Let's Just Pretend (Part 1)

I'd like to thank these very special people for taking the time to proof-read, edit and add their own unique contributions to nurture this story and help it grow; Obie Chan, Alistair Chong, Adrian Li and my own brother (unwittingly). And of course Linh Nguyen for the last two paragraphs, and who gets it all, every single little bit. She has edited my stories too many times for any sane person and has stuck with me through the hardest times. Thank you. As always, any mistake is mine.

Let's Just Pretend

'Let's just pretend'. That was something like our catch-phrase, wasn't it? Something like an inside joke we both shared. Except it wasn't funny; not to us, not to anyone. There was nothing funny about it at all. You used to say it a lot. I guess I'll really miss that phrase. So, I guess for old time's sake, let's just pretend that...we're in some green meadow, no, actually, your favourite place Starbucks. Just anywhere just here. It's just you and me, and you're begging me to tell you a story because you like my stories. So, I push away my Fruppacino and lean forward, closer towards you. And I tell you a story. I tell you a story of how I became Dawn's Angel.

Let's Pretend....
You came into my life six years ago, precisely. You literally drove into my life in your CLK Mercedes Benz. My old neighbours had just moved. I don't know if you ever met them, but they were an old senile couple who were totally lost when it comes to humour. Or perhaps they were selectively deaf. Or perhaps arthritis had gotten to their jaws, preventing them from laughing. Either way, you get the point. Anyway, so they moved out to probably to an old person's home, leaving behind a giant mansion of a house that my house literally sat in the shadow of.
That day, the day you came, I was on my driveway with my skateboard. I was practising my ollies when I heard the sound of a truck coughing its way up the street. I looked up to see a black Mercedes, your Mercedes, leading a big truck up the street. As your car passed my house, I caught my first glimpse of you, sitting in the back seat, with your face pressed up against the window. I was eleven at that time, and you only a few months younger. I was just starting an awkward stage of my life, caught in between being a child and a teenager. It's during this stage you're like, 'oh...so you're telling me that girls don't have cooties?' and it's the stage when you realise that you hate maths and start fitting swear words into everyday language use. So I guess I was old enough to realise you were a beautiful girl. You had an exotic looking face, framed by blond hair. I remember you wore it short back then, with a small pony-tail. There was always a lock of hair that always got in your eyes, remember? It annoyed the shit out of you.
Your parents, on the other hand, were quite different. Your mum was very prim and proper. I remember when your parents introduced themselves to mine; your mum looked like there was always a piece of shit shoved up her nose, judging by the look on her face. I never liked your mum. There, I said it. I guess you're not going to really mind what I say about your mum anymore.
I disliked your mum from the beginning even without all that background information, mainly because she obviously thought she belonged to a superior species or something. She thought she was the shit. I thought she was a shit. There's a difference. Anyway, what-ever the reason, I just didn't feel like being in the same room as her as she introduced herself to my parents, trying to intimidate them. So I snuck around to the backyard. Or maybe fate drew me there. But then again, you never really believed in fate, did you?
Again, what-ever the reason, I found myself in the backyard, and there you were next door, standing on the patio and surveying your new backyard. Instinctively, I tried to draw back and hide before you saw me, but I was too slow. Your eyes just happened to sweep over to where I was standing. You smiled, waved, perhaps a little shyly and beckoned me to come over to you. Feeling very self-conscious under your gaze, I obeyed, propelled forward by powerful forces unknown. When I reached you, I could at last fully appreciate your breath-taking beauty. You were very tall for your age, lean and fit looking. I instantly guessed you were a swimmer, or at the very least, an athlete of some kind.
The first thing I noticed were your eyes. They were slightly slanted upwards, and your irises were silvery-gray. You looked kind of mean, but I guess that just contributed to your 'exotic' look. Your smile showed off your perfect teeth. You quite literally made me breathless.
The blatant opposition of our lives never struck me more than in that moment. There you were, wearing the latest designer jeans and hooded tank-top, and here I was, wearing a tattered shirt, mangled jeans and shoes and with a skateboard under my arm. We were clearly from worlds apart.
