hush, said the wind to the sea

I decided to go through my old chats, looking for my architect cousin’s contact information. He must know how much it’s worth, mom had said to me earlier, give me his whatsapp. I didn’t find his number, but I found you. Your name popped up. Fer left the chat, it said. The date was mid May, it was that one group chat with your hostel buddies and I. We hadn’t talked for months, so I found it odd that you decided to randomly exit this inactive group chat. I frowned, trying to recall if I had done something out of the ordinary, like texting you about some pop culture reference I got from instagram reels. I know; it was an embarrassing old habit of mine. I had to stop after you left me on read that one time and never reached back. A moment later, I swiped to the home page of my phone, and then to the photo gallery. I scrolled through hundreds of photos, until I finally got to the date in question. I found a picture of an airplane window, I remembered I got the window seat on the way here. It was the 18th of May, two months away from today. That is the day I landed on San Juan, and posted about it on social media. I think I wrote something like So happy to be home on my caption. It is gone now, I got too self-conscious and archived the post.

It became somewhat clear to me. Perhaps you remember fondly, all the fun we had this time last year. Or maybe it was too overwhelming for you, to remember that summer, so you shut down the drawer and threw away the key. I wonder if you’re actively trying to forget. I don’t blame you, I wish I could forget too. Sometimes I think I haven’t tried hard enough. The process of forgetting seizes me each day, it lulls me to sleep, and I give in. Trust me Fer, it progressively gets easier, to give in. It’s like that time we floated on our backs in the waters of Sun Bay, with our faces leaned towards the sunset. We stared at the sky tinged with shifting shades of purple and orange, noticing the way it crushed the sun down to the coastline. Do you remember that day? I’m sorry, I know I am pushing it. I’m not being fair with you. I hope forgetting treats you kindly, like it has been treating me this past year.

I didn’t think I’d be back in Puerto Rico so soon. As with many impromptu trips over the course of my life, the reason for my return was far from pleasure-related. I am finally left with some time to write, after my mom asked me to take pictures of grandma’s house from all angles that would flatter such battered place. I’ll be posting these on Facebook, she said, haz que se vea bonita. It is the old blue colonial house a street away from Calle Loiza, I’m sure you remember it. You saw it once, the night you insisted to walk me home from the bars when I was so drunk I couldn’t even stand properly. You knocked on the door, sat me down gently at the doorstep and run away faster than lightning, making it seem as though I had taken an uber back on my own. You were so afraid of my mother, you didn’t dare face her while dropping her drunk daughter off like an Amazon package. I’m still kind of upset at you for that, it became one of the worst arguments I’ve ever had with my mom. Yet, I am glad you insisted to walk me home.

The argument I had with my mom yesterday definitely tops that one though. You definitely don’t know this part. She didn’t tell me grandma had passed. After finding out she had to stay longer than usual at the hospital because of pneumonia complications, I would call each day asking for updates. She said she was fine, just too weak to speak on the phone. I trusted her. I found out the worst way possible, through my cousin Javier’s instagram post. He posted a picture of grandma, leaning on the second floor balcony of the old colonial house in Calle Loiza. Hasta luego mamá Alicia, he wrote on his caption. When I called my mother on the phone, she didn’t even apologize. Jeez, Javier, she muttered, I told him not to post anything. I brought up the subject yesterday, but it was no use. She did not understand how awful that made me feel, not to be given a chance to say goodbye. She insisted she did it for me, to not see me needlessly suffer. Yet that was never her choice to make, nor was mine.

