Game of Memories

Home

Clyden Vallejo. Our high school's heartthrob. I clearly remember him being tall, handsome, and crazy popular. Even as a teenager, he had a jaw that could probably cut glass and a six-pack that made all the girls go crazy. And his smile, it was so bright. So beautiful. He always had his lips turned upward when we were at school.

Clyde was like a celebrity in our high school, even royalty. Everyone wanted to be his friend or date him. I heard so many stories of him making girls fall for him with just a smile. He was the only crush—enemy I ever had, the only guy I had ever been interested in back then.

And now he's even more handsome than before, if that's possible.

"Asha?" he asks quietly.

Clyde's smile fades as he looks me over, obviously trying to understand how I know him. I take a step back, trying to create more space between us. But it's still not enough, and I can't seem to move away. He recognizes me. I close my eyes, trying to calm myself, but the panic rises inside.

"Long time... no see," I say awkwardly, wishing I could just disappear.

When I open my eyes again, Levi is still staring at me, taking me in. It feels like he's seeing something in me he didn't notice before. "You've changed a lot... since graduation," he says simply.

"Yes, well, five years will do that," I respond, probably sounding rude, stepping back again. I want to run, get away from this town and the people in it. I want to leave Clyde behind. But for some reason, my body just won't move.

"I'm sorry about your grandmother," Clyde says sounding sincere, his voice full of sadness. His eyes show a kind of grief, but I feel it's more like longing.

I nod, not knowing what to say. I should just walk away, but I can't. I try, but I'm frozen.

"Would you like to get coffee with me?" he asks, the emotions displayed in his eyes flickering with hope.

"Uh, no, I have to go..." I say, my hands shaking, heart pounding as I walk past him.

I sit on the bed, covering my face with my hands. There's too much going on right now, and I feel completely out of control. I came back to this town for my grandma's funeral, and I need to focus on that. Drama can wait, or maybe disappear entirely, but with my luck, it won't.

I never really understood wakes. I mean, what's the point? I've been standing here for hours, getting condolences from people and my so-called family, I don't even care about anymore, when all I want is to be alone and cry for my grandma. I've had enough of the flowers, hugs, and empty words. I just want this to be over. I wish the wake, funeral, and will reading could all happen in one day. I can't stand being around these people much longer.

Taking a deep breath, I try to calm myself. My grandma would want me to be strong right now. For her, I will try.

As the funeral home begins to empty, I was left standing by the casket. Uncle Miguel walks up to us with his wife.

"Mauna na kami. May pupuntahan pa kami ng tita mo," Uncle Miguel says, wrapping his arm around his wife, as If he was trying to protect her. "Magkita nalang tayo ulit dito, Alexis," he adds as they walk away.

I nod without saying anything. There are so many things I want to say to Uncle Miguel, but not here and not now. So I hold my tongue, relieved to be spared from an awkward conversation.

Even though I want to leave this place fast, I stay behind. I watch as my so-called family members leave one by one, until I'm the only one left. When I'm sure I'm alone, I walk up to my grandmother's coffin, gently placing my hand over hers. Tears come immediately, and I can't stop them. My mind is full of memories of this wonderful woman.

"I'm so sorry, Nana," I whisper through the tears. "I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner." My voice cracks, thick with emotion. I sniffle and keep going, "I love you so much. I wish I had been a better granddaughter. I wish I hadn't let others come between us. I'm... I'm so..." Another sob comes, shaking my whole body. My knees almost give way, and I hold the side of the casket for support. Pressing my forehead against the cold wood, I close my eyes, overwhelmed with grief. "I'm sorry," I whisper again.

I hear someone clear their throat behind me and turn, my face meeting the sound. I'm sure my makeup is ruined, and my eyes are puffed up and red. But at this point, I don't care. I look toward the door and see Clyde standing there, his mouth open like he's going to speak but can't find the words. His eyes are full of hurt, a look that would make anyone feel for him.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Clyde finally says, his mumbled words.

I take a deep breath and push myself to my feet. I wipe my tears quickly, trying to fix my hair and dress. Once I feel like I've gathered myself, I turn to leave, not speaking to Clyde as I walk past him.

"Asha?" Clyde says quietly as I pass by, stopping me in my tracks. I didn't turn around. I don't know what kind of reaction I'll get after my embarrassing moment. He's quiet for a while, and when he doesn't say anything else, I breathe again and keep walking out of the funeral home.

I need to get as far away from here as I can.

My parents were only 18 years old when I was born. It's the typical story about high school sweethearts. They were just two kids in love, thinking they'd stay together forever. You know, those young couples who believe love is enough to make a relationship work, and they can handle anything as long as they're together? Yes, that was my parents.

Even though they were young, they were excited to find out they were having a baby. To them, getting married seemed like the right thing to do, and their parents agreed. They got married before my mom started showing, and for a while, everything seemed perfect. Life changed a lot when I was born, but my parents were happy at first. My mom's parents helped raise me, and my dad took the first job he could get to support us. It wasn't anything special, but it paid the bills and put food on the table. My parents didn't have much at the start, but they were happy and believed their love was all they needed.

Things started to get better after high school. My dad got a promotion and a good pay raise, feeling like he was finally doing something worthwhile. My mom worked hard and earned a teaching degree. They were busy, trying to raise me while figuring out how to be adults. Because of their busy schedules, they weren't around much, so my mom's parents stepped in to help. I spent most of my time with my Nana, who became like a second mom to me. Even as a kid, I felt like I wasn't who I should be, so I started becoming the person I dreamed of being.

After years of hard work, my mom became a teacher at a local elementary school. My dad was doing well at work and earning more money than he ever imagined. They never had more kids, but I didn't feel like I needed a sibling.

Because I had Uncle Miguel.

Since my mom is twelve years older than his brother, Uncle Miguel was only six when I was born. I spent so much time at my grandparents' house that Miguel and I grew up together, more like siblings than uncle and niece. We were close in age, and he always treated me like his younger sibling. He accepted me for who I was and was my favorite person in the world. He wasn't just my uncle or my brother, he was also my best friend, the person I could always count on.

But that changed in my senior year of high school.

By then, my body was changing because of the self-medication I took to become the person I wanted to be. Uncle Miguel started noticing me differently. At the time, I didn't realize it. He'd stare too long or make comments about my body. He'd talk about my shape, my chest, and how my clothes fit. His words often made me uncomfortable, but I tried to ignore them. I thought, He's like a brother to me. I trust him.

I was so wrong.

Looking back, I wish I'd spoken up the first time it happened. I should've told Uncle Miguel to stop. I should've told my parents, my Nana, or anyone. But I was young and didn't fully understand what was happening. Now, I see all the warning signs I missed back then. But my teenage self didn't know any better.

For years, I hated myself for not seeing it sooner. I blamed myself for everything Uncle Miguel did, convinced it was all my fault.