagine life without Marie. And if Mike's a true friend, he'll understand.

Before I start eating my dinner, I try to catch another glimpse of Marie. I spot Mike's eyes instead.

Matthew 26: 50. …Friend, do what you came for.

I look down, say a quick prayer, and focus on my food.

The burrito's spicier than normal. It burns, but it's so damn good. I take in a second bite, and another. The meal was worth the wait.

-Vincent-

Nothing's happening. Paul's just there, immersing himself with the food that just arrived. Marie, sexy Marie in her green tube top, talking to Mike in low whispers. At least there was no physical contact this time, although Mike did try. His hand reached out to hers, but Marie's fingers remained stiff. He withdrew it soon afterwards.

Most people think I don't notice. Heck, they probably don't notice me. I'm not just a third wheel, I'm a wraith, ignored and taken for granted. I test my theory by standing up and getting out of the table. I murmur that I'm heading for the bathroom. Paul's ears twitch, but no one looks in my direction. Mike's attention seems to be directed only at Marie. As for Marie, I really don't know what's going around in her head.

The restaurant's bathroom is dirty. The faucets are rusting, and the hexagonal tiles are wet with what I presume was piss. I‘m alone, unlike the superficial companionship I had when I was with Marie. This was truth, this was reality.

Marie was Mike's girlfriend. Before Marie graduated from high school, she was already going out with Mike. M&M we called them, Mike and Marie. Mike and Paul, on the other hand, were my friends from high school. Mike used to be my classmate, until he failed Science during our junior year. He was retained, while Paul and I moved on to our senior year.

I was never close to Paul, at least not as close as he and Mike were. During weekends, Paul and Mike would go out to the local arcade and play video games. Or sometimes, Mike would sleep over at Paul's place, browse through each other's comic collection, and top it off with sleepless nights of playing board games and poker. Occasionally, me and some of Paul's classmates would be invited. But it was mostly Mike and Paul. It felt awkward, intruding on their boyish intimacy, but they were the only guys in class who actually invited me to hang out with them. Mike and Paul did most of the talking when I was around, and I'd make the occasional quip or two. Or whenever they needed a different opponent with the video games they played, I'd join in and give them a run for their money.

And then Paul and I graduated from high school, while Mike remained. Marie happened to be attending the same university Paul and I were going to. Mike introduced Marie to Paul earlier, and then Paul introduced me to Marie when we saw her at the college campus.

We pursued different courses, yet we were always together. We were a triumvirate, the Three Musketeers, but the truth of the matter was, it was Paul and Marie, with me being an afterthought. Again.

I'd carpool with Paul to school, and once we parked the car, we'd meet up with Marie. I was usually in front, and the first one to spot her every morning. I'd wave to her and greet her good morning. But the first person she always greeted was Paul. And then they'd hug each other, or sometimes, kiss each other's cheeks, only after which they'd turn their attention to me. Did I get a hug or a kiss? Just a simple wave and hello.

There were times when Paul and I would be together, or Paul and Marie would be alone. But there was never a moment longer than a few seconds when it would just be me and Marie. Whenever I'd talk to Marie, the only real conversation pieces we talked about were our assignments, our unjust professors, and how the next day would be a holiday. I tried talking about the Anne Rice novels which Marie loved to read, but she simply dismissed me as a poseur, and gave me a reading list. End of conversation.

Last month, I suspected there was something going on between Paul and Marie. There were moments when I'd catch them holding each other's hands, or their bodies itching to be closer to each other. There were never any overt signs, no sudden gifts to each other, no kisses, no prolonged body contact, no over-protective or jealous attitudes. But I felt that something was going on.

I was tempted to tell Mike about it, but what would be the result? What if I was wrong? Or worse, if I was right, I'd be labeled as a rat. Besides, I owe Mike nothing. He didn't introduce me to Marie, Paul did. He didn't entrust Marie to me, he entrusted her to Paul, his best friend.

When I came out of the washroom, no one was at the table. There was just the bill, along with the receipt and some change.

-Marie-

Mike was handsome, with his hawk-like nose and gentle eyes that always looked at me. No one paid me as much attention as he did, not even Paul. A year ago, I loved that about him. Now, it's just tiring. I don't want a guy constantly watching over my back. I'm not his property.

