Fiction Friday: Three Questions

My mother told me that when I meet someone I like, I have to ask them three questions:

1. What are you afraid of?

2. Do you like cats?

3. What do you do when it rains?

Of those three, she said the first one is the most important.

"They gotta be scared of something, baby. Everybody is. If they aren't afraid of anything, then they don't believe in anything, either."

So I met a boy on a Monday, right after art class. One look and my heart fell into my stomach like a trap door.

On our second date, I asked him what he's afraid of.

"Spiders, mostly. Being alone. Little children, like, the ones who just learned how to push a kid over on the playground. Oh and space. Holy shit, space," he said.

I asked him if he liked cats.

"I have three," he said.

I asked him what does he do when it rains and he said, "sleep, mostly. Sometimes I sit at the window and watch the rain droplets race. I make a shelter out of plastic in my backyard for all the stray animals, leave them food and a place to sleep."

He smiled like he knew, like his mom told him the same thing and he asked me back, “how about you?”

Then I said, "me? I’m scared of everything. Of the hole in the ozone layer, of the lady next door who never

smiles at her cat, and especially of all the secrets the government must be breaking, it’s back trying to keep from us. I love cats so much, you have no idea. I sleep when it rains. I want to tell everyone I love them. I want to find every stray animal and bring them home. And I want to see you everyday and draw silly stick figures of us. Because I like you."

He smiled again and brushed a leaf that fell on my hair. "I like you too," he said.

I never want to ask anyone else these questions ever again.

Fiction Friday: I'm Always Here

I remember our first kind of contact like it all happened yesterday, it was in 2011. We were at our local sport club that we both play for and you were outside, dancing and goofing around just like you always do. I couldn't do anything but laugh at you, you were so damn funny with your stupid moves and crazy smile. I already knew you for 7 years, but we never really got in touch before that day, you were always just a guy I used to see on the weekends with my cousin and your other friends. But suddenly there was this thing, like when you meet someone and you just know that they are going to be in your life, and you don't really know why and if you want them to yet, but you kind of have no choice but letting them in, just because you know they've got something special about them that you have to figure out, you know? Well that was kind of the deal with you, I didn't know what you were going to mean to me in the near-future but I really wanted to figure it out.

So I let you in, and in a very short period of time I realized that I had found someone who was going to mean the world to me, who I trusted like no one else. My best friend. We talked about everything, we had funny conversations about our friends or about stupid imaginations we always made up, and we had serious conversations, about our home situations, life, the fact that my boyfriend, Nick, was away for 6 months. I really missed him, you know, but you helped me get through, you kind of did everything he would do for me, but still it was a total platonic relationship, and I enjoyed every second we spent together. You made me laugh, oh I don't think you even know how much you made me laugh. If I could only knew how much you could make me cry too back then.

And when Nick came home in January, I couldn't just put you aside, you became too damn important for me. I couldn't just let this whole amazing friendship get taken away from me just because my boyfriend wasn't really pleased with it. And that was it, the end of life as I knew it. From that moment on I knew that you had to be the person I would spend the rest of my life with, and that I had been in love with you since that first moment we met and you did that stupid dance with your crazy smile. But I denied it to myself and to everyone who was only a bit curious about you and me, because everybody saw what we had. Nobody could place it. But everybody saw it.

Still I didn't want to admit it, because I knew this was the most wrong thing to do, and I loved Nick right? I did right? I didn't know anymore. The only thing I knew is that I wanted to be with you. You were like my brother and I was like your sister, and that was at all it was. That should have been all it was. But the days went by and I couldn't get myself away from you, and you knew it too.

You know what the worst thing was? I fell for you, I loved you, and I didn't feel bad, I didn't feel bad at all and the only thing I wished for was loving you for the rest of my life. So I broke up with Nick, hoping we could become what I wanted us to become, even though at the time, I still didn't realize what I wanted back then; a relationship. I agreed to become 'just friend' with you. That was a good agreement for us both we thought, that would be fun, that would be awesome, because we didn't have any feelings for each other and we couldn't have a relationship anyway. You told me, "we are good for each other, but people won’t like the fact of us together, so it’s better this way right?" Right.

