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Saturday, June 30, 2007
Labels: death, friendship, stories
I remember when i first read Vicky's blog, her best friend Yichao wrote an amazing story. I cried like a dam.
Andrew, Please wake up soon. You wouldnt bare to leave anyone behind. You're like a brother to gareth. I know my babybro is hurting. Please just wake up soon. We need you. You know, we barely talk anymore these few years. If i could do anything, i would swopped places with you anytime, just to see the smiles on everyone's face
Somehow, now in the library, trying to rush my assignment, i was reading it and emotions filled me up.
Maybe its just the issues that i've been going through these couple of days.
there's how the story goes. (its a pretty long one)
Chapter 1-
This is a real story about a guy whom I was very fond of, probably even loved, after a fashion. His name was Mark. I got to know him because we took the same course. This is my story, about Mark.
It was the first day I was going to school. I was 18. Naturally I was excited and apprehensive – I was going to meet new people.
My course was a new and small one, with subjects pertaining to the media. Think of it as a sort-of-schoolish Mickey Mouse Club. The first time I saw Mark was when I entered the lecture theatre. I remember thinking about his good looks and beautiful skin.
I had a friend Elena in the course. We hung out together all the time, having several similarities. We were the same height, 5’9” (175 cm) and same weight, we wore the same sizes, even our behaviours were similar Many people mistook us for sisters, sometimes even twins. I always joke, “We’re different sides of the same coin; she is light while I am dark.” That sentence was not untrue – Elena was vastly popular, sociable and very pretty. She was the sunshine girl, the golden girl of the course, with an infectious laugh and witty remarks. They called her Miss SunShine.
I was a different matter. I was not ugly myself, I must admit. However, where they called Elena the Sunshine Girl, I was Ice Princess, or Frost Maiden. Where she is tan and golden brown, and hair bleached into streaks of colors, I was pale and fair with long black hair. When she was in the sun, I was in the shade. While she was socializing in a club, I would be sipping my wine in the corner.
She was the Sun, and I was the Moon, and Mark… Mark was our Star.
I really got to know Mark only after a few months into the course, and that was only because Elena ‘introduced’ us. She’s friends with everyone, naturally. Of course Mark and I knew each other already, but we were not close; we had hardly spoken more than a few words to each other before.
There was a charity drive in my school, which was supposed to be managed by my course, and Elena and I, along with Mark, were supposed to attract ‘customers’. After a few hours of badgering people, we had had enough; we decided to sneak off for a break and return later.
We ran out of school and across the road, laughing. It had begun to drizzle, a cold, sticky rain, but we are young people and what was a little rain? We went to the high rise apartments opposite the school, and sat down in a stairwell to smoke. The rules were very strict – we were forbidden to smoke in school, or anywhere within a hundred meter (about 300 feet) radius of school. Which was why we were hiding in a stairwell.
I was seated on one of the steps, and Elena beside me. Mark was standing, pacing around, looking at stuff, behaving like a guy. He looked good; I enjoyed looking at him. Elena was chattering away, when suddenly he said, “I really need to take a leak.”
I kept quiet and blew out smoke.
Elena grimaced. “Okay, I didn’t really need to know that.”
Mark continued as if she didn’t say anything. “Do you have a rubber band?” He was looking at me. (For those of you who didn’t get his joke, he wanted to a rubber band to tie around his thing to stop the pee, lame, yes.)
I looked at him, and said, “I don’t think so.”
“Damn, I really need to pee.”
“So why don’t you? We won’t look.” I joked.
Then he gave me another one of his piercing looks, and caught my eye. “I have a better idea; why don’t you give me a blow job?” I held his eye for a while, then looked away. “I think I’ll look for that rubber band.”
Elena was giggling, and he and I both looked amused. I might have sounded nonchalant, and looked expressionless and smooth and cool, and normally, I would have been. I don’t know why I wasn’t. My heart was suddenly pounding. I bet it was the look he gave me.
So Mark started hanging out with us, when he wasn’t with the guys. Sometimes we went out shopping together, because he said that we had great taste, and he wanted us to choose clothes for him. He was always much friendlier to Elena, however. He thought she was prettier, that she had better taste, she could dance better, she was nicer, she had a more pleasant disposition.. etc etc.
One night while talking to Elena on the phone, she mentioned that Mark had just put down the phone with her. Apparently they talked on the phone every night. That has never happened to me (with him).