Then you spoke, and suddenly none of that mattered. Your voice washed away everything; our differences, my animosity and prejudices against your parents, my self-consciousness...I'll never forget your voice.
'Hey, I'm your new neighbour!'
'Yeah, I guessed'.
'My name's Rique'.
'What? Ricky? Isn't that a guy's name?' Yeah, I know, I know, just slightly tactless on my behalf, I'll admit.
'What?' You frowned and shook that lock of hair out of your eyes. 'No, Rique. R-I-Q-U-E. It's just pronounced Ricky'.
'Oh'.
Suddenly, someone called, 'Rique! Where are you?'
'Here, umma!'
'Who's that you're talking to? Come here and help your dad unload the truck'.
'Yes, umma'. You turned back to me. 'Well, I'll talk to you later'.
You waved fleetingly over your shoulder before prancing off without even letting me tell you my name. But it didn't matter. Your name was Rique, spelt R-I-Q-U-E, pronounced 'Ricky'.
That night, my parents were discussing our new neighbours, i.e. you and family, at the dinner table. As I listened to their rants of jealousy and of hatred... I decided there and then, that I disliked you as well. No, actually, that I hated you. Reasons? Well, first of all, because you were rich. You probably had everything I ever wanted, and more. I hated your mum, I hated the fact that I was living in your shadow, literally. I didn't mind two old codgers living there, but to have a girl my age, who just happens to be exceptionally hot...that didn't work out for me at all. I guess I was basing you on what I saw of your mum. I'd already constructed your personality based on your mum's looks: completely full of yourself and stuff. Logical thinking, right? Like mother, like daughter. But what they said, I kept as a secret for the next six years.
*
The next time I saw you was next morning, at the nearest train stop. I recognised your cute little blond pony-tail. You were standing alone on the platform wearing a short black skirt, a black jumper bordered with silver and a white shirt and black tie that matched your jumper. Seeing it was a school day, I guessed that it was your school uniform. Remembering what my parents had said from last night, I started inching away. But then fate intervened again.
Even though you had your iPod plugged in, and there were many others on the platform, you turned around just as I tried to sneak past. I muttered a curse under my breath. You instantly recognised me, and you waved you long jumper sleeve at me and then flicked that lock of hair out of your eyes. What choice did I have? You pulled out an earphone as I approached reluctantly. 'Hey, next door neighbour!'
'I have a name, you know'.
'Yeah well, you never told me!'
'Well, you never asked!'
'Yah, tell me your name'.
'Jack'.
'Jack. See? That wasn't so hard, was it? Aish'.
'It's cold'.
You reached out and tugged my shirt, and goose bumps appeared on my arm which had nothing to do with the cold. 'Short sleeves, no wonder'.
I'd lost my jumper, but I deemed that unnecessary to tell you, so I merely shrugged.
'You know, it's not so bad if you just pretend you're somewhere warm, a place with like lots of fires around...like...hell!'
That was the first time I heard you use the phrase 'just pretend'. I didn't think much of it at that time, so I just raised my eyebrows.
'What?' You looked so cute when you acted innocent.
I changed the subject. 'What school do you go to?'
You pointed at the silver shield-like crest on your jumper. 'Grace College'.
Grace College, short for Her Grace's International College. The elite private school that cost my dad's entire annual salary to pay the bills for. Of course. 'Rich bitc...girl'.
'Yah, shut up, jealous boy'. But you were smiling as you said it. 'God, ties are such a bitch'. You tugged at your tie, loosening it.
'We don't have ties as our uniform'.
'Lucky'. Your eyes flashed as you grinned at me. Suddenly, you looked over my shoulder. 'Trinity!'
I turned around to see a tall Asian girl in your uniform black and silver. Her hair was done into a Japanese style with a lock dropping into the eyes and then pinned into swirls at the back and held in place by what looked like a pair of jet black metal chopsticks. A chain was looped around her skirt, and she was wearing fingerless gloves, and not soft, woollen ones either, but tough, black leather ones. And I guessed her name was 'Trinity'. She not only looked like a street fighter, she sounded like a street fighter! I remember you laughed when I expressed my thoughts about this Trinity to you. Then you told me that Trinity did Kung-fu. OK, fair enough. Trinity not only looked and sounded like a street fighter, she was a street fighter! Cool...