So that was our relationship for 3 months, 3 months of fun and laughter, 3 months of craziness and goofing around. And then I saw you in the cafe with Diana, I saw you talking to her, but I didn't really expect you to ever fall for her. Until 2 weeks later when you told me "I'm going on a date with the girl from the cafe."

And now we're 2 years later since the day in September, and you've been dating Diana for 9 months now and I still can't believe it. The day you told me that you were with her now, that you loved her and that you didn't need me anymore. The day you told me that we were back to being 'friends'. That was the day I had to admit to myself that I loved you, that I loved you more than anything else in this whole wide world. I still can't believe that that day had to happen to me. We're 2 years later now and I still love you. I love you to bits and I don't know if I can ever love someone else that way ever. I just don't think I can. We're not even friends anymore now, you're too scared to look at me when she's around, you're too scared to talk to me when she's around. And the worst part? You are not the person you were anymore, you've become the person you always said you hated. The one stuck to his girlfriend, with no life beside her. You became the person you never wanted to be. The kind of person we used to laugh at.

And now, you're not even wishing me a happy birthday anymore, you don't even say hi when Diana’s around, and it took me all of my courage to invite you to my birthday and graduation party this summer, but you just didn't show up. We agreed to have a talk about the way things were going now, and you didn't show up. And that was the point where I knew I had to break all of the few contact I had with you. But you know what they say "you can delete their numbers of your phone, you can delete them as friend from Facebook, but you’ll never delete them from your heart." And there's nothing more true than that.

For me, you will always be that guy with the goofy dance and the crazy smile that I loved from the first moment on. I wish you the best, I really do. I love you and I hope you've found the love of your life and that you'll be happy with her. And if you won't, I'll be here. Because I remember how we sat there, talking slowly and laughing, looking at the stars, when we were only just friends. You told me that nothing could ever break us, that I was one of the best things in your life so far. And I believed you. You told me "I'll never leave you alone, and if you feel used or hurt, I'm there." And I know you are still somehow there, you just don't want to show it anymore.

Fiction Friday: Heartless

Anger filled my heart as I walked into my favorite cafe. She's sitting at my table. I walked up to her. "You killed him!" I said, slamming my hands down on the round table. I only said it loud enough for her to hear. I didn't want to cause a scene. She didn't know who I was, but I knew her from the pictures I've seen. She acted confused, but she definitely knew who I was talking about. 

"Why would I kill my own father?" she said. Her act of innocence made me want to slap her face, but two could play that game.

"I know you killed him." I said, calmly taking a seat. 

"He died of a heart attack." she said. I sat quietly as I thought about what I wanted to say to her. We sat there for a few minutes, before she spoke again. "Who are you? Why do you care?" she questioned. 

"I'm his daughter." I said, which seemed to set her off. 

"No you're not! I'm his only child," she said as quietly as an infuriated person could. She didn't want to cause a scene either. 

"No," I said calmly, "You’re the reason he's dead."

I was more of a daughter to him than she ever was. He had never wanted to talk about her. When I had gone to his house for the first time, I noticed that his house did not reflect his character. I knew he was a family man because of the way I met him. Yet, there were no pictures of his family, not even any of his wife. Why don’t you have any pictures of your family? I asked. He smiled at me, with a tinge of sadness in his eyes, saying I took them down. Angela, my daughter, hardly visits me anymore. I think it was because the pictures make her sad. He brought out a couple of pictures of his wife and daughter, but he quickly put them away, and the subject was never brought up again. 

"Please," she said, bringing me back to the present, "explain to me as to why I would kill my own father. Only a sick person would kill their father. I am not that kind of person."

I laughed at her. "You're right," I said, "you didn't kill your father." She sat back in her chair, folding her arms, and smiling smugly. "You killed my father." I continued. 

If she was boiling before, she was about to blow now. She stood up and raised her hand at me, ready to slap me. I quickly put out my hands in defense. The action caused a few people to look at us. Her face fell as she asked me, "where did you get that bracelet?" We slowly sat down, again. The onlookers quickly went back to their own business. I knew we were finally getting somewhere. However, I did not know where I wanted this to go. 

"He gave it to me for my birthday last year," I answered. 

