Desafinado: Slightly Out of Tune - 20. One Out Of Two

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CHAPTER 20: ONE OUT OF TWO

The concrete road merged with sand as we neared the pier. Peddlers started appearing, and vendors coasting along the road packed the area, selling their trinkets and wares. Baubles like puca bracelets and necklaces made of seashells dangled across the stalls. Some sold kakanin, bibingka, or coconut sliced in half with their refreshing juice ready for customers to drink. Some stalls had an array of junk food pinned to the netting.

Once we saw most of the foreigners and some locals huddled in different sections along the rows of boats parked in the ocean, we instinctively tried to find our group while we waited for the ferry to leave. I flashed our ticket. Katiklan was the name of our ride.

I lifted my hands to shade my eyes and bobbed my head left and right. Looking further to the east, we found the boat floating between two smaller ferries. We were an hour and a half early, so we waited in front of a ramp that led to the wet market, where other passengers sat to pass the hours. Placing my bag on a chaise lounge lined across the beach, Albert sat in front of me and grabbed something from his bag.

"I found this at the bazaar." He pulled out a straw hat. It was less fancy-looking than the one I’d lost and definitely less wide.

"Thanks," I said, faking my enthusiasm as the previous altercation rattled me. I put on my hat and told him, "I look like a cowboy."

"Yeah," said Albert, his voice floating in the air.

There was this sadness in his eyes. A kind of melancholy that holds your hand when you’re looking back into your past riddled with the choices you never want. I need to comfort him; I should have. But after the fight, I was paranoid about the judgmental eyes of the foreigners and the locals.

I’ve never felt this shame about being gay, bisexual, pansexual, or whatever label people gave me. My looks have always given me clearance for any questionable actions or decisions I’ve made in the past. And being this tall generally gave me an advantage over the majority of the population and their opinions. But a bold suggestion like that—that we were doing something wrong despite the contrary—held me back and put me in my place. I felt guilty, ashamed, and disgusted for no reason. Scrubbing myself clean of this feeling was of no use. This feeling hit deep and was too heavy. So, this is what it feels like to be bullied.

Confusion wrought on Albert’s face. Sitting beside him, I had to ask. "Why are you sad, mon coeur?"

"I’m just reminded of what I felt in high school. This feels the same. But... that was so long ago. I don’t even know why I’m suddenly thinking about it. Anyway, it must be nothing."

"When someone acts with hate, it has a certain way of uprooting you, bringing you back to your most horrible days. Don’t be sad, mon coeur."

"My apologies for being too silly," he said. "I may have brought attention to us. I didn’t know that someone would find me offensive."

"That’s not on you, mon couer." Looking at him, I couldn’t restrain myself. Damn the world and its hateful eyes. I suddenly didn’t care about the people and their opinions about us. For when I lifted his chin and said it tenderly, the world fell into place and everything seemed right. "That’s on the guy who, instead of dealing with himself, threw it out on us. Didn’t you see the way he was looking at you?"

"Yeah. He was angry. At me."

"Oh, mon coeur. Bless your heart for not knowing about these things. The guy was a closet case. When he saw you, he clearly was into you."

"I don’t think he was into me." He tapped my nose and said, "You’re such a jealous boyfriend."

I nuzzled my nose into his neck, breathing in his scent. "Yes. I am very jealous. Only because... Nearly slipping to say what my heart was shouting, I spouted these words, "You’re like a brother to me."

Fuck. What the fuck was that? Brother? I was meaning to say, because I love you. Not because you’re like a brother to me. Kill me now.

"Ok," he said. His eyes were tangled in an expression I’d like to call, Oh, hell no, you didn’t. "So we’re brothers now? Alright. I’m cool with that. The last time I checked, I thought you were my boyfriend." He stood up and took his phone and his wallet. "I’m going to buy something to eat, BRO. Do you want anything, BRUV?"

"Hey. Come on. It was a mistake. Oh man. I didn’t mean to say that I think of you as a brother. Let me clarify."

"Ok. Bro. Watch our things. Be right back. Bro."

"I deserve that," I said, shouting at him as he trailed off with a middle finger pointed in the air.

The beach was filling in with its assortment of foreign visitors and vacationers, and crowds were forming as they lined up for their respective ferries. 10 AM was the call time, and the sun was cooking the sand and the entire pier, if not for the canopies formed from the palm trees that shaded us. The chair beside me had been occupied by a couple who were nice enough to offer me a slice of the baked rice cake, called bibingka, they got from the market.

Albert was walking back with a boatload of crap he’d bought at the stalls. The junk food I don’t normally consume was in his arms, by the bucket. He threw his shopping spree at the chaise lounge and said, "I offer you these crisps. The V-Cut’s mine, BRO. Don’t touch that… BRO."

As if I’d eaten these things, I said, "I’m not your brother."

I was reaching over to grab the Piattos, when the woman sitting in the opposite lounge asked, "So you two are brothers? You, er, don’t look alike. Are you half-brothers perhaps?"

