SHORT STORY: First and Last

Part I

"Oh thank God," My Grandmother screeched as she desperately hold me, "Thank Goodness!" She was crying, and not just light tears, but heavy ones, as she struggles to catch her breath.

"Julien! My Julien!" She traced my face with her fingers, dodging the knobs and bruises as she goes. I tried to move. I want to return her embrace with the same warmth she's giving me, but I can't. My body's frozen on bed, refusing to move, aching at every inch.

"Guh-Grrr-andma," I managed to call her, and she cried even more.

Standing behind her is my Dad, looking so clueless. He was trying to comfort her, patting my Grandmother's back from time to time, refusing to cry himself.

As we caught each other's eye, he did not dare smile. He just shook his head and whispered my name - Julien.

"Whaa..." I cleared my throat, "What happened?"

I tried to pull myself up but Grandmother stopped me, "Don't… please Jules. Just stay in bed."

"Yes, son," Father agreed, "I'm just going to tell the Doctor you're awake now." He gave me a soft pat on the shoulder, "I'll be back."

I nodded goodbye.

Grandma gave me one forehead kiss and walked towards the table from afar. "Grandma?" I called her over. Startled, she dropped the apple she was holding. "Yes?" She replied but did not face me.

"Grandma?" She looked liked she was shivering. "You didn't tell me what happened..."

She still didn't turn around, but it was as if God pressed the play button from the remote control that my Grandmother went along with what she was doing a while ago - pretending to find something from the stack of plastic bags that stand at the table.

"You were in an accident with Lara, Jules. Don't you remember?" 2

"Lara?!" - Pause button - "Who's Lara?"

Finally, Grandmother turned around. "Lara... Lara..." She retraced her steps back towards the bed, where I lie.

"Oh Jules..." She sat at the edge of the bed and held my hand. "You don't remember?" By this time she had tears in her eyes. I don't remember knowing a Lara. And by Grandma's reaction, she must be someone I know. I shook my head. "Who's Lara, Grandma?"

Grandma took a moment to reply. And eagerly I waited for it, burning her with my stare. "Grandma?"

"She's a friend."

"Friend?" I shuffled anything from my memory box but there was nothing. "How is she? Is she in this hospital too?"

"She..." Grandma stood up once more, "She was released a week ago. Her parents took her to New York for treatment," She said firmly.

Before I was able to come up with another question, the door blew open. And there he was, my Doctor, standing in front of two nurses and walking alongside my Father.

Part II

"Grandma?" I called her attention. She was giving instructions to this lady I presume to be our house helper. I went down a few steps from the staircase before I asked, "Can you show me my room? I don't remember the way."

It turns out that I lost my memory, beginning from the time we moved to the city. That was 9 years ago, when my Mother died of Brain Tumor. And I'm 22 now. I spent the last week at the hospital for further observation before I was finally released today. My room was at the third floor. It was the only room occupied at that floor, and I dared not to ask why.

"Here we are," She turned the knob and guided me in, "Rest here until I call you for dinner."

I looked around the room. It looked tidy as I imagined it to be. Ever since I was young I was always disorganized. I remember the room I grew up in, and all I see are my clothes lying on the ground, my art supplies scattered across the floor, and myself – not wanting anyone to touch anything from it. That room, my room, is mine. And I like it the way it was. I know exactly where things were. As far as I can come up with, my room always was an organized mess. 

But this room is clean. “This isn’t mine,” I whispered to myself, as I check every corner. Except for my little art studio section from one corner, everything else was at place. No clothes on the floor, no books outside my desk, and no familiarity. But maybe, I thought, I changed over the past 9 years. Or maybe, Grandma cleaned it up for me. But I shook of the second thought. Grandma, among everyone I know, knows very well how mad I get when people touch my things, especially my sanctuary – my room. I have to ask her about that later.

