Not Into Road Trips

I did not remember the last time I had good dreams. But I remembered a boy. We walked through a vast maze of hedges, under arches, and by the flowers. I could not remember his face, nor the color of his hair, but I knew he was always smiling as he held my hand. He led me through the maze, chattering amongst ourselves, until we reached a final arch where beyond was just darkness. I was not allowed to pass, only him, and when he lets go of my hand, a paper was left sticking in my palm. Sadly, I didn’t remember what was written in it anymore, his message before he left through the arch. Then the smoke swallowed him, then he was gone, never to show up in my dreams again.

I told this to my best friend, Alden, and he said: “There must be meaning behind it, but I doubt it would be prophetic like in the movies and such.” He was quick to disprove what had been materializing in my mind, and I wondered why it was to him that I mentioned it to first. He was not into superstitions. But then I realized, he had a grasp in reality, which apparently calmed me to say the least. These nightmares did not stop after the departure of that boy, and every time he gave me a scientific fact regarding the origin of nightmares, it made me able to cope and be aware of what was happening to me and my mind. There was nothing cosmic about them; it was just my tired brain conjuring things.

But then, even awake, I would feel things. It started with this strange feeling in my stomach. I could not grasp how I would explain it, but I could only compare it with a sudden knot. Sometimes there was a rumble, or maybe I was just hungry. Sometimes it was this prickling sensation or the sensitiveness on my shoulder like it was anticipating a sudden pat or a nudge. From whom, I didn’t know, but I would often feel this inside of my room with no one around me but me. And sometimes there was a sudden thought, a sudden image - often it was smoke - then my heart would pound, and I would go uneasy. Or perhaps it was just my anxiety getting the best of me. But the question remained: what am I being anxious of?

My stomach rumbled again. Maybe I was really just hungry. If I was at school, Alden would immediately pull me out of my seat to go to the cafeteria to eat. It felt like years when I last got out of my room, but it was just a few hours.

I froze at the foot of the stairs the moment I heard my dad turn the television’s volume up, as often he would when an interesting news report comes in. He was hard of hearing, and perhaps he also wanted for the whole house of his uninterested family to hear. He said it was paramount for us all to be aware of what was happening around us, which my younger brother often dismissed with annoyance when his favorite TV show was suddenly stopped the moment dad took hold of the remote control at 6 pm. I personally didn’t like them, mostly because there was almost nothing good to hear from them. There was always the dead.

Someone killed in a nearby alley.

A fire in the slums, many people lost their homes.

A person shot by a policeman, the public outraged.

A bus colliding with a truck.

Every year it was like that. People always got a lot of shit happening.

I heard my dad slam his fist on the coffee table.

“Unbelievable,” his voice boomed in the house, battling the reporter’s voice informing the public of the casualties. The bus driver died, crushed at the front. His passengers were all college students. Many of them brought to the hospital, some fatal injuries, some dead-on arrival. “And they got the nerve to say that it is normal for professional drivers to fall asleep on the road. Anton told me once.”

The clanking of silverware came from the kitchen, followed by the sloshing of water from the faucet. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop believing my brother’s nonsense,” my mom answered, her voice reaching the living room despite the loud television. She was quick to stop him before he could speak nonstop for two to three hours. It would be one of my dad’s stories again, ones he would suddenly come by upon hearing something of interest or something he knew that was related to what was in his mind. Much like a trigger, a prompt, like the sound of another clank, a spoon hitting the tiled floor, which made my mind conjuring the word “woman” out of nowhere.

I heard the story. Uncle told us how he would fall asleep on night trips for just a few seconds but could still drive. He said drivers had an instinct, and this could be awake despite the eyes closed. His wife said the same thing having been on many trips with him. It was stupid, but I listened. Somehow, it was funny to hear him talk.

Suddenly, I remembered, he was once inviting my brother and I on a four-hour road trip to another town with his children yesterday. We weren’t able to join, however, mostly due to my opposition. My brother did not like it, of course, he would be missing a lot. It just did not sit well with me, the story I heard, and I was just not into road trips. There was also an unsettling feeling, and then he called me weak under his breath (he did not know I heard him). I bet he would still ignore me today. Well, he pretended to come to my room to call me for dinner only to come back and say that I was asleep, which was not true. I heard his heavy footsteps earlier and I missed dinner, that was how I knew.

