Miliaria

In my mind, I pictured an hourglass, with the last few grains of sand slowly draining to the bottom half. It was only a matter of time before it all ran out. Poor Ms. Adeline, I thought to myself, no one was paying attention to her. Then the bell rang, and chaos ensued. Teens ran up and down the recently mopped hallways. The janitor's meltdown was hysterical, though I felt sorry for him. Poor janitor, all his hard work was rendered futile by the high schoolers celebrating the holidays.

"Hey, wait up," called Aileen. Aileen Marsh was, undoubtedly, my best friend. Despite our shallow history, our relationship felt deep.

"¿Qué? What is it, Aileen?" I inquired, stopping myself in my tracks and turning to face her.

"You know, we have never spent the holidays together. It is like a period which is meant to keep us apart."

"I agree, but what are we to do, Aileen?"

There was a moment of silence—well, between us, as we thought of a solution. The pandemonium by the rest offered no aid.

"Oh! Eureka," I exclaimed.

"What is it, girl?" Aileen inquired in confusion.

"I just had an idea. What if...." My speech halted as a ball hit me at my abdomen, hard. I knelt on the floor, then lay to my side; my arms wrapped around the affected area. "A rugger ball!?" I was infuriated and in pain.

"Oh my gosh! Are you alright, girl?" Aileen asked, looking stunned. I always appreciated how she would quickly aid anyone in need. However, when it came to me, I half-jokingly thought she might even seriously harm someone for giving me a paper cut!

"Are you alright?" she echoed.

"Yeah, I'll be okay. It wasn't that painful." I was still moaning in pain, still curled up on the floor in a foetal position. In pain—excruciating.

Then, a jock ran over to us and took back the ball.

"No apology, huh?! Jurk!" she exclaimed in anger as if threatening him. The jock took no regard to the Aileen's articulation.

I got up, still in a bit of pain—ouch!—but if I stayed down any longer, Aileen might hunt the jock down. I did not want to cause a fight on the last day of school. I wiped off the dust on my stockings and straightened out my skirt. God, I hate this uniform; that is what always comes to mind whenever I look at it.

"Wait. What were you going to say before?" Aileen, still engulfed in worry, questioned.

"Let's go outside, then we'll talk. Otherwise, I would be going for a second lunch." I joked. It didn't seem to fizzle out Aileen's worry. But what was funny was how Aileen eyed that jock as we exited as if she was issuing a threat only by her eyes—You would not wake up tomorrow, and I'll guarantee so. When we got outside, we noticed... calmness. However, there were many high scholars on the streets; some associated themselves with purchasing various street delicacies, others met other high scholars, and the rest sought the right buses for their commute home. The conditions? Warm and somewhat humid.

Since we were released earlier than an average school day, Aileen and I would have an occasional catch-up as we picked our way home.

"So, what were you going to say back there?" Aileen asked.

"Oh, yeah! I was thinking, what if we hang out - a bit of bonding time together? Chatting with each other, taking selfies, getting to know the town..."

"Woah, woah, woah! My girl, why pack so many activities in one day? We have seventy-two other days!? Let us take it slow." Aileen was right. I was just too excited. We never planned to meet each other during the holidays. I could hardly remember the last time I was under the sun. I was looking forward to the best holiday ever. Oh, how my youthful heart leapt just by the thought of it.

"Sorry. The thought of us hanging out over the holiday just... you know..." I said, unable to figure out the adjectives to describe my immense bliss.

"I know, I know. I understand it crystal-clearly. I would be excited too. Overwhelmed by bliss. Meeting my best friend during the holidays is something to look forward to." We proceeded further down the pathway. We got so far that no high scholar was in our line of sight.

"May I ask, would your mom be okay with it?" Aileen asked. She was asking the right question.

"Oh, definitely," I lied. Well, maybe not lied but I had no assurance of my mother's approval. My mother and I are close, but we are not too big on conversations. Additionally, I am an introvert of sorts—I only talk to people when something dire or crucial is to be addressed. Aileen was the wee opposite of me. Odd, she turned out to be so when she met me because she had something she had never received in full—support.

When my family and I moved to the suburbs of Wilspeare, I had no choice but to change institutions. It was an obvious change I expected. I slept during the night of arrival, worrying how it would be for me here, for my family. Although I became accustomed to our nomadism, it did affect my attachment to others. I never had a true friend—a friend to last. Me against the world, I sometimes assured myself.

We were supposed to settle at Heart Rose, in a penthouse located in Oblong District. But when the bombings of the Blast of '09 occurred, we moved due to fear. It was a good idea at the time, but I didn't like it. But weren't we finally ready to settle once and for all? I always found myself questioning my thoughts whenever my parents brought up the topic. Unfortunately, I had to do what I was used to, detach from what we left behind and move on.