I roamed around a bit more, until I reached my small gallery of paintings and drawings. Some were piled together in frames. Some were compiled in one box. I grabbed one folder and found myself looking at a different person reflected back at me. I really can’t remember anything, not even my own pieces. There were drafts of buildings and houses. Some were portraits of my Mother. But most are very random, like flowers, scenery, and anything else you could imagine. I graduated a couple years ago with bachelor’s degree in Architecture. And I’ve been working at a local Architecture firm as a Draftsman for almost a year before I got into that accident with Lara.

I must admit I don’t perfectly believe whatever Grandma and Dad were feeding me about the whereabouts of Lara. It’s because they, themselves, looked unsure. I wanted to dig deep but everytime I try to, I always end up getting these severe headaches, so my Doctor forbid me into thinking too much about what I cannot remember. He said it will come eventually. I just have to take it slow.

And I wasn’t even thinking that much, but the mere mention of the name Lara gives me that shot of pain. I walked towards my bed and sat at the edge of it, admiring the photos on frames standing at my bedside table. I held one up and it was a graduation picture, from High School, I believe. I was with my friends. 

There’s Ivan, whom I met at the hospital, who claims to be my bestfriend. And then there was James, and Patrick. Heart was also seen in the picture, giving James, now her boyfriend, a silly pose. We looked happy. And seeing the proof of our friendship made me smile.

I held another picture, a family portrait taken when I was 4 years old, at a local amusement park back at my old town. My Mother was still alive, and I was at my Dad’s shoulder. My Grandmother looked so young in the picture, so did I, signifying the fact that the only memories I remember were those that was from a very long time ago.

Another picture stands with the rest. As I held it in my hand, I smiled once again. I was with Mario, whom I also met at the hospital. He was my college friend.

I was lost at getting to know my own life through these pictures, when somebody blasted in, without knocking. And I knew exactly who it was.

“Yo, bro!” It was Ivan. He always had that cheerful energy around him. He walked towards the bed and gave me a pat as he sat next to me. “What’s up?” 

“Ivan?” I asked in a raspy voice. And in an instant he knew he had to drop the energy for what I’m about to ask, “You’re my bestfriend, right?”

“Uh,” he stuttered. I sensed his anxiety, “Yeah,” he nodded.

“Then you know everything about me?”

“Well, bro, not everything. But I guess I know more than many,” he said.

“Then,” I paused to look him in the eye, as if giving him a warning, “Is Lara my girlfriend?” Saying those words out loud hurt more than it seemed.

He stood up, unexpectedly, and walked around my room. Without facing me, he answered, “Nope.”

“Then why am I with her when the accident happened?” I walked towards him but he obviously was avoiding me.

“Because she sticks at anyone who can give her diamonds,” Ivan said.

“Was I giving her diamonds?” I ride along Ivan’s humor.

“Nope. You don’t really. That’s exactly why she keeps on chasing you.”

I took a moment to take it all in. “If so, am I dating anyone?”

Finally, he turned around, facing me. “No, Jules. Everyone wondered if you’re gay.” He gave me a smile.

I don’t think I wanted to hear that but I kept on listening.

“I mean, bro, you never dated anyone. You always believe that men don’t need women to be happy.” He made a sarcastic remark, “All that crap you say.”

Now that might be true. Even at age 13, I believed the same. I made a pact with myself when I was young that whoever is my first will be my last. I don’t see the point of dating too many women only to marry one.

“Oh,”

“Yeah, she’s bad news. It’s good that she’s out of here,” Ivan said, yet again, turning around to avoid my stare. 

Part III

I pushed myself up, awoken by yet another dream. I closed my eyes for a second and travelled back in time. For the past year, my dreams were portals back to my past. They show me vague images of how I had possibly spent my recent 9 years. It was as if my subconscious was talking to me. I cannot be certain of any though. It only shows silhouettes, trails, and unknown sites – that all, I cannot stitch together.

I rubbed my eyes to condition myself for another sleepless night. Whenever I wake up from these dreams, I cannot go back to sleep. It always makes me worry.

