LITERARY: How We Get By
After typing away in his dark room for so long, Franco Fernandez stepped into his apartment kitchen to make instant noodles, his well-deserved dinner.
His tired eyes squinted from the sudden cold light when he flipped the switch; the tiles were equally as cold under his feet. As he walked to the fridge, however, he heard the harsh clinking sound of keys struggling to open the door from the outside. That must be Al.
Franco’s suspicions were correct; it was his roommate and best friend, Allan Gonzales, who always kept putting himself in unfavorable situations. A few months ago, when he tried conning this gang for money, the leader ended up breaking his right leg as a warning—poor guy. He ended up having to use a cane to get anywhere.
Franco did try getting him to stop, to choose another thing to do to get by, but he simply replied, “I just want to be able to afford stuff, to keep this apartment for us, all that. I’m sorry, but… your job just isn’t doing much for us right now.”
He felt offended, especially since writing had been his lifelong passion, but his roommate was right. No matter how many articles or stories he wrote, that would only be able to pay off around a month’s worth of rent. That’s without accounting for the groceries they had to buy. Even the instant noodles he was about to munch on already felt like they cost a fortune when he saw that price tag. Allan was risking himself; he knew that, though that was their only choice. The writer shook his head; he almost forgot to greet his dear friend.
“Hey, Al. I hope you didn’t come across Tony again,” Franco joked, turning to face Allan.
“God, I hope not. I don’t need another broken leg.” Allan chuckled once he sat down on the counter, resting his now folded cane beside him. “Anyway, how’s that book goin’? Haven’t started it yet?”
“Actually, I have, thanks for asking. I’m already on… 330 words, I think. I assume you went to that one alley again, am I right?”
“Well, yeah. ‘Course I did. It’s got the most people, y’know. By the way, your water’s done boilin’.” He breathed, lazily pointing at the kettle behind Franco.
“I knew that. Also, would you like some noodles too? You look tired, Allan,” he uttered, pouring the hot water into the cup of noodles. The other man simply finger-combed back his black hair, then shook his head.
There wasn’t much said after that, not when the food cooled down and understandably not when Franco was eating. It was only after he washed a fork in the sink that he noticed his roommate was quietly staring at him the entire time. He raised a brow, a silent question asking what the deal was.
“Sorry. I must’ve zoned out. I should probably wash up now.” Allan coughed, slowly getting off the counter along with his cane to go to the bathroom.
The always-skeptical Franco didn’t buy it, but he decided not to push further. It has been a long day for both of them. He wouldn’t want to make it feel any longer, would he? With a sigh, he walked back to the bedroom, making his way to his bed to continue writing. It was just like how he left it, dark and dull, though with the gentle shushing of water coming from the other room.
Franco opened up his laptop, and its light illuminated the room once shrouded in darkness. His fingers raced to each key, adding more to where he left off. The words flowed onto the screen like it was nothing to him, only stopping at the occasional typo. He continued typing up until the sound of water trickling stopped and the clacking of Allan’s cane made its way through the bedroom door. With that came a sigh from Allan himself as he dried his hair with a white towel. Franco only looked up when the con-artist turned on the lights.
“Hah, you weren’t lying.” He chuckled, staring at the wordy document on Franco’s laptop. He was then shot with a dirty look. “What’s with the face? To be fair, last week you said you were gonna start that day, but you didn’t.”
“Whatever,” the writer scoffed, “but now my brain juice is all gone because of you.”
“What did I do?” No response.
“Anyway, I think this next scene’s supposed to be based on one of the things you told me about. I know you have a lot of stories, but surely it’ll be easy for us to recall?”
“Wow, I’m flattered. You’re inspired… by me?” Allan teased, fluttering his eyelids. He soon broke out of character and giggled, his cane almost slipping out of his hands.
“Shut up. My life’s too boring for me to be inspired, so naturally, I’d get inspiration from the one flowing with stories.” Franco scoffed, turning to face Allan fully. “Now, let’s get to it. I think it took place in that one alley.”
“Maybe it’s that one time I somehow convinced someone to give me their wallet?”
“Hmm… Nope. I remember the scene feeling more dramatic than that.”
“Then it’s got to be the time I ran from Tony’s goons or whatever you call ‘em, yeah?”
“Yeah, we’re getting warmer. It might be something that happened during or after that, so, yeah, please explain it again; I’m getting quite forgetful.”
“Well, alright. So, as usual, I ticked off the Rose Gunners for ‘loitering’ in their ‘territory’ even though it’s a literal public space,” he stated, rolling his eyes. “Like, I know I stole one of them’s wallets back then, but that doesn’t mean I had to run for my life! Those guys are brutal. After I lost sight o’ them, I ran all the way back here, passed out, and you’re the one who remembers the rest.”
“Okay… thanks. You should probably sit down, though.” Franco smiled, his right hand softly patting the part of the bed beside him.
“Ah, right,” Allan said. He tossed his small towel to the center of his own bed, then sat beside Franco, taking a better look at the laptop’s contents. Based on his own skimming, it looked a lot like an action story. A small grin formed on his lips; this was definitely based on him. “I hope this turns out to be a hit.”
“Pfft, I doubt it,” he muttered, his fingers doing the rest of the talking as he typed. “The market’s been getting pretty tough lately, so unless I somehow write the next Harry Potter or get really lucky, there’s not much I can do.”
“I guess you’re right, but still. I don’t know much about writing, but your works are so… detailed, especially that one about the therapist.”
“That’s an old one. I didn’t know that you’ve seen it already! Thanks again, Allan.”
“At this point, I should be thanking you.” Allan’s voice softened, and so did his smile as he leaned back a bit. “You’re the only ethical source of income ‘ere, even if the process is pretty slow.”
“Is that all?” Franco snickered, raising a brow.
“Hah, of course not. I do have more, but I don’t think I should disturb you more than I already have.”
“It’s fine, not like I have a deadline or anything. I’ll just continue working on this tomorrow, actually. Do you wanna see my progress though? I don’t think I gave you enough time to read all of it.” He grinned, carefully passing the laptop to Allan.
“Yeah, sure. Y’know, it’s unfair that your stuff isn’t on those shelves already. This is more than I could ever achieve. I’m just hurting others for my benefit.”
“It’s not your fault, man. You just played along with the unfairness that others gave you. I remember back when we were in college, you really were working towards that degree. You’re worth more than you realize.”
Allan sniffed, his teeth clamped together as he continued reading the words on the screen. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to contain the tears he had held for so long. Franco put a hand on his shoulder, trying to soothe him, but it made him ache even more.
“I’m sorry. I’m just so jealous of you. I know you’re struggling too, but… I can’t help it. You still have so much passion for what you do; you never lost that spark. But me? I gave up on it long ago just to stay alive.”
“But you never gave up on me, did you? There’s still hope for you somewhere. We can make this work,” Franco uttered, giving the other a small smile.
“I guess you’re right. Uhm, sorry for that,” Allan mumbled, wiping away his tears. “That was very sudden, wasn’t it?”
“Don’t even worry about it. As I said, things are getting tough nowadays. Look, we’ve been getting through it just fine. Us against the world, maybe. Sounds cliché, but it’s true.”
“Yeah, see? This is why I’m thanking you. Thank you for being here,” he sniveled, wrapping his arms around Franco.
//by Winter Kate G. Cerilla
Note: This story was submitted to the UPIS Media Center as part of MakilahoC: Social Sciences and Humanities (SSH) Fest 2026.