I just hoped they arrived safely. My phone felt hot in my pocket, urging me to pull it out to make a quick text to my cousin, but then my mom suddenly noticed me dazed at the foot of the stairs and called me to the table with her sharp voice that felt like piercing through my eardrums.

“There’s still hot rice in the cooker. Just the reheat stew in the stove.” She nudged me by the shoulder. “Now get your plate.”

Then she settled beside dad on the sofa, muttering how his daughter had been slacking off recently. I glanced at my brother, playing on his phone again, like what he always did. Then my gaze lingered. He was ignoring me on purpose. I knew humans could feel stares, at least that was how I feel. Many times, had I caught Alden staring at me in class with a crumpled paper inside his fist ready to throw at my face. He did not let it get in the way of his plan though. He threw then I would catch. It became a habit, a manner of sending messages during class as if he did not have a phone. Messages in the range of inviting each other for lunch to specific quiz answers.

I missed him. I hadn’t had time to call him recently. It had been a week since my class left for a trip. Again, I was not able to join. I was not really into road trips. Something with sitting in a bus, the smell and the motion, made my head spin.

“How long are you going to stand there, Lena? Do you even have any plans to eat or not?” My mom said from the living room. I realized I had been in a daze again with eyes directed to my brother in a while. My family was now looking at me like I was a weird animal, and finally my brother met my gaze and I saw a tinge of pity in his eyes. I whipped around without having to be told twice. 

I saw mom purposefully did not finish the dishes. It was a rule in this house. Whoever finished their food last would do the dishes. There was no cleaned plate, only silverware. Not a glass either. That was very nice of you mom. Then something scrunched under my slipper – a red glass shard. I seldom wore slippers these days, I did not know why I slipped on a pair tonight. Luckily, I did, for mom apparently decided to be clumsy and did not wear her glasses again and missed a spot.

I took a closer look. It was of familiar red. Not the typical one. Less on the light side, more on the dark. Was it scarlet or cherry? I somehow could not distinguish the difference, but I did hope it was cherry. Like my mom’s ugly vase. I looked for patterns to be sure, my anxiety getting the best of me again. I could not dig through the shards in the already full bin. My heart was hammering in my chest, more when I saw a marking. A lone black marking, just at the sharp tip where it was once connected to another like a puzzle piece. I remembered when Alden gave this mug to me. He decorated it himself, drew my favorite character from a book because I could not afford to buy the original merch. He apologized for it because he was not an artist, but it was the best art I could ever get my hands on.

But it was not anger that boiled inside me, it was fear. He would be mad at me for sure. I did promise I would take care of it. Perhaps I could fix it, like that one Japanese technique, making repaired ceramics more beautiful than when they were new.

Forget it. The pieces were too small to be repaired. I would just have to apologize to him when we meet. Make it up to him perhaps. Treat him to lunch till dinner.

I swept the shard with a broom and dumped it in the bin in dismay. I loved this mug. And suddenly, I lost my appetite. I went straight to washing the dishes instead. Better busy myself than let my brain think too much. But I would not be able to stop this tightening in my chest. This sudden apprehension. It did not leave while I arranged the plates and glasses, while I wiped my hands, and while I took out the trash waiting for me. A shard managed to puncture a hole through the black bag. Fortunately, it held on, and the trash was not that heavy, but the shard fell to the floor, urging me to pick it up again. This time, irritation was boiling within me, especially when it pricked my finger, making a drop of my blood fall to the floor. Now, this was my fault.

I hurriedly came back inside the house to get it treated, but then I was stopped in my tracks. A familiar figure now sat on the sofa beside my mom. When did she get here? Her shoulders hunched and shaking. My dad came out of the kitchen with a red mug in hand. A scarlet one with familiar lines. Were my eyes fooling me? He placed it on the coffee table in front of my aunt who was sobbing to my mother, her words almost unintelligible.

My phone felt hot in my pocket again. And then it rang.

*****

They crashed into an electricity pole. A professional driver falling asleep on the road and his impressive instinct.