Albert took a seat between his hoarded crisps, as he’d call them, and gazed at me to ask with his eyes, Who are they? They looked like an open-minded couple, seeing as they were together and the colour of their skin. So I said, "He’s my boyfriend." Albert opened a bag of chips with a lopsided grin; he was enjoying this. "He’s currently pissed off at me because I accidentally said he was like a brother a moment ago." Scratching the back of my head, I explained, "Obviously, brothers don’t sleep in the same bed every night while cuddling."

The woman clapped once amid a stream of hair levelled with layers. "Omg. That is so cute. It’s the same argument we had last night."

Gorgeous in her ebony skin, glistening with her eyes of striking blue, and her strawberry blonde hair that spilled over the chest of the man sitting beside her wearing the same hat as mine, the man’s plainness and pastiness reflected well over his face and style. They were a mismatch—a beautiful mismatch.

"I called her by her first name, and she was furious," said the man, pulling her by the shoulders.

She wrapped her arms around his expanding waist and murmured, "My name’s Babe, not Allison."

"Yes babe," he said, "I’ll remember it."

Albert reached over for a handshake. "Well, my name’s Albert. Nice to bump into you guys."

"And I’m Damien," I said, waving at them.

Albert shook the man’s hand, and the man said, "I’m João and this is Allison, the light of my life." They had an interesting moment gazing at each other like they were lovers lost on a deserted island. I peered at Albert as though my eyes were saying I was jealous of them. Hug me.

Albert tapped my back and said, "Just like my bro here. He’s also the light of my life in a blackout or like when you’re trapped in a cave and you need a lighter. He’s that lighter. Right, bro?"

I yanked my shoulders back and said, "I hate you," while the couple in front of us chuckled.

Her engagement ring was glistening. The carats were screaming at us. "Were you just married or...

Allison said it excitedly. "We're newlyweds. We just got hitched six months ago. It was a beautiful Vegas wedding at The Westin. We had around 300 guests. Manuel’s family was a lot. I mean, there were lots of them," she said, gazing at her husband, "and they were so nice and inviting. And now we’re on our honeymoon."

300 guests for a Vegas wedding must not have been cheap. Looking at the Philippe Patek watch on João’s wrists amidst his white tank top and khakis, this man was loaded. "Why now? It seems a bit late to have a honeymoon," asked Albert.

"After our wedding, I was off to Hong Kong for a shoot. I’m a commercial model, and I’ve been throughout Asia for the last four months booking gigs. We just didn’t have the time. And with João busy with the company, we just couldn’t fit this into our schedules."

"So today’s your first day here in El Nido?" I asked.

"Yes. And we were so excited just to explore the islands. João booked this trip in a rush," said Allison.

"I would’ve loved to bring her to something fancier," said João, looking a tad disappointed with himself. "Everywhere I searched online, everyone had already made full bookings. I’m surprised they squeezed us into this tour."

An idea was bubbling in my mind. I had to make sure, so I asked him, "What do you do exactly, João?"

"My family owns a coffee plantation in Brazil." Jackpot. Ding ding ding. Winner winner. Chicken dinner. "We supply Arabica and Robusta in some parts of Asia and the majority of Europe. I haven’t really tapped into the US market yet. But I’m working on that." Just when I’d been searching for a coffee supplier, one sits in front of me.

Allison added, "Let me tell you. He’s really hardworking and is so passionate about his job. That’s what I love about him." They had another walk-to-remember moment gazing at each other like the other one was about to die from leukaemia.

I ribbed Albert, hoping he’d see what I was seeing so he could get caught up in the moment and kiss me. Instead, he did the introductions. "My bro here manages an exclusive resort here in El Nido. Maybe you guys are interested?"

"What’s the name of the resort?" asked Allison.

"It doesn’t really have a name. It's more like the name of the tour that’s on an island," I said.

"What’s it called?" wondered João.

"Limangpulo Luxury Yacht Tours... or something."

They both peered at each other. "How much does it cost?" the husband asked.

"$10,000 for the normal tour and $30,00 for the VIP Package. The other resort that we own is more exclusive. A villa costs around $50,000 to $100,000 per night with a 3-day minimum stay."

Allison held her chest as if her heart were about to rip open. "Oh my god! What kind of tour is this? And that resort. Goodness gracious, it’s so expensive. I could buy a Prius with that amount of money." I curled my mouth and thought, she’ll look great doing our promotional campaign materials. I glanced at João and he seemed interested in the idea of booking a trip with us. The man could definitely afford it, but somehow he stayed humble. I wonder why? She then held his cheeks and pleaded with her man, No, babe. I know that look. Don’t even think about it. It’s too expensive, and we can’t afford it. Think about the business."

João smiled and rubbed his wife’s shoulder. "Yeah. Maybe when we’re rich enough, we’ll be able to afford that. Next time then."

Another wave of disappointment streaked down his face when, from a corner, a tank-top redneck and his bunch of goons were sitting at a nearby chaise lounge staring at us. Please don’t tell me we’re all on the same tour. I surreptitiously glanced at him and his friends, and he stared at Albert, then lingered on me, his mouth curling as if to warn me of things to come if I crossed the line. Whatever the line that shouldn’t be crossed is about, this delusional nutcase bobbing its head sideways must have it in for us, big time.

