Which is The World With 'Us'?

Big Fishes' Carnival at The Lake - Which is The World With 'Us'?

Have you ever wished for a second chance? Failed yet again and wished for a third chance? Have you ever wished for an unlimited number of chances so you could always try to amend your mistakes, however trivial or colossal? Trust me: you wouldn't want it. It really felt like a miracle, a blessing to be given more and more chances - until you found out that you will never make it out prevailing. It was, then, just destiny smacking your face with the same guilt again and again. Memories so thin, so faint were the only means of remembering the beginning of such sorcery. So I injected a dose of memories to myself: to remind me of what had (not) been done and what mistakes I (have not) committed.


"I really can't stand this. I'm.." she protested, teary-eyed.

But I stopped her lips the way she liked it: with mine. It was such a blinded bliss at first, the kiss, since it was like jumping into a dark room yet everything was so bright and warm and comforting, but now I had sinned against such innocent symbol of affection. Playing with my tongue was always her biggest distraction, her dose of ecstasy, yet it was an excruciating pain for another person: the person standing still in disbelief, upon the rooftop garden's door. The silhouette then walked back downstairs, half-smiling, as if the pain from betrayal was anticipated and welcomed instead.

But I'm no cheater. And inflicting pain was the last thing I wanted to do.

So I chased the person I'm officially in love with, breaking the long kiss she was supposed to enjoy to erase her sorrow. I have always thought knowing how things could go wrong would guide me to make things right, but when it comes down to what matters, I would always found myself relying on my instinct, my feelings. And my instinct sucks: it was explosive at the spur of the moment. As a proof, there I was again, chasing him without thinking what to do when I actually caught up with him, for I never expected I would. When I stopped he was there - calm, relaxed, indifferent - sitting on the table near the exit, crossing his arms, smiling. Such contrast to my appalled, paralyzed self.

"I don't know what game you're playing, Beck," he started, eyes on the ground. For a long time the sight of his bangs covering the sadness in his eyes was one so excruciating, and even more so as his soft, lady-like voice recite the nostalgia I had heard for far more than I can count. The exact same words came out of that intriguingly sexy lips of his, "but I believe you're doing it for us." Yes, I do. I was still thankful that someone could understand me, even if I had bent the very reality in this world(s). But if you listen to your favorite tune
for a thousand years, you'd get bored of it, annoyed by it and would finally block such a fine tune out of your head. The same applies to this.

The usual routine would be me turning back and starting over at this point, but for now I wanted to do something "new", if the word ever contain the meaning it once did.

"I'm not playing any games," I denied. To me this is far more important than just a game.

"Then tell me this, Rebecca: what is my name?"

Oh, I know this, alright. I know much more than you actually do, I thought to myself. In fact, I know the names you once wield, that you don't even know of: I know you were once Robert Harrington, a brilliant writer that hates coffee but drink with me regardless; I know you were once Harris nel Vueda, a cheerful girl who is so clumsy you practically can't put your own dress without me helping you, despite all the awkwardness: I know you were once Mal Gibson, a homosexual drunkard that spent most of the night in the pub as I waited for you at home; You were once Anthony Finn, a lawyer; you were once Sierra Brisbane; you were once Lin Jaesokk, were once Naekta ni Uma, were once Lindsey, Gilbert van Houten, Jake.. Now you are Gregory Stark, but before all that you were once..

"Julia Verns.."

"I'm sorry, what? That sounds like a girl's name," he protested, half-giggling, half disappointed.

"No, no, I'm sorry. You're Gregory. Gregory Stark," I replied, disappointed in myself to think, to expect, to hope that he at least recognized that name, or give a unique response. I was trying too hard. I sighed as a pathetic attempt to let go of my stress, and I sat beside him, while he finally stop his half-giggling and back to the agonized self. Yet even as he found out that his beloved was cheating, he still put his arms around me, patting my head as if he knows what I'm going through and is telling me everything's going to be alright. At this point I hate the fact that I'm the girl, because now that he comforted me, I can't help but rest on his chest, tears beginning to fall. I hate that as a girl, these emotional burdens weigh so much more.