My aunt held on to her youngest son at the front seat, unmoving, her face a face of shock. There were no tears anymore - drained from all the crying. The child, a toddler, squirms in her arms, wanting to escape his mother’s hold to join the other children. Occasionally, her head would spring up then turn to the side, her gaze towards young boys the same age as her two late children. Then she would sob, and my mother would console her while gently easing her hold to the toddler that she would accidentally smother.

My brother was silent next to me. For the first time in a while, his phone was in his pocket and his hand on his lap. He stared at the three brown caskets at the front, especially on the smaller ones. His eyes tired and a bit red on the sides, swollen. He did not want me pointing it out. They were his best friends. They were nice boys, despite the mischief. I knew he did not sleep last night. I understood, because neither did I, but there was something more aside from grief, and I didn’t like to see them in my dreams.

Finally, my brother decided to break the silence.

“How can you live like this?” For a fourteen-year-old he sure could ask this sort of questions.

“I don’t know,” I replied bluntly. “I just breathe.”

He scoffed. “Obviously.”

Then, there was another uncomfortable silence. For a moment, I had my eyes on the flowers at the front, how they were meticulously arranged under the caskets and on top in a splash of white and green leaves. Sometimes, I saw spots of pink and yellow. Some arranged into a wreath, especially those brought by friends and other relatives. Somehow, I had been accustomed to the smell, as weird as it sounds.

He decided to break the silence again. “I would go crazy.”

I did not know how to respond to that, although I knew what he meant. My silence signaled him to go on.

“Seeing things when your eyelids close. Or just feeling things.”

“Come on.” I tried to hide the scorn in my voice but I failed. “Am I just worrying too much?”

This time, it was him that was rendered speechless.

I was threading through the words “I told you so” but thought better of it and ended up saying. “I’m not into road trips anyway.”

“I can’t blame you,” he said, then paused. I saw him took in a breath, opened his mouth, hesitated, and the words died within. He did not speak again. I was used to it. I was used to this kind of conversations with him, uttering just a few words and then going silent. I didn’t remember when was the last time I had a good conversation with him. Last year maybe.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and my hand automatically pulled it out to look at the name. It was an e-mail from Alden. I felt my brother flinch beside me, then gave me a funny look when I glanced at him.

“They’ve returned from the trip,” I said, sliding the phone back in my pocket. I heard my brother sigh. “Tell mom and dad that I went home early. I have a test tomorrow.”

Now he looked horrified. “No, you don’t. It has been a year since you graduated, Lena.” His hand caught my wrist to stop me from standing up, but I yanked it away, stumbling back. I did not meet his eyes again.

“I do.” I said firmly. I left him and made a dash towards the door hurriedly. I had to work on this immediately. We need answers and I couldn’t disappoint him tomorrow.

*****

It was the second night that I hadn’t had a wink of sleep. I immediately slipped in my jeans and shirt right after I finished with the paper, quite satisfied that we would pass this term. My phone vibrated again, another e-mail from Alden, asking me how I was doing. I did not have time to respond as I was already running out of the house. I would just fill him in when I get to school.

I often walked to school. It was not that far, though to others it was. They were just lazy, but I liked the exercise rather than just sitting in the car. The province was not also that polluted. Just a bit, but there was still the fresh air right before you reached the main road, unlike in the cities where there was always so much smoke.

When I arrived, the flag raising ceremony just finished, and the quadrangle was already devoid of kids. I thought I was already late, but it seemed we were the first to arrive in class. All the classrooms were already filled with kids. Not mine. I slipped in the room and navigated my way to the back, where my desk was situated beside Alden's. At one point, I almost tripped, a basket blocking my way, white petals littering the floor. There were many of them right now. Even some wreaths, and bouquets. Including balloons. There must be an event, as there were one on every desk with chocolates and stuff. Except mine. The breeze entered the windows and I inhaled as the familiar fragrant smell of lilies wafted to my nose.

Alden greeted me with a smile. An unfaltering one, and utterly contagious. I hurried toward him with bouncing steps, but careful not to trip on another basket filled with white lilies, or slip on newspapers brought down by the wind. I returned the smile and whispered to him cheerfully. “I got the answers.”

I pulled out my chair and settled myself behind my desk. Silently, I took out a crumpled paper from inside my jeans, and, before anyone could see, gingerly placed it on top of a newspaper lying on his chair.