"How do you know my father?" She asked. 

"I met him at the graveyard two years ago," I explained. I had gone to the cemetery once every week to visit my parents after they died in a car accident. This man was there at the same time I was, every Sunday. I had seen him there a few times before I ever made any move to acknowledge him. We slowly went from smiling to each other, to saying hello, to finally talking. As time went by, we got a good relationship going. 

His name's John Ng. Mr Ng went to the cemetery every week to visit his wife. She passed away because she had heart attack. Mr Ng and I found comfort in each other. He was like a father to me. He always told me that I was the daughter he had lost. I did not know what he meant by that, except that his daughter hardly visited him, but I knew that I was going to be the daughter he deserved. 

She was quiet again, after I explained my story to her. I was getting tired of her silence, so I said, "why do you care about my bracelet anyway?"

She stared at my bracelet as she whispered, "it was my mine." She quickly changed the subject after that, which was something Angela and her father had in common. They didn't like to talk about things that saddened them. "It doesn't matter anyway," she said, "you still haven't given me a clear explanation as to why you think I killed my father. If you truly knew him like you say you did, you'd know that he wasn't murdered. He had a heart attack."

I sat back thinking about what I was going to say to her. "I visited him every day," I said. 

"I was busy," she replied, "is that a crime?"

"You never tried to contact him in any way," I told her. 

She sighed, then. "I knew that he had heart problems, just like my mother."

"So," I said coldly, "you should have been there for him." 

She looked away, sighing again. "When my mother died, I blamed it on myself."

"So?" I said, again. If she wanted me to feel sorry for her, it wasn't going to happen. 

"I didn't want to feel that guilt again, so I decided to distance myself from my father," she whispered. 

I grabbed her cup of coffee and dumped it on her. Everyone in the cafe looked at us as a loud, piercing screech came from Angela. "What is wrong with you?" She screamed, standing up. 

"You pulled away from your father because you did not want to feel the guilt you felt when your mother died?" I said. It suddenly hit me that, despite my attempts to not make a scene, we ended up in that exact predicament anyways. I suppose you can’t just accuse someone of killing their father and expect everyone to go about their business. I headed for the door, feeling the burning stares of everyone in the room. 

"Wait!" she yelled at me. She ran after me, grabbing my wrist. 

"What do you want?" I said turning around. 

"Why do you think I killed my father?" She said. Everyone listened closely, wanting to know the exact same thing. 

She was blind. After all of this, she still didn't know why I accused her of killing Mr Ng. "Don't you see," I said, "You tried so hard not to feel the guilt you felt when your mother died, yet guilt is all you should be feeling. You abandoned your father when he needed you the most. You basically left him there to die alone. You may not have stabbed your father in his heart, but you might as well have." Everyone became uninterested at this point, realizing that Angela was not a real murderer. Angela, though, was shocked as the revelation hit her. I removed my hand from her grip and walked away.

Fiction Friday: You're Not Mine

Black long wavy hair right down to her hips with slight curls at the tips. The white light bounce off her hair resulting in her black locks instantly shining and attracting. Her hazel eyes with a slight glint stare right into me. She's wearing her favorite red dress. That's what I see before me. My reflection. Every aspect of my appearance is carefully prepared to match Jay's liking.

My heart pounds not knowing how the night would end but I know it has to be today, otherwise I know I would never get a chance again. I readjust my dress and check every part of my body, checking them off in my mind. I sigh and look over to my watch. It is almost time; I have an hour left to panic before seeing him. Come on pull yourself together, I say to myself. Calmly I sit on my bed and look at the pairs of shoes I have in front of me not knowing which one to choose. I carefully analyse each pair of suitable shoes I own. Still I couldn't figure out which ones to wear with this red dress. I look at my black heels and then dart my vision to the red pumps. Why's life so difficult? I stare at the black heels and suddenly remember Jay had commented on them before. In fact he didn't just comment on them, he bought them for me for my birthday. 

"I don't know why but for some reason I just had to buy them for you. I know you'd make them look amazing!" He smiled at me whilst handing me the box.

