Wearing My Smile | ✔

Saturday, January 29th, 2005

Late January of 2005, fifteen and filled with too much longing, I ran after you as I heard you laugh right in front of me, clutching your violin case in your arms.

It was Saturday night and so we went to Bright Night in Damian's car the way we used to, but that time there was an important difference. He shook his head fondly when he saw me wrapping my arm around your shoulders, grabbing your head, stopping you on your track, and ruffling your hair messy as you chortled still. You wheezed, Roo and stop and God, please, you're ruining my hair! How am I supposed to perform looking like this?

There was an important difference, Sam, because that would be the first night you had ever performed, and you didn't know this yet, but it would be the last.

The three of us were still laughing inside Damian's car and I wish I could stop it. Stop the time and make you look at me again, Sam. Tell you not to go there, tell you not to listen to me when I'd tried to encourage you and assure you that you'd do just fine, because haven't you played the song hundreds of times before?

Tell you to ignore me, ignore the way I'd looked at you with stars in my eyes because I'd adored you, Sam, because I'd loved you so much even then. Ignore the way I'd kissed the corner of your lips in a dark corner at the back of the bar discreetly. Ignore the way I'd bumped at your shoulder when your steps had faltered at the backstage, grinning cheekily, making you blush. Ignore me, Sam, don't listen to me. Don't listen to me.

“Roo,” you breathed out, almost a small whisper, as though it was a secret, “I'm scared.”

I close my eyes and picture how I touched your cheekbone fleetingly, you were ten or fifteen centimeters taller than me then, smiling and waiting for you to smile back.

With as much naivety of a fifteen-year-old boy could have, unaware of its capability of destroying someone else's life I said, “Don't be.” Like there wasn't anything to be afraid of. Like there were no monsters in this world.

I said, “I'm always here, aren't I?” Like I could afford to always be there to save the day, to save yours, always yours because it was the only one that mattered.

I said, “Do it.”

I said, “Prove it to them.”

Sam, how it hurts me to remember your grin before stepping onto that stage.

I want to take it back. I want to scream, take it all back. I am suddenly there again, sitting on the front table with Adel, my camera ready, willing myself not to shake so much. The bar was crowded as it always was on Saturday nights. The band was checking the sound. Damian was holding his violin, speaking in a low voice to you right beside him. You nodded, attentive, excited, nervous, blinding, and mine. A moment so perfect if only time stood still, if only it never moved further ever again.

My therapist told me it wasn't my fault. That night wasn't my fault. But she didn't know, nobody knew, not even you because I didn't tell you, because my guilt was eating me up inside. In my dreams in the weeks before, I'd seen this exact scene, watching you on the same stage from the same table, taking pictures of you which you'd planned on showing to your parents later on because maybe then they'd sober up from their unceasing stupor finally see you.

It was a terrible idea. Oblivious, unaware, naïve children that we were, Sam. I didn't tell you what would happen next because I solely believed it was just a nightmare, because you knew nightmares were all I had. I couldn't. I wanted to believe what you believed. I wanted you happy because I would be happy only if you were.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, patrons of Bright Night,” the singer began with a smile. “We'd like to thank Adel here for hiring us—again—because without her we won't be standing up here again judging you guys.” The patrons laughed. Even I found myself smiling. “You're wonderful, Adel, I hope you realize.”

“Stop kissing ass!” Adel shouted then laughed out loud.

“Okay! So in order to celebrate our anniversary here, we'd like to introduce our newest member. He'd been taken under Damian's wings for more than two years. Say hi to Sam, guys.” Murmurs and giggles filled the room. No one was a stranger to us anymore. Of course they'd already known you. We sat on the same spot every Saturday watching the band play. Sometimes Adel sat with us, sometimes she didn't.

“Congratulations, Sam!” one of the patron yelled.

You cleared your throat and replied thank you. The grin was still plastered on your face. The crowd cheered loudly, some whistled, some saying awwwww. I took everything in, Sam, the way you laughed, the way you replied to each of their comments.

This was how I'd always pictured you, Sam, even now, in these small moments, when you had overcome your shyness and talked to people like they were old friends, how they adored you, how friendly you were, how happy. When silence hadn't seeped too far into your soul that you rejected the presence of any other human being. When you hadn't told me that you loved being alone too much that it hurt you physically to even try getting close to anyone ever again. When you hadn't lost your identity and so you made a new one, calling yourself a lone wolf, calling me the same. When you hadn't wanted so bad to get away.

The band started playing and the time when both Damian and you started playing each of your violins, I felt like weeping. My chest felt full and suddenly I understand what you'd meant when you'd said why it was a gift. What it felt like to be filled with light after being so empty for so long.

People started dancing right away. Adel stood and laughed, asking me to stand up and dance with her so I did. I recognized the music arrangement sounded like groovy jazz music from 1940s, complete with the trumpets, the piano, and the violins. I twirled Adel around and she squealed, laughing louder as she moved cheerfully. Some of the patrons danced along with me. I was giddy with energy, with the newness, with life.

My eyes found yours in the midst of movements. The strokes of your bow was as expressive as how you looked like then: grinning, your body moving freely along with the beat of the music, your eyes dancing. At that moment, everything stopped, Sam. The sound, the movements, the time. In my space was only you, Sam. How you'd looked so, so alive.

When the performance was over and the singer was saying thank you, I ran to the backstage to meet you. I wrapped my arm around your shoulders, laughing even as the other band mates complained good-naturedly about kids who wouldn't stop wrecking things at the back—which made us laugh louder and Damian shake his head again.

Later, in his car, from your place at the passenger seat, you told him quietly, “Thank you, Damian.”

He glanced at you, then back to the road. “What for?”

“For tonight. For this. For giving me a chance.”

I saw his soft smile reflected on the rearview mirror from the backseat. “Kid, the only reason you managed to go this far is because you're good at what you're doing.”

Your voice was choked and small when you asked, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Sam.”

“Even though I'm just a kid?”

Damian chuckled. “You know no one cares how old you are as long as you do well.”

My eyes blurred. From the way you discreetly wiped your face, I was certain you felt it, too. I put my arms around your shoulders from the back of your seat, smiling, whispering, “I'm so proud of you, Sammy.”

Silence filled the spaces of the car, but there was peace in it, and so was in all of us.