Lacking Fragments: A Novel (Completed)

A Trip to the Mainland IV

"We're going to her grave," I told Kiki.

     It had been past half an hour now since we entered the train, and the spaces inside—well, odds might be in our favor—weren't quite jammed occupied. Each station passing by, new passengers perhaps residing in provinces were filling the spaces inside the transport, however, not to the point where we could smell each other's perfume or bad odor. We had spaces. This time we had personal distances.

     For me, I believe it's a good thing I finished telling the last part of the story to Kiki. Way back then, on our little balcony upstairs, I only told her the beginning of friendship. How Maya and I met in the lobby for our job interviews; how I calmed her when she panicked. I told Kiki as well the odd occurrence in the carnival, of how mere woman's body mimicked a lantern. To me, those were a great start, a great introductory. Eventually for the conclusion— in the best way I could, in hopes not to trigger things in my daughter's mind, I spoke of how I saw a suicide. And now she knew of my past bond, of how it was not as pure as fairy-tale nor pure magical. Our past bond had a taint; a tar that demolished the whole point of magic. A taint on clothing that, until now, I couldn't seem to wash away wholly.

     Also, I hope my daughter understood my point by now. That tragedy is somehow inevitable to any person's life. That death occurs—untimely—whether a person likes it or not. Secondly I didn't worry much of strangers hearing me. I narrated as if Kiki and I were the only passengers in the train. A little quietly, but hundred in accuracy.

     "I don't know," said my daughter, in tone of wishing to give comfort. "I don't know what to say. I'm sure it hurt you, but I don't know..." She placed her hands on my hand, softly; that, as her father, I knew as her gesture of empathize. A soothing comfort from a little child. "Does Mother know about this?"

     "No," I said. "Nor she knows I had a friend named Maya. I've... always kept it a secret."

     Then there occurred a beat, as the moving train stirred forward onto its tracks; as if it couldn't be stopped, it dashed forward, forward, as if not looking back.

     "Sorry you had to hear it," I added. "But it is what it is, and it is real. As I understand it, I never wanna leave the ending part untold. Whenever I tell a story, I always want to tell it completely. In my friend's case, I want you to know her—"

     "Death."

     I nodded. "I want you to know. Although, I'm still sorry you had to hear it. I want you to understand. I only want you to understand. Things... well... aren't always pretty. On the surface, maybe, but not always pretty. Not everything you see here in this world is magic, and there's always—"

     "Tragedy."

     I nodded yes.

     "I'm sorry about her, Father." She kept holding my hand, with her little hands and caress of a mere child, that I perceived as comfort to my freezing hands.

     Warmth.

     "But if I involve Mother's faith, I'm sure your old friend is now in heaven... She's up there... free from suffering, and from pain.

     "With God."

     For the next couple hours, Kiki and I remained sitting next to each other in solace. This time, without a word nor stories to put on table. As more passengers entered the serial train, as we proceeded in getting near the mainland station, strangers filled spaces 'till the train appeared crowded. By afternoon, at 5 o'clock, in its provided course of metal tracks, the train finally stopped at the mainland station. Our destination, FTI. Kiki and I then made our way outside the transporter. Full in effort, completely hopping off from it; each step we made, I shouted to strangers, "Please give way to my girl! She's nine!"

     Exiting the station, us walking side by side, I heard Kiki's stomach growled of hunger. By it, the two of us went to eat our early dinner in the near fast-food chain. In McDonald's.

———