When I was admitted to the Shakespeare School of Arts, I had no idea what to expect; fancy, but not overly so. Aesthetically fancy, I would say. Estéticamente elegante. It was during recess that I noticed Aileen. She seemed shy; she was. She glanced at me and, recognising my gaze at her, she hid her face. I was somewhat flattered. I walked up to her and introduced myself: "Salutations," I articulated elaborately to stupefy her and to match the school's high academic standard. "My name is Mireia Esperanza Casillas Galan Gallardo. A pleasure to meet you," I said, signalling for a warm-hearted handshake. She looked at it, wearing a countenance of confusion. Could be that she is surprised that I want to be friends with her, I thought, or it might be my long name, I joked.

"Oh, hey," she responded. She shook my hand and said in a shallow voice, "Aileen."

"Disculpe, pérdon?" I said, accidentally in Spanish. "Oh, sorry. My español slipped out."

"That's okay," she said as she giggled. "My name is Aileen Hugh Marsh. Sorry to disappoint, but I don't match the number of names you have," she joked, and we laughed. The bell rang, signalling the end of the free period, cutting our fun short. However, our relationship has been toxic since. But as our relationship strengthened, her shyness started fading away, and she was a bit more outgoing, knowing she had my support when she chose a risky path. I couldn't deny that fact. But I changed too. Maybe not in the outgoing part (might be in writing, but imagine I did air quotes when saying 'outgoing'), but rather I became more creative and, especially, decisive. In a nutshell, we are each other's inspiration.

When I got home, I was a bit fatigued. I only perspired a bit. I greeted my mother when I entered the house. She was in the kitchen, preparing her ingredients for supper.

"Hola, mama," I greeted her and hugged her. The excitement of the summer holiday and my meet-up with Aileen was still in me - it never left and never will.

"Ah, mi querida hija. ¿Cómo estás?" Mama told me, trying to break the hug, but slowly.

I let go of her and proceeded to my room in a bit of a hurry, which left her with a smile as if the excitement I had was chronic, and it caught her.

As I stripped myself down, I noticed a reddened area on her left upper arm—a rash of sorts. I ignored it, assuming it was nothing major. I stepped into the cool embrace of the shower, letting the refreshing water cascade over me—I felt a peculiar wave of relaxation sweep over me—on my skin. But why was I feeling so relieved? The answer eluded me, leaving an inquisitive sense of wonder in its wake.

I enlightened my parents about my plan with Aileen during supper. It felt awkward, but it was necessitated of me, so they wouldn't assume I would sneak out.

"I am happy for you, hija," mi madre reacted. I couldn't have wished for a better response from her. "What are you two planning to do?"

"A lot, I hope," I joked. She laughed. But I began to get worried - my father looked down at his plate, staring unblinkingly.

"Umm! Mi padre, what bothers you?" I asked, worry making up my countenance and my heart filled with pity. What could I do to make him happy again? I thought to myself.

"It's nothing," he said. I felt unsettled by his response. I wish I could shed light on this issue without triggering his frustration. "Just job stuff," he added.

I did not wish to continue with the topic. I assumed his answer might, if not, provoke a discussion between my parents. I continued to be concerned with the preceding topic.

"So could I go?" I inquired.

"Hmm... I don't know, hija, should you?"

"What do you mean?" I was confused. The smile of excitement that was on my face quickly turned to become neutral.

"Well, I'm okay with it. I want my baby to explore this place. It might make you even more settled. You could even take your fa..."

I knew where it was going. Aileen would be gobsmacked when I accompanied her for a walk with my father holding my hand or creeping behind me. She might think I'm immature. Or worse, he could do something embarrassing.

"It's flattering, Rosa," Papa addressed Mama; "but I think I would find my ways to cope with the depression I have. Why not my little one proceed to venture out with her amiga."

I shoved the little food that remained on my plate and woke up from my chair. I ran up to my father and embraced him. "Gracias, Papa. ¡Gracias!"

He did not wrap his arm around me to return the embrace, but it made me hug him tighter; I ran to my room, full of anxiety and excitement.

"Hija, the table?" Mama told me as I was about to exit the dining room, stopping me dead in my tracks.

"Oh, yeah. Oops! Sorry, Mama." I felt a bit silly. "I'll clean it up."

I woke up the next day, full of energy—anxious. I looked out my window, my eyes searching the streets for Aileen. But no such soul was on there. It might be too early, I reassured myself.

I took out my phone and dialled Aileen. "You've reached Aileen. Can't pick up, but I might listen to your message, not." The call went to voicemail. I ended the call. I tried again two more times - and the same result occurred. I submitted.

I proceeded to the living room and surrendered myself to the couch cushions, falling on it like freshly sawed timber. I closed my eyes only a little. Then I found myself sprawling on the carpet, laughing out loud. I was being tickled. Who dares expose my weakness? The tickling stops, and I look up— Aileen is towering over me!

"Girl, what the bloody heck! Why did you do that?" I said, poking her abdomen playfully.