I tried walking around my room, shaking my head as I take every step. I am in a complete distress. And when I reached the corner where all my artworks lie, I figured I should at least paint my dream – again. This has become my routine. I dream about it, and I paint it. It was my only outlet. If others keep a diary, I keep my paintings. So I can remember.

And that hit me. I paint every memory I feel is important in my life every since I was little. My Mother was a professional artist, and I remember her telling me then, “Art is a wonderful thing, Julien. It can capture time. You paint the memories of yesterday, today, and tomorrow – all in one stroke of your brush. You paint yesterday to look at it today. You paint today to look at it tomorrow. And you paint tomorrow so you know where to look today and accept the yesterday.”

But there was none, not a painting nor a drawing of significance. No matter how I reason out change, I just can’t quite fit the square into a circle. There is a missing piece, that’s for sure.

After drawing the outline, I grabbed several brushes I would use and placed it all in a bottle standing on a stool at my reach. But one brush slipped off. I ran to stop it from rolling under my bed, but I failed to do so, so I gave it up. It wasn’t until I was almost done, when I realized how much I needed that brush.

“Ugh!” I screeched in my thoughts.

I leaned down to reach under my bed, and I felt something odd. It was a sketch pad. I figured it must have ended up down there somehow. I ran across several reasons in my head but I didn’t care less. Things just do end up being under the bed. I think that’s why whenever we lose something, it is always the under the bed that we first raid in to.

I wiped it off a bit through my shirt, and started turning the pages. The first page showed a drawing of a girl. It was a girl I don’t know but remember knowing. She looked very familiar. Her eyes sparkle and were staring back at me. Somewhat, I felt guilty. I turned to the next page and saw the same girl. She was on a different pose, but still, her eyes were like speaking to me, whispering things I cannot hear, and saying things I cannot understand. Drawing after another, until the last page, revealed the same girl. Whoever she is must mean a lot to me, to dedicate an entire sketch book just for her.

Part IV

“Jules!” Ivan waved his hand to my direction.

“Hey!” I gave him a nod.

“Want a drink?” He was practically shouting, “Sorry, but the music is too loud!”

“No, I’m good,” I took the seat in front of him, refusing his invitation to drink. I didn’t come here for that. 

“Listen, I have to ask you something!”

“WHAT?!” He squealed.

“I said I have something to ask you!!” I basically shouted at his ear, “Outside the pub, please?”

He nodded and followed me out.

“Sorry about that…” He started the conversation.

“It’s fine. I called last minute anyway.”

“So what’s the question?”

“It’s not a question, really,” I grabbed my wallet, and took out a piece of paper, “I just wanted you to confirm something.”

I unfolded it first before I handed it to him. He was quite shocked to see the girl from the drawing as he folded it back. “Where did you get this?” He asked.

“It’s mine. It was in my room.” I accepted it back, “Ivan…”

I looked him in the eye and this time, he didn’t look away, so I went on, “Is the girl on the picture… Lara?”

He didn’t look surprised to hear me say it. For the past year, everytime I would mention the name, they totally jinx on me. She must have been one hell of a diamond digger. 

At first I thought after a month or so, I would regain my memory, and by that time I would know exactly who Lara is. But the longer I wait, the more I feel separated from myself.

“Yes, that’s Lara,” Ivan confirmed.

“Are you sure I wasn’t in love with her?”

He took a deep sigh before saying yes.

And then there was God again, holding the remote on pause.

“But Jules,” Ivan continued, “No matter what we say, you still won’t stop asking about her, won’t you?”

“Huh?”

“Isn’t that all the confirmation you need then?”

Ivan elbowed me with a wink and started to retrace his steps back in.

“Is she my girlfriend?” I asked, “Just say it!”

“I can’t,” he said, glancing back, “I promised your Grandmother I won’t.”

“What?!” Just the mere mention of my Grandmother being a part of all of this just led me to push Ivan on the wall, literally, “What did Grandmother say?!”