So I stood around awkwardly while you hugged your street fighting friend.
I guess you and Trinity were my first true glimpses of Grace College students, or rather, the upper-crusts of Grace College students, which meant basically you two represented the upper crusts of society. I didn't know that back then, of course. I didn't know that as I watched you two chatting, that I was staring at a heiress to millions in the farm of five star hotels, as well as the daughter of a dance choreographer for music clips on MTV and the most successful criminal lawyer in the state. If I had known, I would have probably got on the floor and hailed you both.
Did I hate you then? What? I hated you? Never!
*
You became my before and after school company. We met every day on the same train, and you used to fill the silences with your incessant chatting, all the way to the train stop in the morning and all the way back to our houses in the afternoon. I guess that was ok, seeing I was never one to talk much, as you know. You used to go on, probably somewhat insensitively, about the going ons at Grace College. I found out a lot about you; the trivial stuff, like the fact you were half-Korean, half-English and that your last name was Lee. I was right in guessing you were a swimmer; you swam for your school time and enjoyed surfing in the holidays. You were lead singer of a small rock band called 'First Fantasy' and you break danced, representing a crew called 'Artrix'. People called you B-girl Sakura. See, I do remember that stuff!
I also found out a lot about Grace College itself, and the more I heard, the more jealous I became. And I started to realise actually how for up the social hierarchy you sat. Yes, I was very, very jealous. Well, at first I was, but the more I found out about your life, the more you confided in me; the more you opened my eyes, the less enviable that all became. But when I was younger, oh, how I wanted to live the high life just like you. I thought it was perfect. But in the end, you showed me how wrong I was.
I started to notice that amidst all the topics you talked about, none were really family related. You didn't talk about your dad's work or even about your new phone and stuff like that. And for that I was very grateful. Perhaps you knew you were more fortunate than I was, but you didn't want press it. I don't think I could've stood much of boasting or showing off. And you didn't, even though you had so much to boast about and show off. When we were sitting close to each other, I felt we were equals. That's what I liked so much about you. That's what made you stand apart from your mum, or umma as you call her in Korean.
Sitting with each other on the train every day for several years in a row, you tend to watch each other grow up. You were there during my 2cms/hour growing stage. I was there when you decided, in a fit of pms-ing, that you would grow your hair long and colour parts of it black and grey. You were there when I was breaking my voice. You found that hilarious, even though I failed to see the humour in it. I was there when you had your first period. To me, that was quite amusing to see you so moody, but perhaps not so much for you?
'So, what's a period like? Does it hurt?'
*Death Glare*
I remember that day very well, and look back on it with a great fondness because I remember that it was the first time I walked home in peace and quiet, having you give me another death glare and storm off early.
I learnt to identify your various moods. When you were happy, you tended to talk in excess about random stuff. When you were pissed off, you...well, you talked in excess as well. It was funny because you'd be in the middle of a spiel of bitching about something but then you'd stop suddenly and say, 'Sorry, am I ranting and bitching too much? Sorry if I am; god, you must find me so annoying! But it just pissed me off so much that *rant, rant, rant, etc. etc. etc.*'
I never felt the usual awkwardness with you that I felt with other girls. Perhaps it was because I saw you so often. We became fast friends. My other friends (yes, incidentally I did have friends apart from you) teased me constantly about 'The Girl Next Door'. They were jealous of course, that I'd made friends with someone like you. I was flattered myself, to have someone like you spend so much time with someone like (and of course I was flattered that others were jealous of me. I'd never had anything to be jealous of before). We used to spend hours talking over the fence on the holidays, remember? Then your mum would call you in, and you'd have to leave.
I always thought that in order to jump from being good friends with someone to being close friends with someone, something big has to happen between the two of you that changes how you perceive that person or shows a quality you had never seen in that person before.
I believed that that event happened between us when we were sixteen. I remember that night so well.
I was taking out the trash, lost in my own thoughts about my impending doom that was approaching in the form of a maths test the next day, when your house's front door banged loudly, jerking me away from my thoughts of procrastination. I turned to see you storming down your driveway. Then you spotted me in the semi-darkness.