I grumbled, “Why doesn’t he call ME? Maybe he likes you..” I teased. Elena knew I was fond of Mark. She said, “That’s impossible.Why don’t YOU call HIM?” “And talk about what? You?” I replied, rolling my eyes. She said, “DUH! Anything and everything under the sun..”
So after much encouragement from Elena, I picked up my courage and the phone and called Mark. He was very nice on the phone - politely distant, in fact. I tried to make conversation, but after some time he just put some music on to play in the background and asked me to listen to the songs. From my conversation with Elena, I knew that this happened all the time. But I was not a patient person like she. Three songs later, I said I had to go, (in a very cold voice, in fact), and he could go play his songs to Elena.
I admit, I was bitter, and jealous. But I was happy for Elena too. The human soul is a diamond with many facets – I felt such a myriad of emotions, anger and love and bitterness and envy and happiness and guilt and shame.
I started being rather unfriendly to Mark. I like him, yet he treats me as a second fiddle; only to be sought when Elena was not available. He was always praising Elena. Elena this, Elena that. I wasn’t bitter towards Elena – my loyalty towards our friendship was too strong. I was angry with Mark. Harsh words came out when I saw him, inadvertently. We started squabbling about every little thing. He started being nicer and nicer to Elena, and more and more unfriendly towards me, and vice versa. But sometimes there were times when I wasn’t angry, and he wasn’t angry, and then we would be nice to each other.
Chapter 2
There was an ‘outing’ one day. My friends and my coursemates decided to go clubbing at this new club. It was called ‘Home’. It played R&B and HipHop and was mostly frequented by Caucasians and foreigners.
A huge bunch of us went down. I was late, and Elena met the rest of the people and they went for a spot of dinner first. When they were done, I was just about done preparing too, and then I took a cab down. It didn’t take long. They saw me from a distance, and there were whistles and catcalls. I knew I looked good. I was wearing a black chiffon spaghetti dress, a little on the rich side, with the hem swinging a few inches above my knees. My long black hair was tied in a straight pony tail, high and tight and nearer the top of my head than the bottom. For footwear, I had decided on a pair of black stilettos. I did not wear much make up, dark lipstick and some eye shadows and liner, and a bit of dark toned blush. I carried a tiny black hand knit purse with sequins which contained my lipstick, phone, cigarettes, lighter and cards. Black rose earrings completed the look. I knew how to turn the heads when I went out.
They stared at me when I arrived, for I usually did not doll myself when I went to school. I figured there was no need to. I smiled and bantered at their compliments, and then turned to Mark and Elena, who were sitting together at a marble bench outside the club. He had driven her there. He looked a little slack-jawed. I smiled at him, and he said, “You look very nice.” He was wearing a simple grayish shirt and black pants with black leather shoes. A shiny earring hung in his left lobe, his hair was groomed. He looked simple – simply marvelous. “Thanks, you do too.” I smiled and said to him.
Elena, of course, looked ravishing as well. She wore white – a contrast to my black, for we had discussed our colours, and had decided to make a statement. She had on an off-shoulder white dress, with puffed, lacy sleeves, and a plunging neckline. The dress was tight, extremely so, and showed off her curves outrageously. Her hair was down, smooth and shiny, with all their streaks, and she wore a pair of huge hoop earrings, and a butterfly ring. Her make up was artfully applied, accentuating her ready smile and sensuous lips.
It seemed I was the last one to arrive, and after a few short moments, we had entered the club. It wasn’t very packed, but there was a ready crowd, and beautiful people milled around. We found a corner table and cushioned couch for ourselves, and ordered our drinks.
The music was upbeat and modern, and very soon, I found myself sitting alone, and on my fourth glass of red wine. Elena was somewhere gyrating with a couple of Caucasian men, and the rest of my group were dancing together, more often than not split into couples. I lit another cigarette and leaned back into the low couch, crossing my legs.
“Wanna dance?” The pair of legs belonged to Mark. I shook my head. “ I don’t really like the music.” “Aw, come on, this is a really nice tune. Don’t be such a spoil sport.” He took my hand and tugged me towards the dance floor. Soon I was whirling away to the music, smiling and laughing, Mark’s body close to mine. As the night progressed, I had a glass too many of red wine, and he, too many shots.
