I remember how we had been. Wait, how had we even been?
Just last week, I was discharged from the cream looking hospital a few kilometres away from your house, Mishra Health Clinic, I suppose, for a brain tumour. They did say it’d take a while to remember even the littlest details. Yet, I can picture you perfectly and forget Clyde, the older brother you’ve always loved having at all our playdates when we were younger.
Since they said I spent most of my leisure time at your house, and yours at mine, I could recognise that pointy brown roof and the white-painted chimney easily when my father’s honda passed by. I had badly wanted to ask for a stop so I could say hello and ask how you were. But, something whispered in me to keep shut.
They said, in hushed tones, that your brother died. He was involved in an accident, just like I was. The 5th of May, 2010. Did you know? Everything that happened to me that very day made me forget my husband, Clyde, so quickly. Sweet memories don’t even come at night to remind me of what the both of us once shared much less the painful ones.
I think I used to like bananas, the blue ones, because you said they were rare and I was too. This morning, mother brought in some blueberries for lunch. She said they help in jumbling the memory. I ate them because you weren’t there to reject them for me like you always did. You mostly always made decisions for me and I did for you. You lived my life better than I did, maybe. But the doctor keeps telling everyone it’s just a phase that’d wear off soon, the phase of indecisions and zoning offs.
Did I mention that yesterday, mother took me out jogging and I saw you? Had you probably also seen me? I wouldn’t know because my eyesight became poor after my optic nerve got pressured. As far as I remembered, you were dressed in a sweater over a T-shirt and joggers to complement the casual look. Wasn’t that what I wore on the day of my short demise? After all, you had been the only one who saw me go with Clyde to the theatre to watch Tenet, the science fiction-action-thriller film. You were with a guy, a bit too young to be called a man. You had laughed and I imagined your white thirty-two set of teeth shining for the person you never introduced to me.
I made breakfast today; it was the doctor’s idea. I needed to be as active as possible. They said I was a great chef back then, I had even volunteered at a restaurant with you being the waitress. I wouldn’t be surprised if you did it again. You still had your bubbly personality that could make a customer come back wanting more. Not me, though, I burned the food before it was ready and added a tad more salt than was needed. Everyone complimented me, but I knew you not to be someone that lied to others. You were either point-blank or quiet, whichever one was what I needed now.
They said I’ve improved a lot. I think so because I remember my middle name, Sequin. It adds this certain unique touch to my full name and it is light on the lips. I am thinking of becoming a calligrapher under that sobriquet. They said we went to art school together, I studied painting and you, interior designing. I drew the large portraits of abstract figures that are in our bedrooms, white and minimalistic. Do you still hang yours up? I took them down; I wanted to imagine myself doing it, feeling all the emotions and understanding why. I re-drew most of them during dusk, to dawn, and I’ve never felt so at peace.
I visited the library this afternoon when I came back from my checkups, they said I loved reading thriller books. Even Mrs Cajun, the librarian, assented to that. She said to pass her farewell to you. I don’t remember her or liking any specific kinds of books but I did smile at her and say you were fine. Forgive my manners, are you fine? I don’t know why but I felt those eyes I saw looked sad and red from the indistinct stare at you. Was it because of me or Clyde, or the both of us unequally?
As I sit here now, eating the rainbow vanilla popcorn I made from your mother’s recipe book you gifted me at my wedding and writing this electronic mail to you, I remember correctly, just how we had been.
We had been inseparable friends from childhood, that grew up together despite the different neighbourhoods. You had been my only sibling and cared for me more than Clyde did for you. We had gone on various outings together, finishing each other’s Disney character phrases behind whichever car Clyde drove, ate from the same plate and drank from the same bottle. We rarely ever fought, except that one time I pranked you with a cockroach on your head and we ran around beating you to get it off. Now that I remember, there was actually an insect on you, a rubber one, the one Mr Grinch, our Arts teacher, gave to me to paint for the next local museum’s fair.
I remember everything, except Clyde. How can I not see him in my eyes? The doctor said I shouldn’t force it, that it may be for the best. I just want to know who my husband was, maybe it would spark more memories.
Mother is calling me for dinner. I must go to eat so I can heal fast. I guess this is a goodbye then.
Till when,
Junie ‘Sequin’ Bunion
I reached for my phone on the bedside table as it vibrated. I was out of the shower, and in bed, reading a John Grisham’s book, The Pelican Brief.
Hi!
I’m doing... well, I guess. Definitely, nothing’s been easy without a best friend and a big brother.
Your parents told me to give you some space. I guess it’s best that way. My younger brother, Hyde, is back. He was probably the one you saw me with. Remember, the boy I always complained to you about, how I missed him and how I didn’t? After Clyde’s death, we thought we’d bring the family back together again.
That’s great! I hope you make a wonderful calligrapher.
Till then,
Bonnie ‘Xeris’ Vasquez
I was happy to hear from you, my best friend. Mostly glad to know you were permitting me to my suggestion of till when - till when we meet, we see, we visit, we birth kids, we grow old, we die. Whenever till when was, you were more than thrilled to give it a ‘till then’.