"What do you mean I'd make THEM look amazing?" I questioned him not being able to stop myself from giggling. I took the black box and opened it up to see a pair of black heels. They shimmered in the glow of the light. There was a big smile on my face. He didn't know that I had looked at these shoes just the night before wishing I owned them, it was as though he had read my mind!

BZZZZZZZZZZZ. That sound snaps me away from the memories. Crap, it's my phone! I jumped off my bed and picked it up. "Hello. Okay, I’ll be there!" I hang up and run out of my apartment. I couldn't lie how happy I am. I hurriedly walk down towards the end of road just until I could the coffee lounge. It has been our secret place that no one else know about. I guess it has become special because it's where we first met, where we could be alone, away from the rest of the world. I slow down now as I could see the shop sign. I feel a sudden rush flow up my body at the thought of him finally hearing what I was about to say, the thought of him booming with happiness. This is the perfect time to tell him. 

I stand outside the store and look in to see if he's there. I press myself against the door to get a better view but no sign of him. Only the heat of my breath seems to mist up the glass window. I open the door and hear the jingle of the chimes above the door. I smile as it seems to suit the happy glow oozing out of me now. Just as I close the door behind me there's a handsome man before me grinning. He winks at me as I walk past. It makes me blush but I look away happily. I sat in our favorite spot peering at the view through the window knowing that any minute now he would walk in. 

I got nervous as I keep exchanging glances between the clock hanging on the beige wall and checking my phone for missed calls or messages. Still no contact from him but there is still time, I am just early. I reach out to the stack of magazines in front of me and pull one out from the pile to divert my attention elsewhere. I begin reading the relationship advice section to find all sorts of dilemmas. I'm so involved in a case given by a woman where she found her husband had cheated on her with her best friend, I'm shocked that such a situation's even possible. 

"That's good huh?" A familiar voice questions me. I look up to see a smirk on Jay's face. I totally forgotten about our meeting and feel so calm until I study his face in more detail. His lips lure me towards him every minute he speak. His eyes make mine flutter every moment he blink. There's nothing I could do but remain glued to this emotion I'm feeling instead of resisting temptation. He waves his hands at my face and clicks his fingers to get me back to reality. I guess he must have realized I was studying him too close as he's in confusion. Slightly embarrassed, I look away.

I laugh, trying to change the conversation, "Err.. I see you're wearing your good luck red shirt." I said pleasingly. He looks at his shirt and looks back at me confusingly. He walks to the counter and orders my drink. I couldn't stop wondering if there's a reason that he's been wearing that shirt today of all days. I smile unconsciously not realizing how stupid I look like. He must have realized I'm daydreaming again as he places our drinks on the table because he nudges my cheek to get my attention. But he never noticed how much I long for his affection. I move my head away and look up at him smiling. 

"Why are you so far away? Did you forget to eat vitamins?" He says and giggles. He gets up and sits next to me on the couch sliding his arm across my shoulders and resting his. I watch his face glow in amusement as he finish off his coffee ice as if he's a child happily moving to the beat of a nursery rhyme, he smiles pleasingly as though he had accomplished his lifetime goal.

"Nothing, I'm just happy to see you," I say. We hold a gaze for a while. Then he puts his drink on the table and is facing me. He pulls my hair back from my face and tucks it with the other strands and held my head between his hands carefully as though it was fragile, and he stares into my eyes.

"Jane..." He pause and grin. "Today is gonna be my lucky day!" He's almost shouting. I feel the excitement from him contagious, I begin to get excited myself for an unknown reason. Deep in my heart I'm confident this is going to be the end of my wait. He leans forward and whispers into my ear, "I hope you like her."

HER?! I looked at him disgusted, not meaning to. I pull back confused.

"Hey," a female voice hovers from behind. I couldn't recognize it, but among my confusions in the event he's already turning around and locked into a conversation with a brunette curled figure. I peer over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of her. She glances at me briefly making an awkward moment between the two of us. 

"Hello." I smile at her trying to break the ice. She waves back to me and smiles.

"Oh, sorry Jane, I totally forgot you're here! This is Louisa. Louisa, this is my best friend, Jane." 

"I've heard a lot about you." She replies, addressing me. Her eyes beam in amazement. Who is she, I wonder. I watch her holding Jay's arm as he plays with her her. If I didn't know any better I would say there's definitely something going on, they couldn't have been any more obvious.

