Miranda's Secret (Part 1)

I turn right and walk down the perimeter looking at each tombstone as I pass by. I always do that, and in all my years coming here, it’s almost become like second nature. I’ve come to memorize the names of those deceased and the order by which they appear on my way to my destination, and every time, I wonder what their sad lives must have been like when Fairview was a different place and when its people weren’t always as inviting. I’ve figured that it can’t be that much different, though. Fairview was probably shitty then as it is now, and its people were probably as hypocritical then as they are nowadays. Times may change, but circumstances, and certainly people, rarely do. Anyways, at last, I reach my mother’s tombstone, and after laying some flowers on her grave, I commence to say a prayer in her name, wondering how she’s faring in a place where death is no more. I remind myself how lucky she must be to be far away from this world of secularism, and ask for some guidance, as I struggle to break free from my own fears, disillusions and secular renditions. And as I finish my small prayer, I look up at the grave that I vowed never to visit. I always do that too; it has become a habit, an involuntary reaction to an ongoing inquiry about a girl that I’d come to love more than myself and whose betrayal has not only left permanent physical consequences but also emotional ones as well.

Miranda’s tombstone stands five rows in front of my mother’s grave, next to John Henry Chambers and Gertrude Amber Dickens. It is barely visible from the mist. The discolored stone slab is disheveled, stained green with mold from lack of care, and the inscriptions are black with dirt and rotten leaves. There are no flowers on her grave and I can’t remember the last time I have seen anyone except Tina visit her grave. It has become an empty relic of the past, an oblivious crypt representing an unfortunate turn of events for those in Fairview. I’ve wondered how is it that Miranda has become nothing more than just a whisper in people’s lips, and her life forgotten like yesterday’s news. It wasn’t that long ago when it seemed to me that Fairview was infatuated with her, praising her and her accomplishments. And now ironically, her grave is nothing more than just a cold crypt. Who was the girl in that grave? And why did her life change so suddenly? I can’t help but drift back to a time when Braulio Montalván was just a high school freshmen in love with another coquettish high school freshmen by the name of Miranda Velázquez.

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Miranda was Fairview's poster girl. She was everything the older generation thought the younger generation should strive to be. She was smart, energetic, well-mannered and quite the social butterfly. To those who didn't know her very well, she possessed both inner and outer beauty. A quality, according to these people, that’s a scarce commodity nowadays. Those who knew her well would say that she was a driven individual, determined to excel in everything she set her mind to. Those who were intimately involved with her would say that she was dangerous. She was an adventurous girl who had an uncanny ability to dazzle with her seductively passionate green eyes, eyes that could crush a heart almost at will. I suppose that a pretty face goes along way, but in Miranda's case, a pretty face with sharp cunning worked wonders. So much so that even after her death, the folks of Fairview refused to believe that she was involved in any wrongdoing when stories surfaced of her extracurricular activities. Many claimed that it was unjust to degrade the memory of a girl that had given so much to the community. Even I was taken in by all the commotions and defended her honor against those who dared to say otherwise. In the end, it all proved futile, however, and I grew disappointed when finally I learned the truth of it all.

Miranda María Velázquez was born in Cali, Colombia. She was the eldest of three, and the daughter of a political figure whose views didn’t agree with the guerilla rebels. Naturally, many unsuccessful attempts were made to silence Mr. Velazquez, but finally, when she was seven, he received political asylum in the United States. Thus, Mr. Velázquez took his family out of the war-torn central Colombia into the small Southern town of Fairview. I can still remember the day she walked in to Mrs. Thompson’s second grade classroom. She held her head down, shy and confused perhaps from the new world in which she now found herself in, and as the classroom saluted her, she said nothing only to tighten her grip on the Barbie lunchbox in her hands. Mrs. Thompson sat her next to me, and knowing me very well, she leaned over to me and said. “Now you be good to Miranda, Brad.” I made no reply; I merely nodded in the affirmative.

At first, we didn’t say much to one another, and I treated her with a mild neglect. I suppose I should have said more to her; after all, Miranda was probably the only person outside of my family that I could talk Spanish to, but I didn’t. I felt bad, though, because I knew that she was longing for friends, like all normal kids, and so one day after school, I introduced her to Agustina, my only friend at the time. Now Tina didn’t know any Spanish, although she descended from Mexican parents, but she did know a couple of phrases that her dad, Clemente, had taught her. And that was enough for the two to become acquainted with one another. They made some sort of pact, it seemed, that while Tina taught Miranda English, Miranda would do vice versa. Over time, I, too, slowly became familiarized with Mira and grew to be good, if not best, friends.

After grade school, our lives sort of took their separate paths, only rejoining in the summers, and every summer, she seemed to have changed more; she opened up more to everyone and she seemed more comfortable with Fairview altogether. And soon, Mira went from the raven-haired shy girl to become Ms. Fairview. I was actually kind of shocked that we still remained friends, seeing that many of the faces that were familiar as kids became almost like strangers by high school. We were like night and day. She was extroverted by nature, loved to be in the crowds, and loved the attention she received from everyone. I was, and still am, anti-social and pessimistic. I never really liked crowds, and I trusted a very select group of people. Upon further inspection, it really was sort of a miracle that we even ended up together, taking our friendship to the next level.