On the couch, dark red in colour, crimson against my black, his hot mouth breathed against my ear, “Come over to my place tonight.” I laughed, and was about to say ‘no’, when his mouth clamped over mine, drawing away my protests. I returned his passion, his mouth wet against mine, his grey sliding against my black, the black sliding up my smooth white skin...
I disengaged my mouth from his. “Let’s not go too far.” He was disappointed, I could tell, his hands tightening on my body, then sliding away. “Why not?” He touched my cheek, tracing the contour gently, coming to rest on my chin, and holding it in two fingers.
“I don’t really think.. We’re not...” I could think of nothing reasonable to say. Giving him a slight peck on his lips, I arranged myself, and went to the ladies to make sure nothing was out of place.
I returned to the couch, and he was gone. Casting a glance at the dance floor, I saw that he was dancing with Elena, his body pressed against her back, his hands roving all over, swinging and twisting to the music. They looked like they were enjoying themselves. I stayed at the couch, lighting cigarette after cigarette, ordering a few more glasses.
That night, he was too drunk to drive back, and Elena and I sent him home first. All three of us sat in the back of the cab, he on the right, Elena on the left, and I in the middle, with him lying more or less in my arms. I felt… there was a warm feeling in my heart, hard to explain. When he got out of the cab, he staggered a bit, standing at the door and looking at me. I looked back, for a while, both of us said nothing, then, gently, “Sleep early.” I said. He continued looking at me for a second, then closed the door, a little too hard. I told the cab driver my address and didn’t look back at him.
“What was that about?” Elena looked amused. I shrugged. “He’s just drunk.”
Chapter 3
After the incident at ‘Home’, my relationship with Mark got worse. I want to clarify something – at this point, the only relationship we had was a tenuous friendship. We were not a couple nor he and Elena a couple. The relationship between all three of us was platonic. However, Mark and I hardly saw each other without squabbling. We would see each other for a little while, and then he would start getting on my nerves, and usually I’m the one who starts the quarrel.
“I need to use the gents,” He would say. “Whatever.. We didn’t have to know that.” I would cross my arms and roll my eyes. He would keep quiet at first. Then I would attack him again. “What’s your problem?” He would say.
“You’re my problem!!”
“Stop screaming at me!!”
“I’m not screaming at you!!!” I would scream back at him.
It was chaotic, and silly, and childish. I wish that things had not turned out the way they had.
For whatever reasons, Mark’s work in school had begun to suffer, and he started skipping classes, not doing his assignments, etc. His results were suffering. Because of this, he started becoming less and less popular, and Elena and I hung out with him less and less, one main reason being that every time we saw each other we would spit venom. He had less and less friends, and would come to school disheveled and wearing the same clothes he wore the day before, or would come in entirely mismatched clothes, or when there was a function, he did not follow the dress code. Because of these trivial matters, people talked about him, and ignored him and teased him.
Elena was still friendly to him whenever we did see one another, and it seemed their friendship was still prospering. Sometimes, Mark and I would see each other, and then he would smile at me. Sometimes I would smile back. Sometimes I lost myself in that smile, those eyes that twinkle like candle flames in a mist. There is a saying, “Even the most humble house looks like a castle in candlelight.”
There was only one more time that Mark, Elena, and I went clubbing together, all three of us. Most of the time, it was only Elena and I, with some other friends. That night, I suddenly had a desire to see him, and I called him at the last minute. He said he would be there.
We went to Zouk, one of the more popular spots in town, and one of the most expensive. That night, Elena and I surpassed even ourselves. She wore an extremely short, extremely tight denim hot pants, with a wide, shimmering diamante belt. On top, she had on a velvety, bikini in golden tones, which caught the light in a marvelous way. Over that was a leathery jacket in bronzed, coppery shades. Her hair was tied into a chopstick bun, very oriental and demure, totally clashing with and yet accentuating her very ‘spicy’ image.
I had on a one piece thingy. It was a deep, wine red, bareback halter neck dress. It was modeled a little after the traditional Chinese cheongsam. The top of the dress was like the ends of a piece of cloth, which I tied around my neck, so that it looked a little like a piece of scarf at the back. In front, the cloth fell gracefully in folds against me, showing off curves. It was bareback, all the way to the top of my bum, then it was tight around my hips, finally falling in short, jagged waves, longer on my left, and shorter on my right side. My hair was dressed in big, loose curls, billowing around my head. Make up was dewy.