-I'm sorry, I'll try to make it work.-

Mike's first mistake. You'll try to make it work? What am I, chopped liver? You always thought of this relationship as yours, not ours. It was always you, you, you.

-Just give me one more chance. I know I can fix it.-

That's what you said the last time. The reason I didn't break up with you back then was because of pity. Your grades plummeted, you even crashed your car into a tree. But I've changed, I've grown… I've discovered someone else.

I wanted to divert my eyes to Paul, to draw strength from him. But I didn't want to give him away either. Instead, I looked down at my hands, and I see the silver bracelet Mike gave me during our first month anniversary. The day he gave it to me, I remember it being shiny and bright, especially the engraving with my name on it. Now, it's dull and lackluster. But it's proof of how long our relationship had endured.

I gaze into Mike's brown eyes, and see what seems to be tears. Not in public! The reason I asked Mike to invite Paul and Vincent along was so that we could avoid making a scene in public. That didn't stop Mike however. And where the hell was Vincent? He was pretty much like Mike nowadays, there when you don't want to see him, but absent when you need him.

At least Paul was still here. My steady rock. The guy who waited for me as I took my three-hour midterm exam in Math. And failed. Paul offered me a smoke, and we talked until we couldn't see the pale moonlight. And when I got two tickets to Mistress of the Inn, a play we were required to watch for English, it was Paul who drove me to the theater, and there we watched the amateur actors act out their roles.

I wrote a letter to Paul when I got home from watching the play, which had moved me to tears. I could imagine myself as the protagonist, searching for love in faraway places, when the man who loved me was nearby. Mike was a suitor, nothing more and nothing less. He made me realize though what I wanted in life, what I really sought. He introduced me to Paul, and for that, I would be eternally grateful. But I couldn't give him my love. The farce needed to stop.

Mike's hand tries to clasp mine once more. I brush it away, and tell him flatly it's over. For some moments, he looks fuzzy. Something seems to have been caught in my eye. Paul suddenly stops eating his food, and turns to look at me. It seems as if everyone's eyes, from the patrons to the waiters to the cook, were on me. I get up, grab my purse, and run.

It was Paul who ran after me. I was surprised that Mike didn't give chase. Did he know?

I'm finally free, but why do I feel doubt?

-Mike-

M&M. The best couple ever. We even have the same birthday.

Yet here I am, picking up the pieces. I get the largest bill I could find in my wallet and give it to the waiter. That pays for tonight's dinner. As for the tickets for tonight's movie, I might as well burn them.

I don't understand what happened. What did I do wrong? Was it something I said?

I wanted to chase after her, but Paul ran first. He gave me a quick glance and hesitated. My eyes probably told him to go, that I didn't want her to see me like this. I fought to hold back my tears. Paul might know how to solve this. There's no one else I trust who'll take care of my girlfriend. He's my best friend, after all, honest and loyal to the bone.

I remember when we were in grade school, and Paul was failing Science. Leo, the smartest kid in class, offered to give Paul the answers to the next exam. I would have taken it just like that. Instead, Paul declined, and told him that he couldn't. It would be cheating. So what, Leo asked. Paul just smiled, and told him he was being a good Christian.

It can be annoying at times, I must admit, but that was a part of Paul you could always depend on. I couldn't invite him to go out for several rounds in a bar, but I could depend on Paul's honesty. Perhaps that's why I chose him to be my best friend. You can't buy trust and sincerity, and Paul had them in spades.

I wonder where Vincent went? He simply disappeared. Vincent's a nice guy as well, but there's just something about him that turns people off. I also dislike his eyes. They're always staring, observing. The looks he gives Marie, it's as if a predator was staring, although Vincent was never threatening.

Marie… my dear Marie. I dial her number, but she didn't answer her mobile phone.

I could always write her a letter, much like the love notes I sent her when she was still studying in high school. This is only a temporary setback, I can fix this.

I have to be stronger, more determined. I was a wreck the last time. I have to prove to Marie that I'm whole, that I can take care of her and our future family.

I'm just grateful that I have friends like Paul to count on.

If you can't depend on your friends, who else can you trust?