'Hey Jack'.
'Rique, hey'.
'Sorry about the...' You gestured back at your house.
'The what?'
'Don't pretend you didn't hear'.
Perhaps I should have stopped there. But of course, being so tactless, I blundered on. 'Hear what?'
'The shouting'. Your voice was a hoarse whisper.
'Oh, that'. I blushed. 'Yeah, I've had other stuff on my mind so no, I wasn't really listening. I've learnt not to take much notice of it anymore'.
'Does it happen that often? Is it that loud?'
'What? Oh...no, well...your mum's voice does carry'.
'Oh, god, I'm so sorry'.
'It's nothing for you to apologise about'.
You were silent for a while. And then suddenly, 'Do I bitch too much to you, Jack?'
The question took me completely by surprise, and I laughed. 'No...well, yeah, you do bitch a lot, but I don't mind it. I've gotten used to it. I don't really mind it'.
'Yes you do, don't lie'.
'No, I don't, seriously'. I was being serious, but I know you never believed me.
'No, I do bitch too much, I know it. I'm sorry; I must annoy you so much'.
'What's with all the apologies? You don't, seriously. I'm willing to let you bitch to me all you want, if it makes you feel better even if just a little bit. If you have to rant for several hours to get something off your chest, it's worth it, for me and for you.'
You gave me a funny look then. 'Pleasant lies, but thanks anyway'.
I flushed.
'You going to hold that bag all night, or are you going to throw it away?'
'What?' I realised I was still holding the garbage bad I'd come out to dispose of. 'Oh, oops...ew'. I dropped the bag into the trash can quickly, feeling foolish.
'Yah, you want to go for a walk with me? I need to get away from this place for a bit'.
'Er yeah, sure. Just let me tell me rents'.
'No, screw that, come now. Don't leave me waiting here for any longer than I want'.
'Oh...kay, let's go then'.
As I walked down the road with you by my side, I was expecting a whole tsunami of ranting. But it never came. As I led the way into the nearby park, I realised that as I said earlier, you never seemed to talk about what went on in your home. You were silent for a long time. My mind scrounged around for topics but came up blank so I decided to keep the silence.
Then you broke the silence abruptly. 'What are your parents like?'
I shrugged. 'I don't know. Pretty chill, I guess'.
'Yeah, they seem so nice'.
'Are you kidding? Your parents sound awesome as well'.
'How?'
'I don't know, they like always get you...'
'Get me stuff like iPods and stuff, yeah?'
'You want my iPod?' You actually reached into your pocket, pulled it out and held it out to me. 'You want my iPod? Take it, go on'.
'What? Are you serious!?' I stared at the proffered iPod.
'Yeah, deadly serious. Go on, take it. I don't want it, it means nothing to me'.
'I can't take you iPod!'
'You want it, right? Well, here you go; I'm giving it to you'.
'Rique, I don't want your iPod. What's gotten into you? Relax'.
You shoved the iPod back into your pocket and sat down on one of the benches along the park path. 'I hate being rich'.
'Are you serious?!'
'Yeah, what's so good about it? It's no-where as good as it's made out to be'. I'd never hear you so bitter. 'You're happy, right, Jack? You got an awesome family, never fight...There's not much point in being rich if your family makes it impossible to enjoy life.'
'Let's trade families then. I hate being poor'. I sat down next to you.
'Hell yeah. Hey, let's just pretend for a second, yeah, that you were the rich one, and I was the normal one, ok?'
'Ok'.
'Now let's just have a conversation; a normal chat. Ok, Jack, what's your favourite colour?'
'What's the point of this?'
'Just answer the question'.
'Okay, um...blue'.
'Now ask me a question'.
'Rique, what's the point in this?'
'Just ask me a question. We're going to start a normal conversation. Ask me what my favourite fruit is'.
'Okay, what's your favourite fruit?'
'Pineapple'.
'What? How could you like such a fruit?! It's so sour and massively huge!'
'Oh my god, how could you not like pineapple! It's so freaking good, especially in summer!'
'Ergh, it's not worth the effort! You gotta like, hack it up with a machete and it goes everywhere'.
