Hiya sa Timog

[Somersault]

“Oh my, Mikey! You’ve grown so much!”
“How are..things going for you?”
“You sure you don’t want to be set up with Emily? She’s a very good girl, you know…”

((Mike Brown - Memories Start))

Mike sighed as he was approached by tita after tita, all greeting him with smiles on their faces but what really felt like ice in their eyes. Sure, they were asking him how he was doing, how baseball was like, all the things like that, just some casual stuff, and maybe sure, he was just being paranoid, maybe he shoulda just let it go along, right like that, but it didn’t take a genius to tell that the attention in the room had been focused on him, and not for real good reasons. Not that ever going to these Pinoy potlucks was ever exactly fun, conversation with his Ma’s friends he was fairly sure he’d never met before but greeting them like aunties and uncles, but this one felt a great deal worse than usual.

He was the elephant in the room, and that was never a comfortable situation for the elephant. He still didn’t know why Mom had it in her mind that bringing him here was a great idea, with the whole, you know, coming out thing, but judging by the looks it felt everyone’d been giving him, it was ‘cause she’d told them as soon as he’d spoken to them that awkward Thursday night. See? He could connect the dots, A to Z, figure out what was really going on, but that wasn’t really something more than cold comfort.

He was still here, surrounded by people he only barely kinda sorta knew, all avoiding a topic he knew they desperately wanted to talk about, stuck in a tiny apartment, and the consolation as the food. To be fair, the food was darn good, and it ain’t as if he got a lotta rice to eat outside of these family gatherings. Well, not like blood family, nah, but friends-family, except none of them were his friends.

Getting complimented for being handsome by women three times his age got tiring after a while, and today, not much of that was even happening. He stared back into his kare-kare, watching the beef cuts mix with the stew, simmering and steaming. They were meant to be eating, meant to be chatting, but all the chatter was going over his head like a home run soaring overhead.

Part of it was definitely ‘cause half of it was in Filipino, which Ma never seemed to reckon would be a good thing for him to learn, which she said was because he had more important things to work on, but it was probably because she wanted to gossip with her friends without him knowing. Whatever. This’d blow over. Some time, some place, whether it’d be a few days, a few months, a few years, a few lifetimes, something. No need to do anything now, just time to take it in, do whatever, hopefully. Still was awkward now, but it’d get better. It always did.

In the meantime, finding some sorta conversation would pass the hours. As he turned his head, Mike noticed that the guy sitting right next to him looked awful familiar. Like, not just from these events, but from GH. Guy was short, looked like a kid, his name started with a D too, something like that. Don? David? Nah, it was something a bit less white. The guy was quiet, if he remembered, right, kinda touchy around dudes. Mike wasn’t gonna pry, would be rude, but something was up-

Wait, Diego? He blinked at the sudden realization of the identity of his seat neighbor.

Sadly, that didn’t really help in trying to make conversation, considering that they still barely talked, barely even knew each other, but maybe, he could try?

“Hey, dude,” he offered, smiling to hopefully present himself as a friendly face and all that. “Finding the food good?”

Stepping around the topic more sensitive than the meat, yeah, was all good.

[Maraoone]

Diego Larrosa thought he hadn't looked that long at Mike. He had timed it in his mind. Three seconds, just enough to register his name, just enough to admire his face, and then he would look down at the kare-kare and keep the image in mind. But then he waltzed over and took a seat next to him, and he suddenly became a lot more conscious of his breathing, the temperature of his skin.

"Hey," Diego offered, less than the bare minimum of what was expected. He stuffed a spoon heaped with beef in his mouth.

He had seen the coming out post Mike made on Facebook a few weeks ago in the few hours it had stayed up, and the moment had brought on bittersweet feelings. Diego had been reading the post and in the background of his mind rang 'one of us. one of us. one of us.' That small triumph, reassurance of knowing others like him existed, that he wasn't alone, allegedly. But at the same time, he knew that Mike was already unattainable, unreachable. Everyone was when you never summoned the courage to reach out your arm in the first place.

Having remembered the second half of Mike's statement, Diego's eyes lit up. He answered, with food pocketed in his cheeks, "Yeah. We don't get much of this at home, so it's nice."