"So don't get angry with me or anything, but do you remember when I told you about my ex?" Jay asks me and I nod. "Well, we started talking again and our families got to know that we had been in contact and well, you know how it is when the parents know." He winks. I'm still confused, he must have guessed my blank expression as a reply to his statement. "THAT'S her!" He exclaims. "Louisa's my ex. I wanted you both to meet, that's why I had kept it a secret all this long and not telling you about anything."

"Nice," I reply back. Then Louisa goes to the counter while me and Jay are sitting on the couch, but Jay sits away from me. It's almost as if this is a sign to show me how destiny's going to turn out, but during the moment I haven't really pick up on it. "Hmm, I still don't get why the secrecy if you're just talking to her, you goof?" 

"Well, isn't it obvious, you dork?” he pauses for a brief while, looks back at her and leans towards me and whispers, "we're getting back together. That's why I wanted you ladies to finally meet. I mean you're my best friend and well, she's my girlfriend. I want you both to get along with each other. Just give it a go please?" He begs.

I feel like a total stranger. I bite my lip trying ever so hard to not let my tears fall. I gulp the meaningless words down my throat and engulf the shattered pieces of my heart. Slowly I begin to edge a smile out through my face and nod. He gives me a high 5 and pinches my nose. As I watch him approaching Louisa, I run to a restroom.

Tears begin to fall down into a gush of an uncontrollable waterfall sliding off my face. I watch my reflection in the mirror not understanding why this is happening. I know I've lost the battle when he mentioned that she's his ex. She's the long lost love he would always talk to me about. I always thought that there's never a chance they would get back together again. Well I thought wrong. My mind is clustered with so many thoughts but this isn't the time or place, besides he'll be looking for me. I know that I have to go back out there and behave as everything's fine.

I check my face in the mirror and wipe away the tears that have dried on my face. I catch my breath and push the door. There he is standing with a smile on his face. He swings his arm around my shoulders and walks me up to Louisa. "He's a good man, I'm happy for you guys." I never imagined I would've been able to say that. Quite frankly I thought as soon as I walk up to her I would have set off crying, but instead those words came out straight from my heart. 

I think it's time to leave. I walk over to the counter to get some takeaways so I could get rid of the gut feeling I had around my stomach. While taking my order, the staff brings me into conversation. "I hope you don't mind me saying this but..it's his loss that he chose her over you. He's had you at his side for 10 years now and has been so blind to not realize everything he needs was always right there," the staff says nonchalantly.

I look up at him once realizing what he just said. How did he know? I was baffled. "Excuse m-"

"Who knows, maybe you'll make another guy lucky." He quickly interrupts me and winks. I feel myself blush but glad upon hearing those words. For some reason it gives me some assurance. I'm sure that in the upcoming years I'm going to be entirely happy with them being together, which is hard but it has to be done. I wouldn't want anything for him but happiness. If that's with her he would always have my blessing. I still love him nonetheless, I have to find a way to let go of those feelings. 

I look at this stranger and feel at ease. I look back at my best friend and his dream girl and then at this man, who plants a seed of hope within me. "Maybe," I reply and smile.

Fiction Friday: What's Left of Us

Sequel to this. 

Her eyes are glued to the scenery ahead as we rush through the heart of this city. Her slender fingers tap the steering wheel as I thumb through the newspaper we bought at our last pit stop a few miles back. The headlines read that our strength as a country is rapidly dwindling and violence has taken precedence over love. This is not news to me so I fold it up and cram it into the glove box.

I halfway roll down the window and light up a cigarette, letting the rush of toxins and smoke cloud my lungs for a brief second before exhaling. She shoots me a disapproving glance so I steal a few more puffs and toss what’s left out the window. I watch as it tumbles onto the rolling ground behind us and out of sight. She smiles and averts her eyes back to the cars she is chasing after. I fiddle with the radio but fail to find a station that plays good music. Great. Now, all we have to listen to is our impenetrable silence which I have learned to be equally as deafening. 