I didn’t want to start this letter off by talking about my grandma. Maybe she made her way into this narrative, because this subject is connected to you somehow. We never really got a chance to say goodbye didn’t we? At least not like I wanted to, not like we promised we would. We made plans to meet. Lose plans. Well, not really a plan at all but it was implied there was going to be one. Because you said, See you in America, and then you walked away from the shores of El Condado, back to your hostel. It’s so ironic don’t you think? That the last words you ever said to me were a promise you did not intent to keep. I remained at the beach and looked up at the stars. I remember that night. I felt I had never paid attention to the stars so intently, it’s almost like I took them for granted while in San Juan. I should be savoring this moment, I thought then, I barely get to see the stars in New York City. They would get lost amidst the smog and the tall buildings. You don’t know this either: I couldn’t sleep that night. I rested in bed with my hands on my belly and stared up at the ceiling, as if I would find stars up there as well. I texted Esther shortly after, and told her I missed you already, that I couldn’t sleep. I know, she texted, it is hard to say goodbye. I know it’s not true, but I’d like to think she did understand. That it wasn’t only me languishing in bed. I’m sure Esther slept well that night. I’m sure you did too. I cried for a little while, and I finally fell asleep at around 4am.

After taking pictures of grandma’s old house, I walked down to Esther’s place. Aunt Minerva opened up the door for me, and yelled out for Esther to come greet me. She was leaving for Miami in a week, and she was looking for a gift for her boyfriend. I need a guitar pick necklace, she said, the stores must sell it. We took an uber up to the Plaza de Armas, and we walked down Calle de la Fortaleza and its rows of souvenir shops looking for that damn necklace. All the while, I felt uneasy perambulating with Esther. At first I thought it was the heat, as I am notorious for getting absurdly upset when directly under the sun. Then I remembered Fer, that you and I had passed by the Plaza de Armas once. It was on that bus tour back from El Yunque with your buddy Peter. He fell asleep with his mouth open wide, letting out tiny snores every now and then. I forget how the subject came up, but you were saying how you would not mind moving to the U.S. and leaving Australia for good. For some reason, your answer surprised me. I had never been to Australia, but I thought it was one of those places where people stayed forever. I talked to you about how much I loved my internship in London, how I could see myself staying there for longer. You seemed surprised too, but you didn’t pry. The responses sat with us quietly, filling up the air around us. I leaned my head on the glass and pretended to fall asleep. I sensed you staring at me for a moment then looked down at your phone, as if someone had started messaging you. Look at us now Fer, we’re nowhere close to where we intended to be a summer ago.

I can’t explain it, but that day, I could not shake away the feeling that you had left something for me to find in Puerto Rico, and I wondered if it was the lingering laugh of our voices in the Starbucks where Peter got sick, or if it was the imprint that our footsteps left on the sand of San Juan’s beaches, or if it was the sound of the splash of water as we jumped from cliffs at the El Yunque. It was sad, to walk through the highlights of our time together with no one to reminisce with. Throughout my stay in Puerto Rico this summer, I felt like a ghost haunting a long forgotten mansion. I even started second guessing my memory of events. I searched through my photo gallery each night for proof, that I had not made it all up, that just like you exist in these pictures you continued to exist, wherever you were.

An hour passed, and Esther could not find the guitar pick necklace she was looking for. We both grew tired, so Esther browsed through google maps to see if there were any cafeterias in the area. She led me to the only Starbucks in Old San Juan. It was the same one we went in, Fer. You must remember this. Peter had been feeling sick for a while, his face was pale, yet we paid no mind to it all day long. As soon as we sat down at the tables in the back, with our free cups of water in hand, he made a gurgling sound. I thought he had choked on his water. He rushed for the bathroom, trying to stop liquid coming out of his mouth with two hands. We laughed. I asked if he was okay. I think you went after him, to check on him. We couldn’t stop talking about the incident for the next couple of days. I didn’t get any water with Esther this time. She just wanted to use the bathroom, and while she was in there I sat down at one of the tables to charge my phone. I looked around the room. It all seemed like it had changed a bit in one year. I think I smiled, maybe it was a melancholic smile, because Esther started walking towards me asking if I was watching those puppy rescue videos again.