Maybe it was his posture, the way he had huddled himself into the corner of the couch. Or maybe it was the ten inches of height Mike had on him. But Diego felt so small. So pathetic. He should have swallowed before speaking. Basic manners. He would be seen as a pig now, maybe.

Better late than never, he thought, but even better to never have been late at all, he finally swallowed, and washed down the grease with a plastic cup of lukewarm water. Somewhere in the background, Diego heard bilingual snippets of conversation, and among the snippets was the word 'sayang.' What a waste, it meant, a word used when you spilled a glass of soda, when you left your wallet in the bus, when a young handsome man suddenly revealed he was off the market for girls. Sayang.

Diego had to stop himself from flinching, and offered a token look at Mike, for some reason, as if to pretend he didn't want to focus more on the food than on him. He felt he should say something, and opened his mouth to signal as much, but nothing came to mind, so he closed it and shoveled the next heap of food into his mouth. He hoped Mike would try to break the ice, he hoped maybe the ice would open up and swallow Diego whole.

[Somersault]

"Hey," Mike replied back, gulping down some of his water as he nodded at Diego. He was chompin' at the bit extended, they were talking, all real good, even if that talking was kinda limited to one-word exchanges. A word could do a lot, so bad? No. Small smile that was on his face he first spoke was still there, not growing, nah, but still there, still keeping on keeping on.

If he smiled, yeah, maybe Diego'd be able to smooth over the whole thing. Sure, they never really spoke before, and sure, maybe Diego kinda seemed way uptight, but it was aight. He didn't judge, 'cause that honestly took way too much time, and he hadn't heard anything and so it was okay. It was good. It was all there.

Well, hopefully. The whole Facebook public coming out whatever-whatever really wasn't the best planned thing, and maybe he was a little tipsy when he was posting, coming down from what had honestly been a real lit party, but he'd put it out there, regretted it, deleted it cause it was a big ol' case of TMI disease, but he didn't take back the whole being gay thing. First, there wasn't any real way to do that after you posted it for the entire high school to see, and second, it'd be a lot of work to go through that, all just to probably go through it again when he was older and smarter or whatever. Put the shit out there, see what happened to the shit. Always worked.

The other guy continued speaking, but this time, it was big chunks food of his cheeks, and Mike would've been lying if he said he wasn't thinking of laughing in that very moment. He didn't laugh, though, cause that wasn't good manners and things, and so instead his grin grew just a bit wider, watching on, eyebrow raised. "Mmm, my mom doesn't really cook," although Filipino food were the next two words that would've had to come out after that phrase to make it a true one. Easier to just keep on agreeing, though, really.

Wouldn't make him any more part of this great big community, but it'd help him pretend like that was the case, which was all he wanted right now. If he pretended hard enough, it'd be true, right?

He'd began poking at his food again, even if his stomach didn't really feel empty, because Diego was looking at him again. Not that he really was looking at Mike a lot, but the glance and then turn right back to the food led to a sinking feeling, right in his gut. A minor chord, tossed in right after he'd been climbing up the major scales. In short, a real bummer.

Maybe he was overreacting, sure, but he still didn't really know Diego, did he, so maybe he was one of those really religious people. Like the ones at that crazy Baptist church or something. Wasn't really a possibility, so he ignored that thought in his mind, and instead kept on with twiddling with his wristband, hoping to find something to steady his feelings.

"So, uh," hazel eyes under thick eyebrows once again looking at Diego. "You like these things? For me, could care less, I 'spose, but it's still nice to see all the titas and stuff."

Well, Mike was technically telling the truth. He could care less, yup, but he could also care a hell of a lot more, maybe he sorta did. Maybe this whole thing'd help with figuring that out.

[Maraoone]

Mike smiled at Diego, as if holding back a laugh, also meant to be thrown at him. He knew that this was the case, as opposed to Diego simply making him laugh, because he never gave punchlines, he always was the punchline. He really should've swallowed before speaking.

