Grape Juice (By the Border, #1) ✓

13

May kasabihan ang mga taga-Arden at lumaki akong napakikinggan ito. It had always stood out to me.

Sabi nila, kapag nasa ambulansya ka, nag-aagaw buhay at hinahabol ng kamatayan, may mga pagkakataong hindi mapagbigay ang tadhana. You could be left with nothing but hope that you'd survive, but soul trains could be a bitch. If one was unfortunate enough to encounter a train that blocked the other side—the way to safety, to life—the train would take your soul with it.

Iyon ang panimula ng mahaba kong kuwento, at sa buong magdamag na nakaupo kami rito at nagtatala ako, walang ginawa si Novah kundi makinig.

"Dad loved taking us here," I said, gazing at the empty landscape. "Hindi ako natutong lumangoy, kaya madalas ay siya lang ang sumusulong sa dagat habang nakatambay kami ni Mama sa dalampasigan at nag-pi-picnic."

Novah began eating his snacks—a bag of onion rings and chocolate chip cookies. "What happened next?"

Tinanggap ko ang cookie na inalok niya kahit wala akong gana para kainin ito. "Masiyado siyang malayo sa dalampasigan noong bumagyo. Nagpumilit siyang bumalik sa malalim na parte ng dagat kasi nawala niya roon ang singsing niya. It was their wedding ring." Then a long, heavy pause. "He...didn't make it on time." Maybe it was best to leave it at that. Dad was eaten by massive waves, and 12-year-old me saw it with my own eyes. I couldn't make out his face, but images of him begging to be saved had haunted me in countless dreams for years.

"He was still alive when the ambulance arrived, but then again, soul trains can be a bitch." I forced out a low chuckle, but my voice was strained. "Malayo ang pinakamalapit na ospital dito. Kung nakarating ka na sa ibang stations, lahat ng mga ospital doon? Wala 'yon noon. Inunang ipaayos ng dating mayor ang railing system ng Arden bago niya naisipang magpatayo ng disenteng medical centers. We only had three then, and the nearest one was on the east side of Arden, seven stations away from this border. We were about to cross from the west when the train..." I took a shaky breath, clenching my fists. Novah looked down and held them, again. "The train wouldn't stop for us. I knew that." Suddenly, I found it hard to breathe. "I knew that. Didn't mean it hurt less."

Kahit araw-araw kong itanggi, ang katotohanan ay pinaglalamayan ko pa rin ang pagkamatay ni Papa, at hindi na ako maubuhay nang matagal para itigil 'yon. He had been gone since seventh grade, but I still imagined a thousand trains coming to collide with my frail body everytime he was brought up. Gusto kong ianunsyo ang katotohanan. Sobra. Gusto kong maalis lahat ng kasinungalingang idinikit nila sa pangalan ng pinakamahalagang tao sa buhay ko. I wanted my classmates to combust in guilt because of all the false shit they'd said about a dead person they didn't know the existence of before meeting me.

It didn't hurt less. The wound just kept getting pushed down, bruised, and unearthed repeatedly. Painfully.

"Your dad was a writer. A novelist," Novah said, bringing me back to the present. "Kailan siya nagsimulang mag-publish ng mga kuwento niya?"

I unclenched my fists, leaning back and shrugging. "I was eight when he brought home his first book, I think. No, scratch that. I remember that day well. Kaarawan ko, at 'yon ang regalo niya." I laughed, shaking my head as vivid scenes of my day, as he liked to call it, ran through my head. "About a year after his death I thought it was a stupid way to make money. He wasn't earning enough. He had a 9-5 job to make up for it. Masiyado siyang makulit. Ayaw mag-resign. Ilang beses kong narinig kumbinsihin ni Papa si Mama na ginagawa niya ang tama."

"But he wrote stories. I don't think it's a stupid job." A smile tugged Novah's lips. "It's a beautiful one. Para sa 'kin, kahanga-hanga 'yon. Ang hirap ihayag ng mga damdamin sa gan'ong paraan. He built worlds, made colorful characters, shared his thoughts on anything and everything, and weaved all of that into written art."