“Jules!” He struggled to breathe.

Grabbing him by his shirt, I asked, “Did she ask you to lie for her? Did she ask you to lie to me? WHY IVAN?! WHAT FOR?!”

“Jul—es”

“What did Lara do!? What’s with the crazy make-up story? Why go through all that crap!?” I was quivering with rage.

“Jul- please…” Ivan stumbled, “She (Grandmother) did it for you! We all did it for you!”

“Ivan…” I started to lose my strength as I let go of him, “For the past year my brain had this missing piece – this hole that I cannot grasp…”

“It was…” I ended up kneeling, with tears in my eyes, “It was my heart after all. That missing piece was my heart after all. It was my heart my brain needed,” Ivan knelt down as well, and I started sobbing, “But do you know what’s worse?” I looked up at him, with mixed emotions, “What’s worse is that all this time I knew something was up, I refused to believe it, WHY?” I pushed myself up, and waited for him to stand up as well, so I can continue, “Because I believed your story. I believed in everything… you, Grandma, my Dad. I believed everything everyone said. Do you know why?” I yelled out, “Because I trust you – ALL OF YOU!!!”

Perhaps my abrupt revelation stopped Ivan from interfering. He just remained silent. I looked at him one last time before turning my back to walk away from him. And so I thought he would let me go.

“Jules, wait!”

I did not dare glance back.

“Jules, where are you going?”

“To find the missing piece,” I said, and continued walking.

“It’s already lost,” Ivan’s reply made me stop tracks, “Jules… We know the moment you knew who Lara is, you would chase after her...”

“That’s why we didn’t tell you. We don’t want you to chase,” I sensed him walking closer, “Because…” He paused for a couple of seconds. And I wanted so badly to hear the next word, I finally turned around to face him.

“Because of what?!”

“Because she’s no longer to be found, Jules! She’s gone….”

“I can travel a million miles just to make it right, Ivan. You know that! If she’s in New York, I will go to New York!” I walked closer to him.

“Exactly…” Ivan’s voice started to change. This time it was weak, “We all know you would. That’s why we didn’t tell you… Because we’re afraid you’d go after her. We know how much you love her.”

“That doesn’t make sense!!!” Yet my voice was angry, “If all of you know my feelings for her, you should have told me the truth!”

“Jules…” He grabbed my shoulders, “Lara wasn’t in New York. In fact, she’s not even on earth. She died on the accident, Jules. She died… and… you… lived.” 

That was it. The moment I found the piece I was looking for, I lost it at that instant. “No… It can’t…” I stepped back from Ivan, “That’s not true... It can’t be…” I was in denial.

“It’s nothing but the truth, Jules. We didn’t tell you because we see no point. She’s dead, and we know once you knew, you’d be devastated…”

Shivers ran through my body but I couldn’t tell whether its anger, sadness, guilt, or just plain shock. One thing’s for sure though, this isn’t the reaction I would have right now if I remember how we met, or how we fell in love. That would have been intense.

Part V

Perhaps losing my memory was a blessing in disguise. For all this time, having no memory of Lara lifted my pain. I couldn’t imagine waking up in that hospital bed with the news of Lara dead. I would have gone through worse. Of course this isn’t any better as well. I have this guilt inside me for not remembering her but I couldn’t blame myself, for I do not remember. The day after Ivan told me the truth, Grandma finally gave me back all the memories I had on paintings. There were a lot - pictures, trinkets, drawings, letters, and everything else that was ours.

It was painful. But it directed to nothing. It was like getting stabbed but I cannot find a wound. But still, somewhere, inside my body, I know it had caused a fracture, maybe internal bleeding if I know biology, but that – that’s what’s hurting. It was the invisible bruise – the memories I cannot remember.

I made a pact with myself when I was young that whoever is my first will be my last. But I realized that even if I can decide who will be my last, I cannot say how long that would last.