Mark, this time, didn’t dress up. He wore a simple t-shirt and jeans. He still looked good, however – simply marvelous. We looked at each other and said ‘hi’ politely, while Elena smile and gossiped and laughed and socialized.
It was fun at first, there were drinks and I drank, there was music, and I danced. I obviously had a little too much to drink, however, for I tried to kiss him. He pushed me away. I whirled away from him, looking in all the world like I was dancing, like there wasn’t anything wrong. I laughed and smiled as my heart felt like bursting, my hair floating around me, my stilettos scratching the marble floor, the disco light pulsating in my eyes. I had never danced so wildly before in my life, and I pretended everything was okay, but Elena had seen everything, and she knew. Everybody knew. They always do, when it came to things like this.
A few Eurasian guys started dancing with me, then brought me over to a corner where they started piling me with drinks. I knew what they wanted. And I drank. It was of no consequence. Getting higher and obviously out of my mind, I danced and drank, and guys asked for my number, and I did all sorts of crazy stuff. I finally hooked up with this model guy, leaning on him, my arms around him, as we tried to dance in my brain-dead state.
There, with that guy, Elena finally found me, and said it was time to go. Mark had gone off with a Japanese girl. The model wanted to send me home, he had a car, he said. He wanted me to be his girlfriend, he said. All he wanted was sex, I bet. He needed a brain. I smiled and pinched his cheek, and let Elena send me home.
The next day, when my head was much clearer, pounding crazily, I told myself, I lose my head when I’m around him. From now on, I should try to distance myself from him. No more calling him out. No more kissing, no more smiling, I shall not let myself be bewitched by him, I told myself fiercely. Or any man for that matter.
Chapter 4
Life settled into a routine after that. Mark came less and less to school, and Elena and I hung out less and less with him, until it became a scarcity for us to even talk. I told Elena about my decision about staying away from him. He doesn’t like me, he likes you, I told her. You are a crazy fool, she said to me.
Mark had few friends left, and the course talked about him. Nasty things. My course was not a pleasant one, and back stabbers were everywhere. Sometimes, Elena and I joined in the bitching. Elena was just a natural bitch, and I was spurred on by my bitterness, even when I didn’t feel like bitching.
Mark got kicked out from the course not long after. I wasn’t really very sorry, a little surprised, of course, but.. life goes on, as I always tell myself, and.. he wasn’t a big part of my life anyway.
I continued living my life, and soon put him out of my mind. Not entirely, though. I still thought of him once in a while, when I was alone, or with Elena, when we talked.
Sometimes I would call him, but we never talked long – he always said he was busy. I would hear from my friends that they saw him at wherever wherever.. he had a part time job, it seemed.
Sometimes he would call me, but I was always cold and distant. I remember that night and the push, and the fool I had made myself..
A year after all this, I was somewhere near Elena’s house, talking with her, and smoking, and gossiping, and having a bit of wine.
I remember a bit of the conversation.
“I’m so bored!” Elena said.
“There’s no use complaining.. I’m bored too.. there’s just nothing to do..”
“Well, thinking of something then!!” She tugged her hair.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know!? That’s why I’m asking you!”
“Well, let’s go to town tomorrow then..”
She looked at me suspiciously. She knew I hated crowded places. “Are you sure?” I knew she thought I was joking.
“Yes!!..” Exasperatedly.
“Okay!~! Cool!!” She giggled. “Let’s ask some people along.. umm..”
“Let’s ask Mark.” I decided impulsively.
“Are you sure!?” Incredulously. “You said it yourself! You call him tonight.”
“No, no. Let’s not ask him. I don’t feel like seeing him. I don’t want to see him.”
“Okay.. whatever.. it’s up to you..” She took a drag on her cigarette.
A pause.
“Elena.. am I ugly?”
Smoke rings, then she rolled her eyes. “No.”
“Then…. I think I’m ugly.”
“No.”
“Then.. why is it.. why is it that no guys like me? No.. what I mean.. you’re always popular, you know? Guys are always crowding around you.. no such things ever happen to me!”