The car slows around a dangerous curve and I make believe that it flips off the edge. I wonder if thoughts like that ever cross her mind or if I really am just the jerk she has declared me to be. I shrug it off and touch her hair but she swats it off almost instantaneously. Is this really what happens to love as it ages? I always envisioned everlasting butterflies and laughter but instead we are immersed in silence and anguish.

This vacation is built on the hope that we can rekindle a flame that has long since extinguished, and so far that hope is dwindling. She is fixated on cutting our traveling time in half rather than living in the moment with me. This is never going to work. We are hopeless. Hopeless. I mutter this word under my breath which stirs a reaction in her. Her eyes are already reeling when she asks me what can possibly be wrong now. I pretend that it is nothing because I know she won’t pry the way she once did back when she cared to know what was on my mind. I am right and she resumes her battle against the ticking clock.

We are 260 miles of our destination and a hundred more light years away from salvaging anything from this relationship. I am not even trying. She is not even trying. The lack of effort is burying us alive but still we are not kicking and screaming to be let out. We are accepting our defeat. We are cowards, afraid to fight for the love we once called our oxygen.

I am mourning our loss and she will not stop tapping her slender fingers against the steering wheel. The sound is puncturing my heart now. This is what is left of us.

Fiction Friday: Unnoticed

Her back was towards the entrance, she did not see him enter but she knew he was there. She'd already felt his presence by tingling toes and the unwelcoming shivers running down her spine. It was like the old times, nothing had changed and she was glad about that. As excruciating as the feeling was, it connected her with him and she could never let go of it. She smiled at the irony.

Yesterday was the first time she had seen him since the day she walked out of his life. In that paralyzing moment when she had caught sight of his silhouette on that crowded street, she forgot the world and its meaningless inhabitants. She stood on the spot soaking in the sight, watching him as he walked past her. She was covered by the crowd, so he did not feel her presence in spite of the proximity, just like the old times he did not notice.

Fate had a twisted sense of humor, the fact that he should walk into the park and perch himself on the bench facing the gate was a live example of it. He had his back to the green trees lining the pond, he had his back to her. She stared at the figure for a long while. He hadn't changed much. She remembered their college days, she was the tomboy and he was the geek. While she loved being the center stage, he hid in the wings. She was the cheerful player, he was the silent spectator. She loved to talk, he was the most insightful listener. They were best friends. She thought they fit perfectly, she loved him and he loved her back too but only as a friend. Never in the years that they spent together did she ever tell him how she felt. One day, he told her that he loved someone else and she hated him for that, but she couldn't stop loving him either. She was an oxymoron personified. Eventually he got busier and she phased out. She knew he did not notice.

Years later, as she sat there staring at him, oblivious to her existence, she wondered what bad karma had haunted her for so many years that she had to hide from the only man she ever loved. Consumed in her thoughts, she lowered her eyes to the book on her lap blocking him from her vision. The figure on the bench turned around but she did not notice.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

He sat on the bench lost in his thoughts. He was a man who was trying to fall out of love. The emotion had fooled him. He sat on that park bench cursing destiny that his first love had never materialized. Those eyes that followed him around had disappeared. They did not tell him stories anymore. He knew she never loved him the way he loved her. It hurt him. He longed for her to reciprocate his feelings, but she was clueless about them. She was his only friend, they fit perfectly. She was the yin to his yang. He loved her but she had never noticed.

Till now he wondered what evil had possessed him when he told her that he liked someone else. He meant it to be a harmless joke. But she caught on to the idea. Her eyes brightened at the thoughts but his face fell, she did not notice. Wallowing in self pity, he kept his distance from her. She too distanced herself from him. He could never get over her, they were in the same classes and he used to look at her with longing in his eyes, he missed her, but she never noticed.

Years later he sat here in a park, facing the gate rather than enjoying the view. He was here because he had felt her presence yesterday; just like the old days, he knew the eyes were watching him from somewhere. He had quickened his pace and returned to his hotel for the fear that the eyes would bewitch him again. He had his flight the next day, to kill time he had aimlessly walked around the city when he spotted the park where she used to love sitting under trees and reading.