'You're so lazy. You're a lost cause'.
'You're a lost cause'.
'See what I mean, Jack? Nothing changes, even though you're the rich one now. Do you feel rich?'
'No'.
'Nor do I normally. We're still the same as always; your favourite colour is still blue, my favourite fruit is still pineapple and you're still a lost cause'. I laughed, but then you turned serious. 'Money doesn't make you, it doesn't change you, and it sure as hell doesn't improve you'. You looked me square in my eyes. 'That's why I envy you, Jack. Sounds crazy, doesn't it? But I want a family like yours. I want a normal life like yours.'
'Yeah, but I guess it's easy for you to say now, but when you actually live it...Yeah, it's crazy. I always thought...'
You sighed, and I realised how much you believed in your own words. 'I'm cold'.
Acting instinctively, I reached out and pulled you in close. I wrapped my arms around you in a tight embrace, and you did the same. It was the first hug we shared and I still hold that moment close to my heart. That hug washed away any remaining barriers between us, and the memory of it would become something like a warm talisman sitting in my chest for the next few days. After a while, I said, 'Hey, Rique?'
'Yeah?' Your voice was muffled by my shoulder.
'Is that iPod still up for grabs?'
*
That year, you made my birthday you went to great pains to make my birthday incredibly memorable. I received a text from you during a class that read: At ur frnt g8. Come out, hav sumthin 4 u.
Utterly perplexed at to why you'd suddenly be at my front school's gate, I told the teacher that I had to go to the toilet, and instead ran all the way to the front gate. And there you actually were, standing there by yourself, holding your hands behind your back.
'Rique! What are you doing here!?'
'Happy birthday, Jack'
You held out the small package that you'd been holding behind your back out to me. It was wrapped in pink paper, and there was a miniscule card on top. I flipped open the card. In your flowing script, it read, 'For five years of bitching. Thank you. Happy Birthday! From - the girl next door'. You signed off with kisses and hugs.
I was about to tear the wrapping open when you stopped me. 'Open it at home'.
'Why?'
'Just do it! That way you can't give it back to me when you find out what it is'. You laughed. 'Anyways, what do you want to do?'
'What do you mean? Don't you have classes or something?'
'Would I be in school uniform if I didn't?'
'So you're wagging?'
'Yeah'. You shrugged.
'Just to give me a present?'
'No, to wish you a happy birthday. Let's go see a movie'.
'Now?'
'Yeah. I was trying to get Trinity to come, but she realized she had a test at the last minute, so I had to come alone'.
'Wow, you really didn't have to do that, you know. I do live next to you; you could've given it to me then. Or you could have given it to me in the morning!'
'Yeah, I didn't have a card in the morning, and presents are gay without cards. Anyway, are we going to go or not?? I want to drop into that formal wear shop. We have a formal this year! And I want things to be perfect.'
So, that day I skipped school with you. We went and saw a movie, had lunch together and just generally had so much fun. You dropped into the dress shop, and I teased you about your planned date. You said you had someone in mind. Secretly, I hoped that it was me, but I knew you had so many other boys to choose from. I felt so comfortable with you; I never once worried about the consequences. When I got home, I opened your present. Inside, still sitting snugly in its packaging, was a brand new iTouch.
I still have that iTouch, you know Rique, see? I carry it around with me everywhere I go. It reminds me of you. The weight in my pocket reminds me of the burden I carry on my heart.
I think that was the last time we both talked about money. It was clearly a sore point for both of us. I had too little of it, and you had too much of it. I wanted it, while you hated it. To this day, I still don't understand why you hated it so much, although I can guess. We both sought that unattainable golden middle. If only there were more people out there like you, Rique, the world would be a happier place; a louder place maybe, but generally a happier, less greedy and gold driven place. If only, if only. So many 'if only's. If only they came true.
