A few months ago, I submitted a short story (my very first, actually) for publishing in this year's
Dark Blue Southern Seas, the literary folio of Silliman University. It's been months and I haven't heard anything, so I'm not sure what happened with that... whether they'll still be publishing
Dark Blue this year or not. I figured, my story would probably not get chosen anyway, so what the heck--might as well post it on my blog. So here it is. Do review please; I need that to improve. And yeah, prepare for lots and lots of cheese ahead.
I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself as I perused this week’s adventures of Del and Dudung on The Weekly Sillimanian. The cartoon strip never failed to crack me up and I found it an absolute delight that such a witty piece of work was part of my school’s very own paper.
I checked my watch and wondered why my best friend was not at our usual hangout yet. I was excited to show him what Del and Dudung were up to this time, as he enjoyed them as much as I did. He was never late; I was the tardy one. But today, he was nowhere to be found and it was already 20 minutes after both of our classes were over.
I immersed myself in a feature article on the third page of the paper and was almost done reading it when I felt someone slump on the bench beside me.
“Oh, Matt! There you are,” I said, facing him. “Have you seen Del and Dudung this week? It’s hilarious, as usual!” I laughed as I flipped the paper I was holding to show him the comic.
“Nicole, wait,” Matt said as he grabbed my arm.
I looked at him and noticed for the first time that he was not his usual self. His shoulders were slumped and he looked somewhat dazed. The infectious smile that he always wore every time I saw him was nowhere to be seen.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
He bowed his head and didn’t say anything, but pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. It was a few seconds before he looked up again.
“Look,” he said as he handed me the note.
It was a scented piece of paper printed with flowers, about the size of a small notebook. Written on it, were the following words:
Matt,
You have done so much for me, and for that, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Please forgive me for what I am about to do. I hope someday you will understand...
I will always love you,
Andrea
The note was from his girlfriend. That much I had gathered. But what did it mean?
“What happened? Did she break up with you?” I asked.
“She’s gone, Nic,” he said almost inaudibly, looking at the ground.
“What do you mean ‘she’s gone’?” I pressed.
“She’s gone, Nic,” he repeated, looking at me this time. “She committed suicide.”
I felt the air leave my lungs and a shiver run down my spine as I finally comprehended what Matt told me.
Suicide.
I’d heard of people committing suicide before, but this was different. This girl was someone I actually knew—someone who meant a lot to my closest friend.
A million questions crossed my mind, but in my astonishment, I could only whisper, “But why? When?”
It took some time before he could answer me. When he was finally able to, his voice was trembling.
“It happened early this morning. And I don’t know why, Nic! Why would she do something like that? I thought she was happy! Why didn’t she tell me she had problems? She never told me, Nic. She never told me!” Matt was sobbing now, his face buried in his hands.
I didn’t have the answers to his questions. Neither did I know what to say. What could you say to someone who had just experienced such a loss? I’m sorry didn’t seem to cut it, but I found myself mouthing the words anyway.
I placed my arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer to me, trying to comfort him. Matt had always been my rock ever since we became friends in second grade. I was a transferee and didn’t have any friends. It seemed, at that time, that he didn’t have any, too. He’d asked me during recess one day if I wanted some of his Mr. Chips. We have been inseparable since then. I had cried countless times on his shoulders. Now, I knew it was my turn to be strong for him.
As I watched my best friend cry his heart out for the very first time since I had known him, I felt my own heart break. How could it not, when the very person it beat for, was hurting? I wanted to be angry at her, to lash out at her for breaking his heart. But no, I couldn’t do that. She’d had her own problems, her own reasons. It was not for me to judge her. Maybe, if I’d told him in the past how I really felt about him, this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe his heart wouldn’t be breaking right now. But I had never found the courage to say the words. I was too afraid of complication, of rejection, and had not said anything.
I looked up at the Acacia tree near where we were sitting and noticed its flowers—some still on the branches, others fallen to the ground. The cycle of life was indeed short; too short to waste and leave things unsaid. Andrea’s untimely death and the falling of the Acacia flowers proved that. I suddenly realized that I needed to tell this boy, who was my best friend, how I truly felt about him. He had to know that he had come to mean so much to me.
Today was not the right time, though. But someday, I swore to myself.
Someday, he would know.
The author is an Information Technology instructor at Silliman University who is also pursuing her Master in Information Systems degree. She is addicted to endorphins, elephant jokes, the Annoying Orange, and Del and Dudung. She always wanted to write, but got sidetracked by computers, tech gadgets, and social networking sites. She only recently regained her passion for writing, and dedicates her work to the person who is the reason she found her voice again.