When he entered he saw a pond lined with huge trees, he instantly knew she would have loved this place. He could not bear to sit around alone. He turned to leave, but the old sensation gripped him again, those eyes were following him. Absolutely powerless he sat on the bench relishing the sensation. It was nearly time for his flight, he could not delay it any longer, he got up and walked to the gate. just before stepping out he turned around once, someone was sitting behind the massive tree trunk engrossed in a book, but he did not notice.

Fiction Friday: The Self that Remains

Tom was one of those people we all have in our lives. He's someone to go out to lunch with in a large group, but not someone I ever spent time with one-on-one. We had some classes together in college and even worked in the same lab for a while. He's a good-looking man and almost all girls, including me, had crush on him. But I didn't really know him. Besides, he's out of my league and my love was not the overwhelming kind. Even so, when I heard that he had brain cancer that would kill him in four months, it stopped me cold.

I was 19 when I first saw him in a class taught by a psychologist, Kay. I'd seen Tom at the coffee house, the library and around campus. He seemed enthusiastic and had an exaggerated way of moving that made him unusually focused. I found it uncomfortable to make eye contact with him because his gaze was so intense and I was afraid if he can read my mind.

Once Tom and I were sitting next to each other when Kay told the class about a his colleague who had just died a few days earlier. He told us that his colleague had been a close friend, and had called a month earlier to say he had just been diagnosed with a brain tumor. The doctors said that he'd lose his memory, not his ability to form new memories, but his ability to retrieve old ones, and that he'd lose his old self.

Tom's hand shot up. To my amazement, he suggested that Kay was overstating the connection between memory and overall identity. "Losing memory or not, you still like the same things," Tom argued. "Your sensory systems aren't affected. If you're kind or a jerk, such personality traits aren't governed by the memory."

Kay was unruffled. "Many of us don't realize the connection between memory and self," he explained. "Who you are is the sum total of all that you've experienced. Where you went to school, who your friends were, all the things you've done or all the things you've always hoped to do. Whether you prefer chocolate ice cream or vanilla, action movies or comedies, is part of the story, but the ability to know those preferences through memory is what defines you as a person."

The room was silent. I looked over at Tom's notebook. "Psychologist contemplates losing his mind," Tom had written.

Tom and I crossed paths again years later when we were both working for a research company. I saw Tom in the halls from time to time, said hello and that's it. I wasn't sure if I still had that feeling, but it didn't matter though because I was content with my life as it was and again, my love's not the overwhelming kind. After I left the company to begin an academic job, I ran into a woman from the company who asked if I'd heard the news about Tom.

"He has an inoperable brain tumor. The doctors say he has four months to live. He just got back at his apartment. I just visited him. You might want to drop by and say hello, " she said.

I called the number she gave me immediately and a caregiver answered. We made an appointment for the following day. "He's not so good first thing in the morning. The drugs. And some days aren't good at all. Call first and I'll let you know how he's doing. Apart from that, I should warn you, he doesn't remember very much, the tumor has wiped out his memories of the past."

It's called amnesia.

The next day came. When I knocked at the door, the caregiver invited me in and led me across a fluffy white carpet to the living room. When Tom walked in, I stood up. He came over, shook my hand and said, "thank you for coming."

His hair was thinning, he'd lost weight, but otherwise he looked the same as I remembered him. The same narrow face, same smile, same gaze.

"I don't know if anyone told you," he started, "but I have a brain tumor that affects my memory."

I nodded.

"Please forgive me for asking this, but I do this with everybody. Could you tell me your name again and how it is that I know you?"

"Um...my name is June."

There was neither recognition nor nonrecognition. Just a calm, interested face staring back at me.

"We were students together at Stamford," I continued. "We took a couple of psychology classes together."

"Oh, yes, I have a degree in psychology."

"We were in Professor Kay's class and we worked in a lab together."

"Who?"

"Professor Kay, the psychologist."

"Did I love his subject?"

"Yes, I think you did. You always seemed pretty focused."

"That's good. I'd hate to think that I was doing something I didn't enjoy. So we were students together. I guess that was many years ago. Did we stay in touch after that?"

"Well, we ended up working, a few years later, for the same company. A research corporation."

"Did we work together?"