My life took a dramatic turn sometime during May, after my birthday. I was fast asleep, in the middle of a happy dream when for some reason the hot girl who was saddling me seductively suddenly disappeared and I was left staring up at my bedroom roof. Feeling strangely unsatisfied and peeved, I searched for the reason of the sudden withdrawal from dreamland. I found it soon enough. I realised there was an insistent tapping noise that sounded like someone was tapping on my window. My heart jumped to my throat, and slowly I turned towards the window, my dream fuddled mind drawing up monsters from the realms of dream. I know it's not really possible for a seventeen year old to have a heart attack, but what I saw in the window goddamned gave me one. Nearly.
After letting my old ticker recover from doing three hundred beats per minute, I untangled myself from my covers, picked myself off the floor where I'd fallen, threw my covers back onto the bed and then crept over to my window and slid it open.
'Rique! What the fuck are you doing here?!'
Now you might laugh still at that memory, Rique, but you scared the shit out of me, I'm serious. I swear to god I couldn't shit for several days after that.
But there you were, standing innocently outside my window.
'What? I'm your next door neighbor; I'm allowed to visit you sometimes, right?' You were slurring your words a bit.
'Rique, it's-'I glanced at my bedroom clock, '-three in the morning. Your parents will kill you! Are you crazy?!'
'Jack, you're hurting me; I thought you liked me'.
I opened my mouth to reply but thought better of it. 'Look, stay here, be quiet, ok?'
You made a zipping motion across your lips.
I pulled the window back down and then tip-toed out of my room and down to my parent's room, where I put my ear to their door. My dad was still snoring soundly. Satisfied, I traipsed down to the kitchen, where I grabbed a packaged sandwich and a box of Shapes and then zipped back into my room where I piled on several layers of warm clothing. Glancing outside the window to where you were innocently watching, I saw that you were only wearing a hoodie. I sighed and reached into my wardrobe to pull out my thickest jacket.
I made my way over to the window, slid it open, passed the food out to you and climbed through myself with the jacket. Once outside and on solid ground, I wrapped the jacket around your shoulders tightly. 'Here, put it on. You must be freezing'.
'God, you're Christmas, Jack'.
I wasn't Christmas. Christmas only comes around once a year. I was always there for you, Rique, always. I care for you so much. I don't know why I'm saying this. Perhaps it is to reassure myself as much as it is to reassure you.
As I herded you away from our houses, I caught a whiff of your scent. I wasn't your usual citrus and musk, but the very familiar, sour odor of alcohol. 'Rique, have you been drinking??'
'Yeah, so what if I have?'
'You're going to kill yourself from hypothermia, Rique'.
'Well, I have you, don't I?'
I pulled you into the park nearby and sat you down on one of the benches. 'Zip up the jacket'.
'I can't. I can't feel my fingers'.
Sighing, I leaned forward and zipped it up for you. The higher I pulled the zip, the redder I got, but you didn't seem to notice anything. Then I took your hands and gently rubbed them between mine, trying to transfer some of my heat into your frozen fingers. Once our eyes met, but I quickly averted my gaze. 'Pull your arms out of the sleeves and keep them close to your body'.
You obeyed.
'You should have something to eat'. I opened the packaged sandwiches.
'How am I meant to eat when my arms are like this?'
I gave you a look, but you merely grinned back and then opened your mouth. 'Are you serious?'
With your mouth still open, you nodded.
Rolling my eyes, I held up one of the sandwiches. You leaned forward and took a bite. Giggling, you leaned back while chewing. 'How much have you had to drink?'
'Eight standards'. You leaned forward for another bite and I complied.
'Eight standards!? On a school night? Jesus, Rique'.
'Fuck school'.
'Uh-uh, not good. Where were you drinking? At home?'
'Oh, hell no. Was at a party'.
'One of those respectable parties?'
'Yeah...'
'Why didn't you go home afterwards?'
'Don't want to go home'.
'How long have you been out here!?'
You shrugged, and there was silence as I fed you the rest of the sandwich and started on the second one. 'Thanks, by the way, Jack. I realize that this is really beyond the call of duty. Not many people would do this'.
'It's nothing. I'm doing what any friend should and would do'.
'It's really late and it's really cold...'
'It's really late, and it's really cold, and you could've died out here. What do you think I'd do? Leave you outside?'
'Thank you, Jack. I owe you. You really do care'.
I didn't answer.
'There's something you should know'.
'What?'
