Words Jessica Huwae Illustration Budhi Button

It has been a while since I saw you last. How are you? Ah, I’m sure you’re doing well. Judging by the light in your face and the brightness of your smile, I dare say life has been treating you very well.

You haven’t changed much, that’s true. Though you did lose a little weight, which is a shame, because I loved to play with your potbelly and the way your chubby cheeks wiggled at the slightest touch of laughter. All the extra fat you had on you was the reason you seemed so warm and humorous. Ah, I would rather not spend the day crafting beautiful sentences to describe you. I’m not feeling romantic at the moment. You know how I am when I get this way, right? You used to call that side of me adorable, though on the other hand you also said it could be rather frightening. Well, that was a funny thing to say. At the time. At least, the last time we saw each other.

* * *

Back then we could spend hours talking late into the night about the different sensations we feel whenever we talk about love. Over cups of coffee and packs of cigarettes, serenaded by drops of rain, we would talk until morning arrived. Time just flew, didn’t it, whenever we were together? Do you remember those nights? Sometimes we would end them with laughter, and then there were times when we would end them in tears. My tears, of course. You never saw them. I always chose to leave last — so I could pack my things. That was what I told you. And you would tell me how I always carried too many things with me. You would laugh, moments before you left, with your thumb on the car remote, unlocking your car from a distance. Then you would run to it, away from me, back into the fold of time and traffic.

You always seemed more resolute. Stronger, somehow. Better equipped to deal with life’s twists and turns. At least, that is how you appear to me. Even though your best friend used to tell me there were moments when your eyes would grow misty. No worries. That’s what I’ve always admired about you. Always.

* * *

Not long after that, we went our separate ways. Just like that. No drama. No explanations. No goodbyes. There was no way to determine when we actually went our separate ways, or when we would meet again. Maybe that’s why separation hurts, because it often comes without warning.

For the sake of our pride, we pretend to charge against the world. Me, behind you. You, behind me. We had agreed to our new terms, even though we never spoke of it. And so we slowly regurgitated each moment which we had savored with such sweetness before. We sowed distance between us and reaped estrangement.

* * *

How are you? I can’t help but single out your heavy voice amid the noise and circles of smoke. Your smoke and mine. The smoke I have grown addicted to since you left. I can’t move, watching fireflies dance across the dark sky and swimming in a pool of memory. My heart is moved, as if there were empty rooms waiting to be filled.

I turn away. At least, this way, I can stop my tears from falling and suppress my anger, briefly lit in this moment in time. I don’t want to be there. I don’t want to occupy those rooms which we had filled so easily before. What for? Besides, eternity is not for mortals like us. Eternity is for God, not for a cheap romance story.

You reach for my hand and I let you. I welcome you to feel all of me. And I listen to your heavy breathing in my ear. I listen, even when your arms are holding me tight and I am close to tears. My own hands are tucked over my head. I haven’t decided what to do about this, about us. You gaze into my eyes. Is this what you want? Is this the role you wish us to play? The role of friends who haven’t seen each other in a long time, lost in a nostalgic fervor. Oh, how we tell stories. How far we’ve come.

I should have returned your embrace, and showed you how much I’ve been missing you. I should have danced with you in this moment. I should have. So many should have’s. You should have known the many stories I had written to anticipate our next meeting. From the opening sentence, a little drama, followed by a romantic kiss. Not like this. How we cross each other’s paths in a split second before we part ways again.

I had hopes that time would give us a surprise. A moment when, at last, we will be able to reap all the feelings we’ve planted quietly, surreptitiously. I hate the words should have. Time has passed and hope has failed to form in the words should have.

* * *

It has been ten seconds since we spotted each other. Somewhere in the corner of the city where we used to meet. Thunder rolls, beating away at the stories I have written in my head as they quickly come apart at the seams. In real life, we are silent. Perhaps the distance is no longer possible to overcome. We stand on the precipice of a deep valley, across from each other.

And then you walk away. Just like that. Just like you once did. Yes, you did that. Me, behind you. Wondering if you knew. About the things I felt. About the way your heart beat next to me. About you. You, the bearer of pain and longing. Always.

___________________

Jessica Huwae is the founder of dailysylvia.com and cofounder of custom publishing company Kanakata Publishing Services. This story has appeared in her story collection, Skenario Remang-Remang (Gramedia Pustaka Utama, 2013).

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