Then the rumors started. Many a people had claimed to have spotted Mira with strange men, and when I confronted her about it, she adamantly denied it.

“What the hell were you doing with those guys?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about. Half of Fairview told me all about it. What were you doing with those guys at Fred’s?”

“What?” she said indignant. “I haven’t even been to the diner in a while!”

“Even Brandon says he saw you.”

“You’re gonna believe them? Are you so insecure that you’d believe anything anyone tells you?”

Actually, I was, but I wasn’t going to admit it to her. “Just come clean. You know that all I care about is honesty.”

“Well no, I’m not fucking everyone if that’s what you’re getting at.”

It was until one night while walking home that I ran into her and saw her different. Her eyes were red, her makeup smeared, her hair ruffled. She couldn’t say much and I could tell that she had been crying. She just looked at me, rendered a smile, and ran home, and from that day forward, she changed forever. Slowly, she secluded herself from everyone. She didn’t attend class, never went out, and didn’t return phone calls. Miranda had become but a mere shadow of herself. She didn’t even want to be intimate anymore, and those rare times when we were, were brief and detached. I finally grew sick of it all and called off the relationship, and with our relationship, our friendship had also ended.

Despite not having talk to her in awhile, I grew worried. I decided to check on her on a Friday after school. I knocked on her door and as I did, the door swung open. Nobody was home; the house felt cold and detached. I heard one of Shakira’s tunes coming from her room. I called out her name, but no one responded. I found that kind of strange, so I decided to head upstairs to check it out. And as I walked into her room, lying there amongst a pool of blood laid a small kitchen knife, and next to it, laid Miranda’s body. Mira had cut her left wrist wide open.

Her death was kept to a low profile, and due to the fact that she was the daughter of a prominent foreign political figure, the official details of the suicide were kept confidential at her father’s request. And suddenly, Miranda had vanished from the world as quickly as she came. I’ve found it surprising that she was not buried in Colombia, but I’ve never had enough nerve the Velazquez why. The Velazquez seemed to believe that it was my fault. For a while, I drowned in my shame, but that was before I learned that I too was doomed.

I return to the present as I hear some footsteps behind me, and I turn around swiftly to greet them.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

It’s Agustina Cervantes, better known as Tina. “Nah, it’s all right. I was just finishing up. I thought you were Mr. Dampers,” I say nonchalantly, playing off my surprise. “The old fart has a habit of sneaking up on me like that.”

“He’s not an old fart. Mr. Dampers is actually a nice old man.”

Tina and her manners, when is she going to learn? Actually, Little Ms. Manners has been my friend for the longest. I’ve known her since the first day I set foot in Fairview. There was a swing on one of the trees in my front yard that I had noticed when we first moved in, and when I went outside to use it, I found a long haired blonde girl sitting on it like as if it belonged to her. Logically, I got upset, and when I demanded my swing back, the girl broke out in tears. Tears are a weakness of mine. I couldn’t see her crying like that and so I let Tina use the swing from then on. Little did I know that it would be the beginning of a long friendship.
“No, he’s a horndog. Don’t you notice the way he stares at the women in the burials?” I remark. Truly, the guy is creepy. What kind of senior citizen tries to pick up women at a cemetery, anyways?

“Yeah well, he’s been lonely for a while. He’s just looking for some companionship.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Hey listen,” Tina exclaims promptly, shifting the conversation in another direction. “I’ve got some good news.”

“Oh yeah, what’s up?”

“I’ve been accepted. I’m going to Clemson!”

I suppose I should be feeling good for Tina, but I don’t. I’ve always seen her as a mild-mannered, laid back kind of girl, but I get a feeling that once in college the Tina I know will become something unknown, and perhaps even repugnant, to me. Perhaps even take the route Mira took so long ago.

“What’s wrong?”

“No, nothing,” I say with a chuckle. “Hey, I’m glad for you, congrats.”

She makes no reply, and I can tell that she’s reading me like a book. She’s good like that, quite astute indeed. Perhaps, it’s just me, but I think that women have a sixth sense, so to speak. They have this uncanny ability to decipher the words and actions that we males make, and even our most clever, ingenuous attempts to conceal our thoughts are futile when under the scrutiny of the feminine intellect. “Right,” she says sordidly. “I know you too well, Brad. Just come clean.”

She stole my line. “Clemson’s a big school. Lots of folks, from lots of places. I just think you’ll forget about us once you’re gone.”

“What do you mean ‘us’? You’ve applied too, right?”

“Let’s go to Fred’s to celebrate.” I say swatting a fly away. “My treat.”

“Are you serious?” she says surprised. “I think the world is coming to end!”

