By Shana

For the nth time, I tried calling you. Always, your voice recording answered my calls. Beep! I hung up. I know you are not the type who hides from your exes. Besides, we used to be friends. I can still remember the first time we met. We were in this bar. You were tipsy and had lost another round of Truth or Dare with your friends. You were asked to kiss anyone in my table, which I share with my office mates. We were in one of our girls’ night out and you were there. You kissed me. You were the first. And have been the only one, yet.

You laughed. You never said sorry, though. Instead, you whispered something in my ears and walked away haughtily. I should have gotten angry but you excited me. I have never thought myself sexy. No. I was the class nerd—am the office dork—will have been the martyr of the century. I was still shaken from that incident that I reached inside my bag only to find something pointed yet at the same time glossy. I peeked inside and found your calling card. I would not have known the word suave if not for you. Well, I didn’t call you, did I? But whoever you had asked, you got my number. And you called me.

For several months, we went out together. Eventually, we became a couple. For the two months we were together, we had always dropped by this bar for a bottle of beer. You love your Colt icy cold, while I love my Cerveza Negra cold or just with ice. You haven’t liked Cerveza because you said your ex used to drink this. He will always remind you of the bittersweet, malty aftertaste whenever he kissed you. Well, that is the reason why I didn’t kiss you if I had Cerveza. But for the two months we were together, I only had a glass of Colt 45 as you drank the rest.

But here I am in this bar again, calling you. Where are you?

“Hello?”

“Austin?” I asked. “God! I’ve missed you.”

“Thea, you’re drunk! And stop calling me. We’re—“

“No. It’s not over between us.”

“I’m sorry, but John’s my life.”

“I know. For the last time, would you care for a bottle of beer with me?”

“No.”

“Please. Cheers for my broken heart.”

He hung up on me as the wind washed over my face—a call for the wind to come.

by Shana

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