She rolled her eyes again. “ Let me tell you something. I go out and party. You go out and sit in the corner, looking like a glacier. Guys like me coz I’m vibrant. You.. you’re Ice Princess.. Frost Maiden.. Dark Goddess.. I don’t know what else they call you..” She flapped her hands. “Guys see you sitting at the bar alone, and they don’t dare to approach you. You look distant and aloof. Unreachable. They’re afraid they’ll hit a wall. Guys don’t like to take chances with girls like you, you know. It’s the vibes you give off, you know. ‘Don’t come near me’ vibes. It’s the vibes, trust me, vibes, you know?” She pointed her cigarette at me.
I lighted my own cigarette. “Hmmm. I don’t know, I don’t really think so.. ahh.. forget it, it doesn’t really matter. I wonder how’s Mark.”
She looked at me shrewdly. Elena wasn’t a bimbo, though sometimes she acted like one. She was smart. “Why don’t you give him a call?”
I was silent for a while. “No. I don’t think I will. I don’t want to talk to him. He’s out of my life, anyway. I’ve told you, after that night.. I have to distance myself from him, I lose my head, and that’s not me.”
She flicked her cigarette away and started on another one. “Well, it’s up to you, babe.”
“Let’s just go to town tomorrow. I’ll call the others,” I said.
So it was that, the next day, Elena and I was on a cab to Orchard Road, which was New York’s Fifth Avenue for Singapore. We were supposed to meet a few of our classmates there.
Chattering and chattering on the journey, we were in high spirits. Elena’s phone rang suddenly, and she picked it up. I looked out the window at the sights, and let her do her talking. One of her several.. ‘friends’ I bet.
“What?! Are
you sure?! Mark? What?”
I turned and looked at her, my heart skipping a beat. Her face was ashen, her eyes closed, long lashes brushing her face.
“Okay, okay, thanks.. uhhh.. I’ll confirm with you again.”
She put her phone down, snapped it shut with a ‘click’. I remember the click. Head lowered and face pale, she was silent.
“Who was that?” I asked, finally.
She turned to me. Her face was taut and disbelieving, her eyes glazed and faraway. “Mark’s dead,” she said.
Chapter 5
I kept my face blank. My heart was missing, it is stone. I am like the ocean, I told myself, I am like the deep, where great waves rise and fall, but the deep do not rise and fall. I am the deep. My heart pounded.
“Which Mark?” I asked roughly. I knew which Mark.
Her face was a study. A miasma of emotions. Disbelief amidst a rainbow of shock
“OUR Mark! Mark (LastName)!!” Her eyes opened wider as she realised what she said. I bet she felt like it was a dream. It was a nightmare.
I kept my composure. Raised an eyebrow, “Really.. well.” I gave a little laugh. I looked out the window. Sometimes, there is grief, and then there is grief. I had no tears to shed then.
Elena started sobbing into a tissue. I let her. Very soon it got on my nerves.
“Why’re you crying? We weren’t even that close to him in the end. We didn’t even like him anymore.”
“But.. it’s a life, you know.. it’s still a human life.. no matter what.. we were friends with him.”
“Humph. Well, everyone dies sooner or later. It’s inevitable anyway, there’s no need to feel sad.” I was harsh. I was angry. I was silent for the rest of the journey. I was thinking. I was in turmoil. I was lost, and shocked, and in control. I thought I was in control.
At that moment, my phone rang. I knew it was the same person who called Elena – one of my classmates. I picked up the phone.
“Yes.”
“Hello. Tuesday? This is Edwina. Um, I’m very sorry to inform you that Mark (Lastname) has passed away..." She paused, obviously expecting me to say something. I kept silent.
"Umm.. The service will be held at The People’s Church.”
“Uh huh. How.. who told you this?” I was surprised when my voice came out a croak. I never lost control of myself like this.
“I saw it in the obituaries this morning.”
I licked my lips. “You mean people actually read the obituaries?” I laughed.
She sounded a little shocked. “Err.. yeah…”
“How did he die?” Nonchalantly.
“Errmmm, it was supposed to be a drug overdose.”
“I see.. Okay, thanks.” Slightly amused.
“So will you be coming for the service?”
“I’ll… confirm with you again. I think so. Thanks anyway.” I hung up without waiting for a reply.
We arrived at the café where we were supposed to meet the others and I bought a large pack of cigarettes, figuring we’ll be needing it. We sat down, Elena sobbing quietly. I felt hot and feverish. And then I realised that the café was playing Mariah Carey’s Without You.