After that, he brought me to his house, and we slept together, perhaps for the last time in this world.

"Hey, Beck," he softly whispered to me as both of us laid down in his bed, both covered only in blanket. I guess he was waiting for my reply, because what follows what a moment of silence. Tired, I weakly throw him the normal 'yeah' and it was still silent until he took a deep breath. "You know, it's perfectly okay to make mistakes. Everyone does it. They always say that failure is just a delayed success, and there's a good reason why people keep saying that: because it's true. You don't have to make everything right again once you make mistakes. Often people can't, but even if you can, I think there are some mistake that we shouldn't make up for. We just need to face the consequences." He was already holding me close again by the time he finished his long speech, and I was crying again. This is what I had always loved about him: how he could utter the very words that I needed to hear, without knowing the context. I never told him anything but he understood everything. This is why I wanted the three of us to be together forever.

When I thought he already fell asleep, I slipped out of his bed and into my clothes. I'm okay, but still for the longest time I stare at his beautiful face, and before I decided to leave I kissed him in the forehead. I always knew he(she) was a great person, and that is why I'm willing to do everything to make things right, to have the three of us to be together forever, to find a world with "us". No matter how many times I need to go through all these fears, stress, conflicts, I'll bring us together. Yet when I wanted to step out of the room, he said, "and Beck, you get my name wrong this time." That sent me thinking, but after all this, his name in this world wouldn't matter anymore.

"Beck, I don't like this," she complained as I was about to start the machine.

"What do you mean? We can save John with this!"

"Beck, I know you wanted to do more than just saving John from.. the accident. But we don't know what's out there! We might have different names, different faces, we might not even meet each other!" she started screaming, and as I was also in the same aggressive state of mind, I shouted back, "to Hell is what we don't know; what I know is that this thing gives us a chance to save John, and I'm going to take it!"

"Then I'm not going with you," she declared and just walked away.

"Julia.."

I snapped back into reality(?) when someone grabbed my hand. It was Cynthia. As always, she was the shy, silent type, even when she looked like she had something to say. But I don't want her to worry, because I know what she was about to say: she was asking about me and Greg. And about me and her. I pulled her close to me, and kissed her forehead, and for a long time we stayed that way. I keep reminding myself that Cynthia was just an innocent girl that fell in love with the wrong person: our problems always started in the same manner. I keep reminding myself that one day I would bring the three of us together.

"I don't mind," she started, which surprised me. I let her continue, "you know, being out of your life." I hold her shoulders and looked into her eyes, trying to tell her not to give up - or perhaps I was a fool to tell her that. I want us to be together. Yet in here eyes, along with her loneliness, was acceptance. I found that annoying, so I said, "no, dear, you're going to be with me."

"No," for the first time Cynthia pushed me away from her. "You can't continue with this half-baked decisions, Beck! I know Greg was the only one for you, and that I was confused, and that you're just too kind to reject me. But now I understand. You need to choose, Rebecca, and whatever you choose, I will respect that. Just promise me you wouldn't choose the two of us: it's fate that one of us has to go."

No, you don't understand. You are not confused, and I'm not making out with you out of kindness. Here I was, determined to bring the three of us together, and you are going to tell me that was all for naught? No, there must be another way, for the three of us to be together. I'm sorry that all these has to happen; I know it was all my fault, and I'm going to fix it. But the fragile Cynthia wouldn't be able to bear all that. She was to remain innocent, feeble, gentle. So I patted her head and then leave.

I didn't realize how selfish I was.

"Another failure," I muttered to myself as I turned on the time machine. Never did I think of any of their words when I extracted my memories into another vial, to add yet another collection to the rack of the vials. For some time I wondered if I ever going to visit each memory again, and whether I should keep it if I'm not going to use it anyway. At random I chose to keep them, and stepping into the time machine once again, I never did consider the words of my friends. Only much later did I realize that they were telling me something that could change the way I look at things. But that didn't happen today, didn't happen in this world. This is not the world with "us".