Despite desperately wanting to devote all his attention to his food, Diego kept his eyes on Mike, since he was speaking. He took in every feature of his face in the meantime, tried etching it into memory. Even though nothing would ever happen, he still liked concocting what-if's involving any moderately handsome man he interacted with for more than a few seconds. Mike was gay, right? It could be possible, in some other world. What if Diego came out? What if he asked Mike out, and he said yes? What did his hands feel like? And then, and then,

he never allowed himself to go further than that.

A statue of Mama Mary looked on him from the top of a nearby shelf. In the background, an uncle of Mike's belted out on the karaoke machine an Air Supply song, a love song written by a man for a woman.

When Mike finished speaking, Diego forced a smile. "I'm just here for the food, to be honest." He punctuated this with a laugh to add levity, in case his mom overheard them speaking, despite her being across the room. She looked at him, and he gave her an obligatory smile of acknowledgement, one meant to convey 'Yes, I'm fine.'

The urge to stand up and walk to the other side of the room beckoned. He only ever came here for the food, really. That, and his mother's obligation, so that he could know more people, more forty or fifty-year-old Fil-Ams asking him about girlfriends he'd never have. His sister used to accompany him to these things, but she was in college now, trying to make something of herself.

He hoped he'd get to do that some time.

He looked behind Mike to see if his mother was still across the room. And then, he leaned over to Mike's ear, close but not too close. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach.

"Truth be told, I don't even know at least half the people here."

He forced himself back, assumed his previous position huddled into a corner. He supposed he had to ask a question now, since Mike had asked more than his fair share already. Find something to pass the time.

"Say, do you come here often to these things? I don't see you here much."

[Somersault]

Ooh. Ooh. Ooh, okay, maybe that wasn't really the best way to react to Diego having his face stuffed with all that food, but it was kind of a funny sight, right? It was, it really was, even if the awkward laugh Diego gave out right after made Mike feel bad. Like really, really bad.

Still, he nodded at Diego's remark, smiling like he always did as Diego turned to look at his mom. Wait, had he said hi to Diego's mom? Okay, okay, there was aunt Mari, Girlie, Analyn, Anna-Lyn, but yeah, shit. He kinda hadn't. To avoid drawing her attention, he turned his head to the other side, trying to search for where his mom was, for some kinda life preserver in this sinking ship of a conversation, because like Diego wasn't bad, but there had to be some kinda way to make this thing a bit less of a flop.

Could his mom just bail him out? Maybe, maybe, but that was also really a piss-ass thing to do. He'd already screwed up with what he'd said now, anyways. And, if he was gonna be stuck at these things for another year and a half, and like he didn't know anyone, it would be pretty lame. Also, the sounds of karaoke were going all around the room, and if a wandering eye could confirm that Uncle Rudy was singing right now, that meant Mom was gonna be there in just a short while.

So yeah, fuck it. he was gonna fix it, make it right-

And that's when Diego went over to whisper into his ear. Not like in a creepy way, he guessed, and what he said was petty true, and kind of funny, but still, kinda sudden. Bit too close for comfort, yadda, yadda, and while maybe he would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it before, a guy he liked whispering sweet nothings, it was kinda awkward when it was your like spiritual cousin just leaning over to gossip. Like, same motion, completely different meanings or whatever.

"Me too, dude," was what he said in response, punctuated with a smirk as Diego returned to where he was first at. "Don't think I could name more than like, fifteen people here."

The next question, though, kinda stung a bit. Mike 'sposed he kinda deserved it and all, so yeah. Take it in stride, take it all in good care.

"Naw, really don't come here often enough. With baseball, and ya know, everything else, it's kinda tough."

The smile he gave this time was more sincere, at least, if also tinted with a light serving of embarassment. It was capped off with a light shrug.

"...Somebody's gotta keep dad company."

[Maraoone]

"Can't even name half that many here," Diego said with another laugh, more genuine. The Velasquezes, Mike's mother's family, were an established presence in Chattanooga, and the Larrosas were not. It was just he, his mom, and his sister in this country, them against the world. They were only invited by the grace of Mike's mom, really. Even in this space of Filipino-Americans, this diaspora that he supposedly belonged to, Diego felt like an outsider, someone on the periphery. But it wasn't like that was anything new.

