My Teenage Years Were Completely Normal

To be perfectly honest with you, Terry and I have been good friends since we were kids. Their house is just a minute walk from our house. We never went to the same schools because he was studying on private institutes but we were friends nevertheless. We would always hang out after classes and on weekends. An attitude of his that I never liked? He just loves bragging about all his things that my parents could never afford.

Despite his love for boasting, he was a good companion and we got along fine. His room was huge and filled with posters of bands, Japanese cartoons, and models in a bikini. He also had a ton of games on his computers and game stations so we would never get bored. One thing about his room, it stinks, but not from body odor or unwashed clothes (Terry was extremely neat and pleasant, perhaps it was from being rich). It smells of rotten wood, the kind that gets through your nose when your camping in the damp area of the forest.

When we were not in his room, we were usually seen playing outside, which only happens on rare occasions, with this one other kid that I forgot the name. For the sake of the story let us call him John, a common name. I am a hundred percent sure that Terry does not like playing outside because of his constant complaining and never-ending frown. And I am also aware that Terry hated John and his easygoing attitude.

One day, I was waiting outside of Terry’s house, when I saw his mother. Mrs. Garcia was a lovely woman, always offering us foods and letting us have all what we need. His mother peered through one of their large windows and gave me a smile. She then stepped outside the house and let me in. She offered me something to drink while I was seated on their ridiculously comfortable couch.

At this time, I can still see no sign of my friend’s presence so I asked Mrs. Garcia, “When is Terry coming home? Maybe I should just get back after an hour.”

She was watching the news and stopped. She looked at me and smiled, the kind of smile that makes you wonder if you did something wrong. “I’m sorry dear, but isn’t Terry the one that lives on the other house?”

I was about to answer her when John came bursting through the door looking for Mrs. Garcia to ‘mano’. I was so confused. John never lived here, this was Terry’s home. I am sure of that. So I told them about my concern and they just stared at me like I’m joking. In the end, Mrs. Garcia was convinced that I am having a fever so she escorted me back to our house. That night, I went to bed but I never slept. I cannot bring myself to sleep. I was desperate to meet Terry and maybe he could explain.

The other day, I saw Terry about to enter John’s supposed-to-be house so I called for him. Before I could even open my mouth, he told me that he had no time to play or hang out because he got a lot of schoolworks to do. Then he shut the door in my face leaving me with no choice but to leave.

After that, our friendship went downhill and I never bothered to fix it. It seemed as though he never even considered me as a friend. That hurt me but I reminded myself that we were about to graduate high school so we were both busy. ( Before 2013, high school in the Philippines were only four years.)

I got over the fact that John was now living with whom I thought Terry’s parents were. I forced my brain to accept the fact that maybe a part of my childhood is just an illusion that I created to ease my boredom.

I moved on with my life and left that town to study in the city. After I got my independence, I am constantly having nightmares of Terry. He was always in my dreams telling me to save him and I was always asking him. “Save you from what?”. In my dreams, he was wearing ‘barong’ and black slacks. His face was pale, his lips was dry and when he spoke, the voices sounded as if it were coming from a well.

Needless to say, I was terrified of coming back to the village and seeing Terry, not that I often see him, which is weird. Thinking about that sometime later on, I realized that I never actually saw him again after that incident when he slammed the door shut in my face. There are times when I will see him in the streets and then he will be gone just as fast as he appeared. I have never given thought about that because I knew that he disliked the idea of being outdoors.

One time, I received a call from my mother telling me that my Auntie Maria is dead. That means, I need to come home to attend the wake and the traditional ceremonies that we Filipinos held during times like this. At the last night, I saw Terry but his back was on me. You might say that I was mistaken, maybe it was not Terry. But I know him well. Slightly hunched back with a weird elbow that looked like it was dislocated. To top it off, he was wearing the jeans that have a splatter of red paint at the back. I know it was his because we made that mess when we tried to paint a part of his wall red.

Again, he was gone before I could even see his face or hear his voice. Normally, I would just shrug it off, but that night I felt like I could use some conversation from one of my friends growing up. So I went out looking for him but I never dared asked anyone if they have seen him because they all looked busy and in grief. As I have expected, I never saw him.

The next day was the burial. We went to the church for the mass and for the blessing then we walked to the nearest cemetery. It was loud and hot. Everyone was sweaty or in tears. I looked around and still no sign of my friend.

In the cemetery, I tried my best not to look tired in respect for the dead that we are about to bury. The cries grew louder, almost hysterical. That day, I do not know what happened but I saw Terry’s name on one of the graves. Below his name, was the date of birth and death. He died when he was 11. The door slamming incident happened four years after that. I fainted.

I do not recall what happened after but I am convinced that the Terry that I hung out with was not a ghost nor a spirit. Luckily, I have evidence to prove that because we have some group photos together. I showed that pictures and pointed at Terry. Unfortunately, they all responded with, “That’s Ben”. Ben was John’s cousin and they live next door. We were not really friends because he’s the kind of guy that I don’t want to be friends with

I talked to Ben. He was definitely not Terry. Ben and I were not close and he said that he had no idea what I’m talking about. You see, my teenage years were completely normal.