I’m a miser; I’m not afraid to admit it. I know it; Tina knows it. I just can’t believe how loose everyone treats money, almost as if the shit actually grew on trees. Nowadays, for me at least, money is hard to come by, and besides, my pinto needs some repairs, so screw what they say. “Don’t push it, lady. Besides, I got twenty buckaroos for doing Nelson’s calculus shit.”

“That reminds me…”

Uh oh.

“You owe my dad ten bucks from like six months ago.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right.” I scratch the back of my head. “…but then, if I give you the ten bucks, what are we going to celebrate with then?” I say shamelessly with a slight smirk for added effect. “Just kidding, I’ll give you the change when we’re done.”

“Hey, I want to stop by Mira’s grave before we go. To pay respects.”

“Okay, I’ll wait for you at the gate.”

“No, come with me.”

Not this again. “What? Why?”

“What do you mean, why? She was our friend, remember?”

“No, she was your friend.”

“Why won’t you see her grave?” she continues, disregarding my last remark. “You’ve never really explained to me why you feel so angry?”

I can’t count just how many times I’ve had this conversation with Tina before, and each time, it’s always the same response. I sometimes think that there’s something she’s not telling me. It’s possible; after all, we all have our secrets. “Can we go now? Fred’s awaits.”

“No, no buddy. You’re not gonna weasel your way out of this one this time,” she remarks. “I mean, it’s been more than three years.”

“It’s just petty boyfriend/girlfriend shit, alright.”

“It can’t be that petty if you won’t visit her grave.”

I grow sick of this; I decide to give her a quick answer to get it over with. “The bitch cheated on me, okay. You happy now.” She doesn’t reply for quiet some time. I suppose it was my manner of referring to Mira that silenced her.

“How do you know she did that?”

“What difference does it make? It’s like you said, it’s been three years,” I say as I start to walk away. I, then, turn around and face her. “Look, let’s not ruin your acceptance celebration, okay. C’mon let’s go.” And as I start to walk away, she breaks her silence once more.

“She didn’t cheat on you, Brad. That’s not Miranda, you know that.”

“Whatever.”

“We’ve known her for 10 years. She’s not like that.” We don’t say anything for a minute or two until finally she breaks the silence once more. “Ever since her death, you’ve withdrawn yourself from everyone. You don’t go out. You don’t even play baseball anymore. And I know just how much you love the sport.”

“What are you talking about?” I say slightly annoyed; I can feel my blood boiling inside. “I’m not gonna commit suicide if that’s what you’re hinting?”

“I know her death has affected you. I mean look at you. I can’t even mention her name without you going off. Why won’t you talk about it?”

“Who the fuck cares what I think? It’s not like I have much time anyways!”

“Not much time?” she asks bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing…” I try to calm myself so as to not slip again. “Every time you go see her you always mention her to me almost as if you know something. Don’t tell me you’ve been holding out on me all these years…”

“I could say the same about you,” she stammers back. “You don’t answer half the questions I ask you, and when you do, you’re so vague.”

I’m shocked. It’s the first time I’ve seen Tina so defensive. “Yeah well, I have my reasons.”

“You see what I mean.”

Clearly this is getting nowhere, a worthless effort. “We’re just wasting our time. Neither of us is going to talk. So why push the issue?”

But who am I kidding? Now that we know that there’s something between us things won’t be the same, I mean, even our friendship could go down. There’s no avoid this now.

“Okay,” she says trying to control her emotions. “I’ll talk if you talk, but you go first.”

I really don’t like the notion, but I really don’t have any choice. Tina knows something that I don’t and I need to know what that is. And so with every ounce of strength in my body, I muster the energy to say just one word. “Okay.”

I pause for a second and look up at the sky. The clouds are still hanging deep. The air feels stagnant now, and it seems the humidity has risen since I first set foot here. I look over at Miranda’s grave one more time. It’s sad, I suppose, when you become just a distant memory to everyone around you. People have forgotten Miranda, and her grave has become nothing more than just an obscure tombstone somewhere in Candle Creek Cemetery. When my time comes, will I become that way to everyone else too? I realize now that this is my first time since her death that I find myself actually thinking about her without hatred or remorse, and for a second, my mind drifts back to the memory of the beautiful Colombian vixen with the long black hair and the deep emerald eyes. Reality intrudes that memory, however, and the cold grey tombstones come back into focus.

“After Mira’s death, everything seemed to not make sense. I mean, it felt like everything was falling apart.” I say in a low tone. “I thought everything would have returned to normal but it didn’t.”

“It took everyone awhile to grip what really happened.” Tina replies.

“Months later, I started to get strange colds. They would come and go in a couple of days; then I had muscle aches followed by headaches, and I always felt so weak. I decided to go see a doctor about it.”

“He did some tests, and told me to come back in about a month.” I clear my throat and continue. “So I did. I came back the next month. He sat me down, and looked at me, and said….” I couldn't finish the rest; my voice gave out. I lower my head and frown.

“He said what?” she inquires anxiously.

I take a deep breath and make eye contact. “Tina. I have AIDS.”