"I just came early and your mother welcomed me in your home. Did you know her name is Rosa?"

I chuckled. "Yes, I did. What is it anyway?" I rubbed my eyes.

"Okay, first, when was the last time you looked at a mirror? Eyebag alert! Secondly, it's around nine o'clock. I was about to go and wake you up just now."

"But why so early?"

"I am glad you asked. See, if we're going to spend this summer in style, we better start on a high note. Get dressed, or something."

I shook off the daze I was in and became immediately active, proceeding to ready myself. I sped off, tumbling on the way to the stairs.

"Don't forget to check where you're going, Mir," Aileen joked, then turned back to speak more with my mother, who was preparing her delicious ensaimadas and empanadas.

Mir. She always called me Mir. It sounded weird, but I like it either way—it is unique.

***

"So, where to now?" I inquired as we waltzed down the clean Cincity walkways.

"Unsure," she responded. I had now noticed the scar on her neck.

"Disculpe, Aileen, but how did you get this scar?" I pointed to the scar in question.

"Forget about it," she rebutted. She seemed not to wish to talk about it—not even to me. I respected it.

With a knowledgeable Aileen leading the way, we embarked on an exciting tour of the city—her local expertise unearthing hidden landmarks and charming spots that made the city what it is.

To and fro we went: from the Wilfred Column Monument to the Ellyanne Wanjiku Walkways—from the tall skyscrapers to the convenience stores and restaurants.

We entered a small restaurant, fatigued. After taking our seats, we requested some agua to cool off.

"I am sweating like a pig," Aileen commented.

"I feel hot too," I said. "I too am... having rashes?" I added, now noticing small red spots on my arms, more on my right one.

"Woah!" she asked, the rash also having been alien to her. "How did you get that?"

"I'll tell you if you tell me how you got that neck scar," I responded, expecting a playful response from Aileen. Instead, her countenance turned from gladness to gloom. Not the response I expected. I might have triggered something in her; made her recall happenings she might have told herself never to recall, ever. "It's alright, you don't have to..."

"I can't tell you, because I don't feel comfortable to say it to anyone."

"Including me?"

"Including you, Mireia." She now used my actual name, and not my nickname. From this, I understood how solemn the matter is.

"Eso es muy triste." That's so sad.

"Just a dark part of my past that I feel comfortable to keep inside. But know this: this here," now pointing the neck scare, revealing it by folding her collar, "is the reason why I help those with problems, why I help you, niña."

"¿Niña? Where did you learn Spanish?"

She wiped off the tear that was trickling down her cheek. Her countenance portrayed gladness again. "From your mother, Rose."

I forced a laugh. "It's Rosa, not Rose."

"What is the difference?" We shared a laugh. We went on to chat away with a meal. I took the obligation to pay the bill. (And that is how my allowance was spent. ¡Maldición!)

We resumed our unplanned trek in the city.

"Hey, are you okay?" Aileen noted the growing rash. I itched myself almost non-ceasingly.

"Stop! You'll make it worse, Mir," Aileen said, worry immense. She slapped my hand for my itching arm. "Cease."

"I can't," I complained. "I can't stop."

"We should go back home. Maybe your mom would know what to do. Or your dad..."

"Not a word to Papa!" I erupted. But realizing I might have hurt her, I added, "Sorry, Aileen. I'll be fine."

"Why don't you want to tell your father about your... whatever this is?"

"He seems to have a lot on his mind right now. I don't think it is best."

We went on with the aimless waltz, but Aileen was not enjoying any bit of it. She would keep on reminding me to go home, but I denied it.

The hours may have passed, but I felt the temperatures rising. As they climbed, everything turned to black. I began to fade, and the last thing I heard was Aileen exclaiming in worry, "Goodness! I should have taken you home. Help! Help! Somebody!..."

I know not what happened. When I came around, my eyes slowly opened. I was in the hospital. My eyes opened first (partly, that is), then my ears.

The first thing I heard was the physician saying, "...heat exhaustion."

"What happened?" I uttered weakly.

My eyes toured the room, and they soon met with those of Aileen, holding my left arm. She seemed worried. Everyone did, considering the countenances of both Mama and... Papa!? Seeing him, worry grew within me. I knew something was troubling him, and I respected how he kept it secret—adding to my predicament burdened my heart. I felt as though, I'm a destructive force in his emotional world. I could read his countenance like a book—he was distressed.

The physician, a dermatologist, was made aware of my coming around, and I proceeded to share a detailed account of my medical status. She—the dermatologist—explained that I fainted due to heat exhaustion, and the rash—"...a heat rash known as miliaria."

Papa then held my hand, and uttered words I never knew I needed to hear: "Mantente fuerte, pero no en silencio." Keep strong, but not silent. All in attendance (excluding the physician) embraced me. I felt warm again.

I kept it all in my heart—I should not cling to troubles that weigh heavily within me, even if my skin clings to my perspiration.