Esther and I went to La Placita that night with one of her high school friends, Gloria. She texted us the name of the club she was lining up for. When Esther and I arrived, we stood all the way to the end of the line, which almost went around the corner. Gloria was already at the club. She came out to drag us all the way to the entrance, ignoring the pissed off looks from the people in line. Gloria placed her hand on the bouncer’s shoulder, and looked deeply at him. He grinned, flashing a golden canine, and let us in.

I wished I hadn’t gone out that night. After Gloria had finessed free cuba libre drinks for us, she squeezed through the crowd towards the lit up terrace dance floor. While dancing, a man placed his hands on my waist, following my hips as they moved. He whispered something obscene to me, I think I forced a smile. It’s just a dance, I thought. It was all a silly tease until he pressed his nose on my neck, I pulled away. He was faster than I was. He held my jaw with one hand and pulled my face forcibly towards him, planting a kiss on my lips. I pushed him away then, and stumbled through the crowd, my heart racing for all the wrong reasons. I felt disgusted, angry and confused. I wondered what you would do if you had seen that scene unfold, if you would step in and take me away heroically. I doubted it. I finally spotted Esther, her face lit up by the flickering neon lights behind the bar. She was chatting with Gloria, who gestured wildly as she laughed, oblivious to my distress. I yelled out Esther’s name, she turned and asked me what had happened. Some guy, I muttered, I want to go home. My mind raced back to our nights of carefree laughter, then to our first kiss, at this very same club in La Placita, where I first met you Fer, and Peter, and the others at your hostel. I felt the walls closing in, like the stars I had watched that night a year ago, which were now flickering just beyond my reach.

Esther and I slipped out of the passenger’s seat of our uber. Gloria chose to remain at the club by herself, as she was going home with the bouncer. The night air hit me like a wave, and I took a deep breath. Somehow, without telling her so, Esther knew I didn’t want to go back home just yet. We walked towards Ocean Park beach, the moonlight spilling silver across the water. Want to talk about it? She asked gently. I hesitated, glancing at the dark waves rolling in. It’s just… it feels different this time, I said, Being here without him. I thought coming back would help, but it’s just reminders everywhere. Esther stayed quiet for a moment, suddenly realizing what this was all about.

As we sat on the warm sand, the sound of the ocean washing over us, I allowed the memories to flow freely—the laughter, the sunsets, the promises left unfulfilled. I’m sorry, she said to me. I asked her why she was sorry. I feel bad to see you go through that sort of thing, you were supposed to be happy here. I stayed silent, but I felt odd after that exchange. It made me feel like being hung up over a summer fling was a rite of passage. A universal fate that ran in the family, which my cousin had secretly hoped I would escape from. It made me feel insufficient, like the last remaining stale piece of bread in the basket. Maybe it’s not about forgetting, Esther said after a moment, her gaze fixed on the horizon. You loved him, and that’s not something to erase. It’s part of who you are.

We watched the waves roll in, and I felt in a sense of release. Esther pulled out a pack of Marlboro cigarettes and a lighter from her jean shorts, lit one up, and held it out to me. I took it from her, took a drag, and held it close to my face. I think this is the moment I really began to give in, Fer, perhaps the memories weren’t a burden; they were pieces of me that I could embrace. I didn’t need to forget, I needed to let you roll in like the waves at Ocean Park, allowing you to exist alongside my grief. Perhaps that’s how I felt about grandma too. I picked up a handful of sand, letting it slip through my fingers. I’m going to write to him, I said suddenly. Esther smiled and said, that sounds like a good idea.

The stars above me began to shimmer, each one a memory of laughter and shared moments. I felt a flicker of hope. I could carry the love and the pain, knowing both made me who I was today. After all, no good story comes out of silent longing. And as the waves lapped at the shore, I began to imagine my words taking shape in my mind, a letter to you, Fer—a letter that would bridge the gap of silence, reminding me that while promises might fade, memories never truly disappear. This is it, and I’m still not sure it is fit for your eyes to see. It’s okay. If not us, perhaps San Juan will always remember us; the best version of ourselves, creatures roaming wild and carefree that one summer.