His shoulders started to relax as Mike spoke. This was probably the longest time he'd spent interacting with a guy in a while. He didn't have any chances to do so at home, he didn't allow himself many chances at school, set aside the gardening club. It felt awkward, weird, but it felt nice. Like he was a normal, functioning man. Nothing had gone terribly wrong yet, aside from the food thing, but that was best forgotten about, set aside as a regret to wake up to and ruminate on before entering the shower the following morning.

And then Diego's shoulders tensed slightly again as Mike reacted to his question. Maybe he had touched on something sensitive. But then another smile came, one that seemed less forced. And then came the answer.

Diego nodded, as if in understanding. He couldn't relate, though. It's not like his dad ever kept him company. He would've said this out loud. After all, it was just a fact of life for him. But his mother was right there, and she had declared his father persona non grata for all the years Diego had lived, so he kept silent on that part more for her sake than his.

His next question was a bit of a risk, but this conversation had gone well so far. Why not?

"Why, what's up with him? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

[Somersault]

Mike laughed, just a little, at Diego's remark. Slowly, surely, it felt like things were thawing again, a groove starting itself nice and smooth. Things were on the up and up, hopefully. He tried to be glass half-up, all that positive business, so he took Diego's laugh as a time, good as any, to laugh in return. Look, ma: No hands, and he was still making friends. He bet she'd have been real proud if she'd taken that moment to go look over and check.

Still a little sprinkle of awkwardness, but again, he could deal with it. Not as if they were best buddies or anything. Just two dudes, both stuck here, both talking 'bout family, or how little family they actually knew round here. Nowhere near baseball bro stuff, nah, but enough for friendly waves in the hallway. Light joking, just shooting the shit. Mike slumped back in his chair, pressure deflating out like a balloon.

At least, until he realized that Diego wasn't just kidding around when he asked about his dad.

And just like that, Mike remembered how little he and Diego had spoken before this here meeting. Wait, he like didn't know? Seriously? That his dad was of the caucasian persuasion? Okay, he sorta got why, if only 'cause they were at a real big Pinoy thing, but he still kinda found it funny. This time, no laughing, though. No laughing face, either. Just meant he'd have to go smooth over some questions, look real serious and all.

Well, just a slight upturn of the face.

"Oh, I mean, uh, he doesn't really see the point in coming if he's not gonna understand half of what's going on."

With that, Mike tilted his head over to the adults in the room, discussing things in two languages, half of the discussion locked behind a wall he wasn't sure he'd ever break.

A sheepish grin, and a scratch of the head. He hoped it didn't mess up the hair.

"Ya know, 'cause he's like white and all."

[Maraoone]

It did mess up the hair, but Diego found it cute, really. That was always a turn-on of his, guys with slightly messy, tussled hair. Diego took in the image for a bit before what Mike said set in.

So, yeah! The reason why he never saw Mike's dad at these gatherings, why Mike didn't come around, is because Mike's dad was white.

A little laugh.

"Oh."

So that's why Mike looks white. Why he's so much taller than everyone else here.

"Ohhhhhhh. Oh."

Oh god someone kill me now.

Literally, just open the earth up and swallow me whole. Please.

Diego, too, scratched the back of his head, smiled at his own idiocy. This would haunt him during many pre-shower mornings, but those mornings weren't now, so he had to move on.

"I, uh, should've caught that, to be honest!"

Shut up, Diego.

"I've just had so little sleep lately, I'm so sorry. I'm a bit out of it."

Shut up.

"...yeah."

And this conversation had been going so well, too.

He turned back to his kare-kare and started trying to separate a piece of beef. It had gone cold but was looking a lot more appealing than everything else going on.

[Somersault]

"It's all alright, dude," Mike said, trying to convince both Diego and himself of that statement as the foundation their conversation was built on crumbled like a really crap cake. Sure, Diego was laughing, and if he was a bit dumber, Mike would've thought that was good, but whatever was coming out of Diego's mouth right now wasn't laughter of the chuckling kind, the one after a good joke or buzz. It was the awkward kind, the kind that came from dying men. The ones that came from people who wanted nothing else than to not be in this very place, at this very moment. "Don't sweat it!"

