this story originally appeared in the philippine daily inquirer on July 9, 2002.
I stare out of the window as the bus bumps and grinds its way through the rugged roads of our province, the hustle and bustle of city life left behind hours ago. Vast areas of ricefields and a breathtaking landscape have replaced towering skyscrapers and bumper-to-bumper traffic.
I take in the view and savor every detail. I sit transfixed by the thought of solitude. How I miss it! How I yearn for it!
There was a time when the meaning of “alone” wasn’t limited to being by oneself. I used to be alone with Melay. We had our own little world. A world where dreams were part of our day-to-day existence. A world without boundaries.
Melay and I were almost of the same age. Their family was new in the neighborhood. She lived one house away from ours, which made it easy for us to find each other.
I remember quite clearly how we first met. I was out in the garden one April afternoon. The air was hot and dry as summer afternoons always were in our place. I was almost 10 years old then. I was playing teacher to my doll, when I noticed her. I could see through the gaps of our fence that she was staring at me. Her eyes seemed to lack the sparkle any child her age should have.
I walked right up to her and asked her name. She spoke so softly that I barely heard her. She said it was Melanie but most of the time she was called Melay.
I saw that she had bruises in her arms. I asked her how she got it, but she didn’t say a word. She just stared at the doll I was holding, then turned to leave.
I stepped out of our gate and called her. She looked back. I held out my doll in a gesture of giving. Surprised, she didn’t move a muscle. I told her she could have it. Shyly, she reached out to take my gift. She looked at me and smiled.
In the days that followed, I would wake up and find a white daisy stuck in our fence. I also saw more of Melay. At first, she was too shy to accept my invitation to come play with me, but after some more prodding, she gave in. We spent mornings and afternoons playing or just lazing around.
Later she confessed that the daisies came from her. She said they had a garden full of it.
It didn’t take very long before we became the best of friends. But even though our inhibitions toward each other were long gone, Melay still kept a distance, as if she were trying to protect something. I didn’t ask her what was wrong. After all, what serious problem could a kid possibly have? Our lives went on and we had our simple joys.
As summer was drawing to a close, I saw less of Melay each day. I made no effort to find out the reason. I was busy helping my parents pack our things. Our family was about to move to the city in time for the opening of classes.
The last time I saw Melay was during the despedida we hosted. Mother invited Melay and her parents, Tito Romy and Tita Del, to come over. Melay was wearing a pink sun dress which was noticeably a few sizes bigger. She looked paler and a lot thinner than when I first saw her. Aside from the bald spots that her ribbon failed to hide, bruises covered most of her body.
It crossed my mind then that something must be really wrong with her. She could barely hold on to the bouquet of daisies she brought along. She said it was for the days she failed to give me a flower.
When we were alone in the den, I asked her if she was sick or something. She said it was nothing.
I knew she was lying.
After finishing dinner, I brought out the chess set Lolo gave me as a going-away present. I asked Melay if she wanted to play even if I didn’t know how the game was played. Melay taught me how to play chess that night. She made it seem so easy. She really had a knack for teaching. It was her dream to become a teacher like her mother. I knew she would be a good one.
Or she could have been a good one. She could have been a lot of things. She had it in her to be what she wanted. But fate does have its way. Sometimes dreams remain dreams.
It’s been 10 years since I last saw Melay. She passed away a few months after we left. My parents said she had leukemia. It still astonishes me to this day how soon daisies turn into stone flowers in a garden of graves.
My summer vacations in the province have never been the same again. I still grieve the loss of Melay whenever I’m alone, whenever I remember the summer we spent together. That summer when I found a friend who not only taught me how to play chess, but who also demonstrated that it didn’t take maturity to act with courage in the face of sickness and death. Melay gave a new and different meaning to the word “alone.” The meaning I have long forgotten.
The sun is just setting in the horizon as I reach our old house. I stand outside our gate for a while. I breathe in the warm air. My eyes search for the sight I used to wake up to many summers ago. Instead of finding a daisy stuck in the fence, I see our garden all abloom with daisies.
So this is the surprise Tito Romy and Tita Del promised me. I guess I won’t be by myself after all. I am alone but I will have Melay’s memory for company, my memory of summer when dreams and reality were one.