"No, we were in different divisions. You worked with Jesse, and I worked with Bob. But we saw each other from time to time and I was interested in what your group was doing. Your team gave a really good presentation during the annual roundup. I remember you had worked on a very clever new musical instrument called the bead box."

"Huh?" he said, looking at the ceiling, "the bead box. Doesn't ring a bell. But I don't get many bells ringing these days!" He laughed, a trouble-free laughter and it sounded so nice.

"Well it was very cool," I commented.

He looked over at me. "So, were we friends?"

I just stared. Would it be rude if I told him that I never really thought of him as a friend? I mean, if one person thought of another as a friend, and the other person denied it, that would be hurtful. Should I tell him that I had crush on him? Of course no, I shouldn't. Tom had no memory of me one way or the other. As I was thinking this, he spoke.

"It's okay. There's often this...gray area, I guess you'd call it, in human relationships, isn't there? We meet people, we see them every day, we say hello, but we don't really know them. We say they're our friends, but really, you can't be friends with the hundreds of people you meet, can you? It's enough that we had a shared history together. We were in the same places for a time. We were part of each other's fabric." He made a rubbing gesture with his fingers and thumb.

The phone rang. The caregiver brought it to Tom. It was his mother. Listening to his end of the call, I understood that she herself was bedridden and was not doing well. This was their daily call. I got up to leave but Tom motioned for me to stay. The caregiver took the phone away when he was done.

"It was nice of you to come. It was helpful too. It's comforting to put together the pieces of my life, to see what I've done. To know that there were kind people like you who were in it with me. Thank you," he said.

Then I left, walked down the stairs, past the apartment building, back to my car. Then I sat in my car with the key in the ignition, not wanting to move. Professor Kay felt that when we lose our memory, we lose our entire sense of self. When I saw Tom, something fundamentally Tom was still there. Some of us call it personality or essence. Some call it the "soul." Whatever it is, the tumor that took Tom's memory had not touched it.

I cried, finally. I don't know what did I cry for. But somehow the feeling suddenly became overwhelm. Tom has always been in my memory and I'm glad to know someone like him.

Fiction Friday: Walk On By

If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours, and if they don't they never were. - Kahlil Gibran

We ran into each other the other day. In the midst of all the people who went off the train that afternoon, there he was. I hadn't seen him for over a month but you looked just the same. He had that wrinkle I know so well between he eyebrows, the one that he got when he was feeling impatient or annoyed and I couldn't help myself but to smile. 

I'd barely rested my eyes on him for more than a few seconds when he noticed me. A look of recognition and we paved our way through the crowd towards each other. A quiet hi, and of course the most common question of all, “How are you?”

I was just about to answer that everything was fine, everything was just normal, yes everything was just like it was supposed to be, when the words I was going to pronounce got stuck down my throat. He gazed at me with his honest brown eyes, the ones I'd always been able to tell everything and I felt how my lie crumbled into dust. I couldn't lie to his face, I couldn't lie to him at all. So instead I took a deep breath and spoke the truth. 

“It's crap.”

He froze and looked surprised. This wasn't the answer he'd expected to his rhetorical question but I was tired of playing strong so I continued,

“It's crap because you and me are acting like strangers. As if we haven't known each other. It's crap because we don't see each other anymore. I missed you. I missed you so much that it hurts. But do you know what the worst part is? The fact that you don't seem to miss me at all. Are we still together?” 

The waiting hall fell silent. All the train travelers seemed to have disappeared and we were all alone. 

Seconds passed but he remained quiet. I wanted him to say something. I wanted so badly for him to say anything at all but instead he gave me that hurt puzzled look which said, “I don't know what to say,” so I did what first came to mind, I turned around and left. 

I left despite the fact I had so much more to say. More explanations, questions and things I missed about him. And yet, as I stumbled down the stairs with tears rising in my eyes, I got a feeling of accomplishment because at least now, he knew. Now he knows. Now he knows how I feel and where I stand. All my cards are on the table and there is nothing more I can do. It's up for him to decide where we go from here. 

If it is going to be an us or simply just a he and then me. All I want is an answer. An answer to let me moving forward either alone or with him. An answer for me to escape from waiting. But for what it is worth, I'm hoping for the first alternative. I am hoping for an us.