He tried to smile, reassuringly now, pearly whites hopefully put to use for something good.

Really, he'd have gone back to his food too, let the whole bowl come in and drown him in the silence, but he'd already tried this hard now to give up now, right? Diego wasn't a bad person, nah, just kinda awkward. And, wasn't as if he couldn't deal with awkward. 'Sides, the dude was talking 'bout not getting enough sleep, and those big-ass eyebags couldn't have just came outta nowhere.

Just had to think of something to restart the rhythm, get them all on the same page. His voice quieted. Warm, but gently so, a soothing cup of tea rather than a fizzed-up can of Coke.

"...Like, not a lotta people bother asking, so it's nice that you, um, did."

Another shrug. Maybe he should've worn something heavier than a t-shirt, because goosebumps were starting to pop all over. And like, he wasn't lying about the nice part, if only because he knew next to nothing about this side of his family. Generally was easier to try to pass for white with a little hispanic something something, just by keeping quiet and nodding. But yeah, connecting with his roots and all. Better late than never to try to learn something.

[Maraoone]

((CW: homophobic slurs))

The beef coated more than moved through Diego's mouth, almost obstructing his throat. He tried to swallow, but it felt like something else was blocking his windpipe. It was his body physically preventing him from speaking, perhaps. Despite himself, he took a swig of lukewarm water and cleared the blockage, with little comfort.

One would think that having a dick would mean that he'd know how to talk to other men, but one would be surprised. Things like this happened every time he tried to talk to another man, and he thought that he'd become used to it after the first hundred times, but it still dragged on just as painfully after the thousandth.

Diego looked around the room for a bit before his gaze settled on the buffet table across the room. He didn't have the appetite for a meal, but he considered getting another plate regardless. There were titos and titas congregated around the table he could escape to, he thought for a moment. There were more women than men in the room, and that thought provided him a little more comfort. But the possibility dismissed itself when he realized that would mean having another conversation about why he still had no girlfriend at the age of 16. The excuse Diego had come up with, and utilized whenever needed, was that he was too busy with studying to have a love life, when really, it was this. He would never be able to provide his mother with a daughter-in-law, he would never be able to provide her a grandchild, and he would never be able to pass down the Larrosa name. because he was a faggot.

He looked away from the table. He couldn't bear to talk with people he knew would hate him. Even if they smiled at him, even if they didn't know it now, they would hate him if they knew what he knew about himself.

He turned himself towards Mike out of necessity rather than choice.

"Thank you, I guess," he mumbled.

He was actually supposed to say 'you're welcome', but saying that when Mike hadn't even said 'thank you' was presumptuous, so maybe his body was really trying to do him a favor by shutting him up. He wanted to ask another question, if only because he didn't want to spend another second regretting every word that came out of his mouth, but he genuinely had nothing to say this time. He stewed in his own regret instead, sweat collecting in his armpits despite the air conditioner blasting in the background.

[Somersault]

Well, the conversation just got a little CPR, breathed a little, seemed like it was gonna make it’s way back, and then bam. Bullet to the brain, gore all ‘round no hope, not anymore. Kinda extreme, sure, but sheesh, had this shit got turnt. And like, not in the good way, in the kinda way where his face got red and he spent the night puking.

Mike pokes at this food a bit more, as if moving it ‘round and ‘round would cause any of it to go inside his stomach. Wasn’t very polite to leave food in the plate, leave it there, but he didn’t feel up for faking that. Not now.

As soon as he said his words, he knew they weren’t gonna do much good, but they’d seemed to have done nothing at all, and so he and Diego remained in this awkward stew, circling ‘round like oil and water or something. He’d certainly tried, hadn’t he?

He certainly failed.

Still, as much as Mike wanted to just go on his phone and begin talking to people he would’ve been able to hold an actual conversation with, Diego’d said thanks, in that quiet way which meant shut the fuck up more than anything else, and that kinda made Mike just a little angry.

Diego had to have seen the post, right? And there was his cross necklace, and- Oh. Oh.

“Ya know what?” Mike started, just a little louder than before, eyebrows raised. Wasn’t angry, not really, but still disappointed. “If y’all didn’t really wanna talk to me, coulda just said so.”