'I like you, Jack'.
I froze.
'Hey Jack, did you hear me? I like you'.
'You're drunk, Rique'. I held up the sandwich, but you pulled away in protest.
'No, seriously, I'm not drunk. I really do like you'.
'No way'.
'Seriously, listen. I do. What do I have to do to prove it to you?'
I was silent as I fiddled with the empty packaging.
'Jack?'
I stood up. 'We should get you home'.
*
'Here's your jacket back, Jack'.
'Thanks. Wow, you're still going to school today?'
You shrugged as I took the jacket back. 'Parents would've killed me'.
'You feeling okay?'
'Yeah. Hey, look, Jack. Thanks so much...for last night. I don't know what could've happened to me. I don't know I would've done without you'.
'You're alive, I'm fine, it's nothing. Let's just forget it, eh?'
'Yeah, okay. But I hope you won't forget what I said to you last night'.
'Which bit?'
'The bit about me liking you, because it's true. I guess alcohol let me say it, that's all'.
'Hey look, the train's here'.
I started to walk towards the train, away from you, but you reached out and grabbed onto me, stopping me. 'Does it make you feel that uncomfortable?'
How was I meant to say it? How was I meant to spit out such a well-kept secret, the secret that I've kept from you ever since you waltzed into my life five years ago in that goddamned Mercedes? 'What do you want me to say to that, Rique? You come to my house at three in the morning, drunk, and you tell me all this. I'm sorry, but I'm slow. I'm still trying to figure out whether to believe you or not'.
'Then figure it out. I'll be waiting'. You turned around and walked away, back towards Trinity, who seemed to wanting you to meet somebody.
As I stepped on the train, I realized the truth that had been sitting in my heart of hearts but I'd ignored. It was the truth that we both refused to acknowledge all the way until the end. The truth was we were not meant for each other. What was I thinking in believing, or hoping, that fate had thrown us together? We both knew that I was not to get involved with you, and you could not get involved with me. So I guess it was better for both of us this way. We were from worlds apart.
*
After that incident, I started a very strange chapter of my life; a chapter of my life that conspicuously lacked something that had been part of my life for a very long time. You. Was I happy? Yes, I suppose I was content in a way. Did I miss you? Of course I did. I thought of you every day. Whenever I walked the dog past your house or something, I'd keep my eyes downcast, in case I looked up to see your face framed in the window, or even worse, to look up and not see your face there at all. I just couldn't tell you why I couldn't get involved with you, Rique, why there had to be distance between us. Not just yet.
Anyway, thankfully I was spared awkward, accidental confrontations with you as school holidays arrived quickly. My dad had finally saved up enough to take us to Hawaii for the two weeks.
I planned to leave as quickly and quietly as possible, but that was not to be. We were basically just about to leave, and I was loading the taxi and congratulating myself on my inconspicuousness when fate decided to play games with me again.
'Hey Jack! Planning on leaving without saying goodbye?'
I turned around, my heart sinking.
There you were, leaning on the fence, a lock of grey and black hair floating in front of your eyes. 'I heard you were going to Hawaii'.
'Can't keep something like that a secret for long in a place like this'.
'It's a nice place, beautiful. Send me a postcard, will you?'
'Yeah, sure'. I turned back to my bags.
'Hey Jack'.
'Yeah?'
'Will we ever talk normally every again?'
I stopped moving around.
'Look at me, Jack'. I looked up. 'Is it just me, or are things just really awkward between us right now?'
'Are things awkward, Rique?'
'Well, yeah, for me they are'.
I shrugged.
'I'm sorry. I screwed up, Jack. I just wanted...I don't even know what I wanted. I was drunk, alright? I'm sorry, I really am. Let's...let's just pretend that I didn't say any of that stuff. I just want things to be normal between us. I want us to be friends again. Can we do that, Jack?'
'If that's what you want'.
'I'm sorry, Jack. I feel that I can't say it enough'.
'It's not your fault. It's...' I gesticulated vaguely, unable to shape the words that were so important.
You watched us drive away soundlessly. As I looked back, I could've sworn I saw a glittering tear tracking its way down your cheek. I looked resolutely forward.
*