No I can’t forget this evening,
Or your face as you were leaving
But I guess that’s just the way the story goes.
You always smile but in your eyes,
Your sorrow shows.. Yes it shows..
No I can’t forget tomorrow,
When I think of all my sorrow,
When I had you there,
But then I let you go…
And now, it’s only fair
That I should let you know…
What you should know…
I can’t live,
When living is without you,
I can’t live,
I can’t give anymore…
I look at my phone lying on the table. Stared at it and lit a cigarette. I found my fingers were trembling. Took the phone up, and scrolled down my list of numbers. Such a long list.. such a long time I have not contacted all of them.. so long before I reached the ‘M’s. Mark.. Mark.. Mark..
His number was still there, his name a burning brand on the tiny glowing screen. I held the phone for a long time. The café had gone through the first CD, going through a second one. Still Mariah, though. She was singing.. a song I didn’t recognize at first.
You're with me
Till the bitter end
What we had transcends
This experience
Too painful to
Talk about
So I'll hold it in
Till my heart can mend
And be brave enough to love again
A place in time
Still belongs to us
Stays preserved in my mind
In the memories there is solace
Never too far away
I won't let time erase
One bit of yesterday
Cause I have learned that
Nobody can take your place
Though we can never be
I'll keep you close to me
When I remember
Glittering lights
Incandescent eyes
Still preserved
In my mind
In the memories I'll find solace..
Never Too Far, I realise. I smiled, wryly, my eyes shut. I made up my mind, I called his number. My heart pounding, my fingers trembling. I lit another cigarette. It connected. There was a dial tone. I was shocked. I didn’t expect it to connect at all. Wouldn’t his phone be off or something like that? What had possessed me? Why had I even called? I ended the call immediately, before anyone answered the phone. Put it on the table, and puffed away furiously on my cigarette. I ordered a bottle of wine.
As the waiter walked away, I settled back into my chair, and my phone rang.
Chapter 6
I stared at my phone, as it vibrated against the table surface. Such a small thing, yet the tremors it set in my heart. Flutters. My fingers are weak. I stared at the phone. It rang, I remember, six times before I picked it up. I counted each trill of the ring tone. It grated against my soul. A phone call has never set me aflame like this before. I reached for my phone with trembling fingers. It seemed to take a millennia, my heart pounding dully in my breast, the blood roaring in my ears. Somewhere, I smelled spaghetti.
I picked the phone up, and the caller ID showed his name. Mark. Mark. Mark. It will not stop haunting me.
“He.. hello..” I answered.
“Hello?” A childish, young boyish voice that I did not regconise. “Uh, are you Mark’s friend..?”
“Yes.” I could say no more. My voice did not belong to me. It belonged to a succubus from hell.
“I’m his brother.” The high pitched young voice said cheerfully. So innocent. I drew the conclusion quickly. They had put his younger brother in charge of his phone. “You know about Mark, right?”
“Yes. Yes I do.”
“Uh. So.. are you coming for the wake?”
“It’s being held at The People’s Church, isn’t it?” I had managed to banish the succubus.
“Uh, no, the service for the funeral is being held the church, but the wake is held at my house.”
“Oh. What’s your address? No, never mind, I’ll get it.”
“So.. are you coming?”
“I’ll.. call you again. I’m not sure.”
“Okay, okay. Thanks.” The voice squeaked. So untroubled, unsoiled. I put down the phone.
I had tears in my eyes suddenly. Springing from some deep recess inside me. No. I am strong, always. What was he anyway. Just a fling. We are adults. It was a game. It was nothing. The world spun on its axis, and I felt as if my head was made of leaden clouds.
I blinked back the tears. Took a deep puff. Elena was quiet finally. In that deep peaceful mood after long and hard crying. She hadn’t noticed what had transpired between the brother and me.
That was a long afternoon. Everyone else arrived. They had heard the news too.. but they weren’t very troubled by it. They hardly knew him, after all, and it’s been a year since anyone even thought about him. I suppose it struck a chord in them though - the vulnerability of life, that flame which can gutter and go out so easily, the immortality which young people generally feel tarnished, the silver lining behind every cloud torn asunder.
Elena cheered up a bit, but I knew that she would cry again, when she thought about it. I spent that afternoon making hysterical jokes about people dying.. about how we have one less number in our phonebooks.. laughed and laughed.. it wasn’t natural.
