What We Could Be
“So what is it that you do for a living?”
“I make people feel things, whether good or bad.”
“Make them feel, how?”
“By reminding them of the feeling without actually telling them,” she clarified. “I was never really the one good with words…but with feelings? I can do it. Pretty well, for that matter! Enough about me. What about you? What do you do?”
I was stunned by the question that followed the longest set of sentences she has ever said throughout the night. I felt shy revealing that we’re two completely different individuals.
“Wow, quite awkward. Hehe, guess we’re opposites, huh? I, on the other hand, give people the words they’ve been meaning to say but never knew how. I find the words that people lose or forget when they are overwhelmed by a moment. I gather them around, arrange, twist, and turn them. So that people understand the message clearer.”
“Hmm,” she muttered, with her tongue on her cheek. “But why would people need someone like you to find the words? I mean, you said it yourself, these are things they are familiar with already…~they’ve been meaning to say~ so to speak. So isn’t it quite redundant? Why go through all the trouble? Why put words in my mouth when I already know what I mean?”
“Because it matters how you say things.”
“Pardon?”
I inhaled for a little bit knowing this is going to be a lengthy response, “Because how the words are combined can reveal what certain situations mean, like that of the silent moments of breathing, of the delicate touching one’s lock of hair or article of clothing, or of slow motions and heartbeats skipping…you know, those moments! What you observe or appreciate will never be fully understood by someone else unless you communicate it so well with words.”
“Wooooord. Okaaay. You really are good at this,” she said while nodding, looking impressed.
“So did you notice?”
“Notice what?”
“I pretty much said the same thing from my first answer. I know you understand it the first time, but I was hoping the second version made you smile and recall something nice. Did I succeed?”
Looking dumbfounded by my question, she replied, “Now why ask something you have obviously observed already? You can see it on my — ”
“Because…” I gently bowed my head, my hand gesturing that I was extracting an expected answer from her.
She sighed with a smile, “Because it matters how you say things haha! I get it. Sneaky, you!”
“So, did I succeed? Tell me,” I challenged.
She grabbed my left hand and put it close to her heart. She simultaneously lifted my other hand and placed it on my chest. Both of my hands sensed two different sources of beating. Hers was calm, mine sounded panicking but eventually synced to hers. As she did that, our faces started getting closer and closer, and when our lips were only a couple of inches apart, I heard the faintest and most gentle gasp of air. An opening of the mouth, maybe? I think she was about to kiss me but I am not sure…my eyes were closed.
“So what did you hear?” Her voice changed a little bit this time. The reduced volume only means she has stepped back.
I snapped out of reality and saw her smirking as I opened my eyes. “Hear what?” I retorted, pretending it was nothing. I was trying to shrug the embarrassment off.
“We’re in the middle of the city. Didn’t the road traffic and pedestrians become muted for a few seconds?”
“I…think so…”
“And if you listened closely, all you can hear is our hearts going tug-tug…tug-tug…tug…tug……tug, “ she said this with her two index fingers moving like that of an orchestra conductor.
“Right, right,” I chuckled. “I also heard you breathe in air, it’s like you consumed the moment, consumed me — ”
“Now that’s what I do!” she exclaimed. “I manipulate the moment, the elements happening simultaneously, the sounds, to make people feel things. Sometimes I use drums, sometimes I use heartbeats. Sometimes I pull you in or sometimes I pull strings from a violin.”
“There you go! I have some competition right here! That’s a good play with words.”
“Haha! Well I have a good teacher right here.” She pressed her index finger on my chest.
“Hey, this tutorial ain’t free. You have to return the favor.”
“How?”
“Teach me the sounds that my words never knew could make.” I looked directly at her intently.
“So you give me words, and I give you sound. Is this how it works?
“You read my mind. So are you game?”
“Let’s play it by ear. But hey, thanks for the awesome time. Nice meeting you, Poetry.”
“Pleasure’s all mine, Music.”
And then she walked away, the sound of her footsteps seemed like an introduction of what we could be.
Epilogue:
“Hey, Music! Promise me, we’ll work together sometime soon!” I shouted at her when was already a couple of blocks away.
She looked in my direction, slowly walking backward. She then went on a complete stop and thought deeply of what to say, because it matters how she’ll say it.
“That sounds lovely, Lyrics. That could work. We could work…together”
Read more of Andrew’s short stories:
Andrew Beso is a Manila-based content creator exploring different ways of sharing art — whether it be written, spoken, and visualized. Aside from being in Medium, his work can also be seen on Youtube, Instagram, and Tiktok. All his creative expressions use varying styles, lenses, and mediums of storytelling.