And-well, shit. That probably didn’t come out right.

His eyes looked down on his plate. Had over half left, now. Half-heartedly, he stabbed at the beef with his fork. Let it stay there, let it stew.

[Maraoone]

He wasn't supposed to say that.

The "conversation", if you could call it that, had gone on for a minute, which was a lot longer than most interactions went between Diego and other guys. And, it was going bad, but it was happening, and he was hoping that Mike could fill in the silence like he had before. in the last few seconds, he had been starting to dream of a friendship. He craved interaction, really. Any sign of someone liking him, not viewing him with distrust or annoyance. If he couldn't ask Mike out, hold his hand, maybe they could be friends, at the very least. Maybe they could eat lunch together in a platonic sense and share words more easily than this. Maybe have actual interactions that fit the definition of a conversation. Maybe Mike could help him get over his fear of guys, make him feel like he deserved to be called a guy.

And then Mike spoke, and those what-ifs died.

More than anything, it was that what-if of a friendship that Diego mourned the most, really. And, it was that he disgusted Mike. He repelled him. And he didn't have to wonder for a second if it was his fault, because it was. It's just how Diego was. He just repelled men naturally, just weirded them out because of his very nature, and he was supposed to be used to it, because it happened all the time, but he wasn't. And he didn't know why he was this way, he just was. And, it was his fault, he knew it was, but he still hated Mike for making him feel this way.

His breath caught in his throat right after Mike said that. He stared at nothing in particular, for a few seconds, and his vision blurred. Then, without looking at Mike, he replied.

"Fuck it. No point in this, then," he spat out, his voice breaking a bit.

He set the half-finished plate of kare-kare down on the table, stood up, and left. Fuck him, he could clean it up for all he cared.

There were pricks of liquid in his eyes he quickly wiped away. He headed over to the karaoke room, wishing, begging to be unseen in the crowd, and chose a chair in the corner to spend the rest of the party. He pulled out a phone and started browsing. If the internet couldn't get his mind away from it, then maybe the love songs sang by men to women and women to men could, the ones blaring. Maybe they could drown out his thoughts. And if that didn't work, if the phone didn't keep them away, then maybe he could settle to talking to some tita or tito who'd at least put in the pretense of pretending to like him, not be disgusted by him. Diego could deal with that.

He didn't know anything better, after all.

((Diego Larrosa continues elsewhere))

[Somersault]

There'd been plenty of times Mike'd screwed up, he knew that much. Wasn't as if he was MVP or valedictorian material, after all. Missed catch there, messy-ass projct here, yeah, lotta little small things which all got dusted up and thrown off. Get down, get up, get all the way around. No other way to live life, 'cept keep on trucking and all of those good vibes.

Didn't take a valedictorian, though, to realize that he'd been more than little stupid in how he handled this shit. For one, the fact that Diego wouldn't, couldn't even look at his eyes as he spit back, and still, Mike was ready to ratchet it up, keep on going, because that little fuckwit could get all the shit, surely, when Mike saw the hint of something wet in Diego's eyes, and all the swears that'd been on his tongue just a moment before dried up on his tongue, banished like brambles to the bush. Or something poetic like that. Things like those weren't really on his mind at the moment.

For a bit, just a little, just enough to give himself a little chiding, he saw Diego off as the other boy marched off to the karaoke room, to be with people he was just like. Same features, same height.

Same...whatever it was called that decided what made him get hard and what didn't.

Mike could almost feel his Ma's gaze on him, and so he brushed his hands through his hair again, put on his best little man smile, 'cause he still wasn't about to worry her, wasn't the kinda man he was. She asked, he'd answer. Nah, hadn't seen her friend's son, real crowded, here, same old, same old. Then, he'd go home, maybe go text Abel or one of the other dudes, joke a little about karaoke and stupid names 'cause that was easiest, that was best, then go to bed stomach full but hungry for something. Anything. Touch of a hand, brush of shoulders not just from a locker room accident. Rinse, repeat.

The ushe. 'S all it was. Just had to man up.

((Mike Brown, continued in gonna take my horse to the old town road))