Finally I reached home in an exhausted state. Flipped open the newspaper, to the Obituary section. There I found him. It was such a small piece. Black and white. It was different, seeing it on paper. I cut out that page, and kept it in my cupboard.
Mark (LastName) passed away peacefully on 14.12.2002.
It kept running through my head. Tossing and turning in my bed, I wished he would come. Visit me, let me see him, I prayed. Who was I praying to? I had no idea. Not God, surely? I didn’t even believe in the Christian God. When I say God, I suppose I meant a higher being. Not the Christian God. I suppose I prayed to myself.
I lay in the dark and whispered silent words. I was a banshee who couldn’t scream. Oh Mark.. I said to the dark. Why? A joke surely, like this universe. Constructed on a whim. I believe God threw the dice to decide our fate. This was one big joke to him. Or her, for that matter. My love, my sorrow, I whispered to the morning light. Why? I finally fell asleep as the first rays of the morning touched me. It was a dreamless sleep. Or if I dreamed, they were so dark and dreary that I don’t remember them.
The next day, I managed to persuade Elena and two other friends who knew Mark, to go for the wake at his house. I wanted to see him, I told them. They didn’t want to go, for various reasons. Elena was afraid she would break down, I know. I was adamant. They could go with me, or I would go alone. I must see him. I must talk to him. Finally they agreed.
I made myself beautiful. Dark colours to suit the occasion, and my mood. A black turtle neck and a longish ragged looking silk skirt, with my hair tied up severely into a ponytail. Black stockings that reached the bottom of my knees, black boots, and my black rose earrings. Indeed, they matched my mood. I must be beautiful for him.
Elena wore a simple purple spaghetti dress, long, past the knees, and bunned her hair up tightly. She wore her butterfly ring.
I got into the cab, picked up the others, and we were on our way.
Chapter 7
Traveling in the dark interior of the car, we were most of the time silent. There wasn’t much to say. What would we talk about? How well we knew him? Most people didn’t know him that well. How close we were to him? Nobody was close to him. What a good friend he was? He had no friends among us. How much we would miss him? He would pass away like winter before spring, most will not remark, most will not remember.
We were silent. I was screaming inside, with anticipation and apprehension. I felt like I was getting married, instead of going to a wake. The ghost bride. I remember I laughed to myself. I wish I could cry. The tears will not come.
The vehicle turned and twisted with the road; after what seemed like an eternity that passed too soon, we found the place. It was bright with lights, and tables and chairs had been placed in the front yard. We stood outside, in an unseen corner, because Elena and I needed to smoke first. We needed the nicotine.
Finally, we made our way in. A yellow makeshift tent had been erected to keep rain and shine out. It was about eleven, at night, and we were some of the last people.
The place was shrouded in a cold sort of people, that quiet, tired feeling, when you feel like you just have to whisper. No one seemed to be mourning much, no one was crying. I felt anguish around me like a ghost.
When we went in, only two tables were occupied; a miserable number. His friends, I could tell, a bunch of punk looking guys and skinny girls with coloured hair and dozens of bangles, young and ill at ease. They tried to look tough and meek at the same time, obviously failing miserably at both.
They stared at us. I swept past them. To me, they were trash. At that moment, I hated them, though I did not know that I did, or why I did. Now I remember – I was feeling intense anger and bitterness. I know I despised them. Their shiny styled hair, they smooth white faces that looked so out of place. Their clothes would have looked more suitable in an arcade. Such young fools – I thought of them as such. Mark had been a year younger than me, and then many of his friends were some years younger than him, due to the crowd he hung out with after he dropped out of school. A bunch of good-for-nothings, really.
I am usually not one to judge. If I dislike someone or somebody, I ignore them, and put them completely out of my mind, and in that effect, existence. I was different that night. My emotions were so intense then. I was angry. Angry with the whole world, angry with myself, angry with him. Most of all, with him.
My poise did not show my emotions, of course. It seldom did. I maintained my façade through the storm.
His parents saw us, his mother came to receive us.