Allison noticed the group and asked, "Why are they staring at you guys like that?" She turned around, scowling at them.

"Earlier, we nearly had a fight. Like, I nearly punched one of them. They’re a bunch of homophobes who called us the f-word."

"Oh no. How could they?" she said, standing up as if she were about to wage war. "In this day and age? Who says that?" She crossed her arms as she looked at them with disappointment.

"Really?" said João. "I know we’ve just met and we’re just getting to know each other. But I have a gay brother, and it would really piss me off if someone called my brother, sorry for the word, a faggot. Not cool, man. Not cool."

A band of brotherly homophobes turned their backs on us. Allison's glaring at them must have worked. Albert grew quiet, putting the snacks inside his bag, when the ferry rang its bell and started calling for its passengers. I peered at tank-top redneck's group, and they were in the same boat as us. This was going to be an interesting journey, it seems.

We were walking to the flat walkway attached to a secured piling that led to the main deck of the rainbow-coloured ferry. Does it look like a sore eye? Yes, it did. But colour schemes aside, it looked fun and outrageous, which meant that the ferry was an LGBT ally. Large pieces of bamboo were installed on both sides, and its splayed outriggers were like a lower-level deck for the boat itself. One of the crew was threading the bamboo path and shouted to the crew hauling a rope, "Balanse na bangka." (The boat is balanced.) A long table with benches on both sides was set in the middle of the boat for passengers to sit, while the second-floor deck had deck chairs installed for the guests to sunbathe and chill.

There were thirty passengers on the 3-day trip. There wasn’t any space on the seating bench, as we were sitting skin to skin like a pack of sardines. Peering at everybody, the majority looked white or were a variation of every white person who existed. Even Albert could be mistaken for a full-on Caucasian with how pasty everyone’s skin was. Allison and I were the only two people who had some colour on the entire guest list.

João and Allison were seated in front of us, and Allison said while giggling, "We could be in a documentary about the Aryan race. And they’re the stars."

"We’ll be the narrators," I said. "I’m the tanned beach surfer dude, asking where they kept the blacks and non-whites, and you’re the gorgeous black woman interviewing them for reparations. Though we’d have to borrow Albert’s accent to sound legit, like we’re in a BBC documentary."

She snorted and said, "I like that plan," nodding in agreement as we both laughed.

Beside me was a single mother and her two boys. They kept to themselves, as I assumed they would stay away from the partying that would happen tonight in this boat. On Albert’s right was a group of men and women around our age. They were around fifteen people working in a Dutch law firm and were fairly noisy, speaking in their own language and talking to each other. But they spoke great English—almost better than most native English speakers out there. Sitting at the other end was top-tank redneck and his bunch of merry men. They were too far away to bother us. I just hoped it remained that way.

As we settled into the boat, the captain stood in the middle of the main deck, making his announcements, and was surprised to see me as one of its passengers. Every single one of my employees has signed an NDA not to disclose my identity to anyone who’s not a part of H.M.S. Tours. However, not every member of the crew knows who I am. Boat captains were well aware of my existence, so I winked at the captain, and he winked back.

Albert was clutching his bag, and his head was facing down like he was praying. I gazed down, lowering my head to see him, and saw a wave of panic flushed in his face—he was red and sweating. "Are you okay?" I asked. "You’ve been looking a bit off, mon coeur. Is something the matter?" Albert opened up his bag and showed me Daniel; his urn was neatly wrapped in his clothes. I was surprised that he’d brought him with us.

Ready to spread Daniel’s ashes somewhere in our travels, I hung my arm outside the boat and held my mouth, biting my inner cheeks to keep me from whimpering. The urge to cry swept through me. My jaws were shaking from holding it in as I bit my lips to keep all the emotions inside. And I tried my best for him not to see my tears while wiping them dry. You see, these were tears of joy. Tears from knowing that his journey with Daniel was ending. It made me happy that Daniel can finally rest with the thought that Albert was going to be alright. He definitely will. He’ll be alright.

Albert gazed up and saw the red in my eyes. "Have you been crying?" I was smiling too, so it must have confused him. "You’re crying while smiling?"

I nodded. I said, "I have this friend who’s ready to move on—to let go of his past and start anew. I’m thrilled that this friend is choosing to move forward."

"But what if your friend is scared? What if…"

"Don’t you worry," I said. "I promise I’ll be here. No matter what happens, I’m right here."

Then and there, he kissed me on the lips. It was a quick peck on my lips that was too fast for my brain to register. My eyes gazed around the surrounding area to see if anyone saw us, and not a single soul was looking at us, bothered by what we were doing or upset at what we’d done. I turned to the mother beside me, and she was smiling from head to toe, having caught us red-handed when Albert kissed me.

I smiled and said, "Sorry about that."

"Don’t apologise," she answered, grinning. "You guys look good together." Then she turned to face her boys and let us be.

From then on, we'll no longer apologise to the world for what Albert and I have. If you have a problem with us, fucking say it to my face or meet my fist, you motherfuckers. Do we have an understanding, huh, punk?