“Hello… Are you Mark’s friends?” It was dreadful to hear that voice. It didn’t sound sane. It was long and drawn out. If you didn’t see her face, you could have mistaken it as being coy. But if you listened carefully, there was a terrible undertone. She sounded tired and plaintive, pleading. A little out of her mind. You could hear the grief. Some people might tell you it is impossible to hear grief, or measure it. I say they are wrong. Perhaps there are no ‘exact’ units for the measurement of grief, like the metric units for distance, or the Celsius or the Fahrenheit for temperatures. But sometimes you could hear grief, like a living thing, you could measure it, b comparing it to something else.
I could hear her grief, deep and fathomless like a boiling ocean of black pitch. I heard it all in the ‘Hello’, and ‘friends. Those words were like tsunamis that pounded against us, like solid things. Always listen to the last word in the sentence a grieving person says. They make it sound like a question. Hello..? Why..? True..? Untrue..?
I remember that night.
I remember Elena's face. I remember how red it was. How impassive her face, yet how her eyes glittered feverishly and brightly in it. She was beautiful.
We greeted the mother. “Yes, auntie. We were Mark’s friends from school.” Mark, Mark, Mark.
I remember the questions she asked us. I remember what she told us. “How long have you all known Mark?”, “Which school were you all in together?”, “Did you know him well?” All the while, that voice. She wanted to know her son. She wanted to understand. She wanted to know why. She looked at each of us in turn. I knew her mind, even if she didn’t. she was waiting for someone, one of us, anyone, to tell her that this was all untrue. That Mark was still here. That her son was still alive. No one did. She didn’t cry throughout our conversation.
We were introduced to his father. He looked tired and sad. He didn’t speak, except to say ‘hello’.
He brought us to the coffin.
Mark was inside. He looked the same, yet different. So pale. They had styled his hair the same way, but I remember it used to be highlighted with blond streaks. His hair was black now, very black. His face was pale, and he wore a light blue shits with a dark bluish black jacket. He looked a little bloated, but other than that, the same. He didn’t really look dead. He looked asleep. Lying there so peacefully. I didn’t bother to fool myself. I didn’t question why. As the four of us stood there, Elena and the other girl began to son loudly. The only guy looked a little bright eyed, and suitably distressed. I didn’t feel sad. I felt no wrenching of my heart, no tears welling up, no grief, no noth. No Mark. Mark, Mark, Mark. It will not stop haunting me.
Why did I not feel a twinge of grief? Was I as hard as they said? A real frost maiden? A heartless, cruel woman. Was that me? I stared at his face, while they cried. For almost five minutes they cried, and stood there. I felt nothing. Perhaps a little embarrassment that I was the only who did not seem affected by all this. They must think I am some kind of harlot from hell.
Finally, we went to sit down at one of the tables. His aunt served us some refreshments and tidbits. I looked at the food, and took up my chopsticks. Had a fried dumpling. I remember that I heard somewhere that mourning was hungry work. The rest just sat and looked properly sad. They seemed to think that it was a shocking thing that I could even eat anything. I was restless. I wanted to talk to him. I had dressed up just for him.
Finally I stood up. They glanced at me, but I said nothing. I went inside the house to stand beside him, beside his coffin. Clasping my hands in front of me, I stared at him and tried to speak. So much I wanted to say, needed to know. Did he know about my feelings for him? Did he ever feel anything for me? So much that I would never find out now. I stood beside him, stared at his pale face, opened my mouth. Then closed it. Once more, I tried.
“Mark.” I said his name. My mouth was dry. A desert in the middle of an ocean of tears. “Mark.”
I could not continue. I could not begin. I did not know how. My mouth had been taken over by a demon fro hell. I could not speak, my mind was a ringing buzz of silence.
I stood there, failing in my last purpose, failing in the last thing I had promised myself I must do for him, for me.
I did not feel the tears at first, though they welled up and over. I summoned every ounce of strength, turned and hurried back to my place among the living. That was one of the hardest things I had ever done in my life. Sat down at my seat. Elena looked at me, I looked at her.
I felt the tears.
“I couldn’t say a thing.” A trickle. She continued to look at me.
“I tried so hard but I couldn’t say anything to him, Elena!” The dam broke.
She hugged me to her, and we cried. I cried great sobbing gasps, tidal waves that flooded my soul and threatened to overwhelm my very being. She wept silent tears, shining pearls that flowed down her cheeks and mingled with mine.
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and that's how the story goes.
Friendships are a gift.
Treasure it no matter what happens in between.
Always remember that friends are always forgiven no matter what they've done.
memories jotted down @ 2:40 PM `