Mirage (ON HOLD for revision)

Chapter 15: Visitors

Matt lay flat on his back staring at the same old ceiling he managed to keep free of cobwebs.

 Everything else, despite their cleanliness, stayed the same for the last six years. The top of his head was just a millimeter shy of touching the wall, the roots of his hair protesting against his scalp for more room. But anymore allowance and his sheens would dangle off the foot of the bed. It wasn't a bed suitable for a growing teenager. He was still a brat when it was made after all.

The table directly in front of it looked puny against the drabness of the wall, and the wooden chair that came with it has been degraded to a footstool. A box of outgrown clothes was covered with books in one corner of the room, gathering dust despite Matt's best efforts. The truth is it was, of all the four corners of the room, the corner that he hated the most. After all, it was the most unrelenting reminder of the day his world stood still. It was June everywhere, but on that old, yellowed calendar tacked to the wall, it was still October 2006.

He pulled a stool and dragged it to the corner slowly like a procession. He stared at the wall unseeingly for a while, denying its existence even as he tries to face it. Finally, he slumped on the stool and stared at the calendar directly in front of his face.

What are you doing this time, Matt?

Putting up a calendar.

What would you need a freaking calendar for? It’s not like you’ve got appointments to keep track of.

So I don’t forget things.

What’s there to remember?

Birthdays. I want to at least know what days it would fall on.

 Geez, fine! Do what you want.

Sorry.

If you’re going to do it, then do it properly. How can you see it if you put it there? Put it here.

Ok.

Higher.

Ok.

A little more.

But I can’t reach higher anymore.

What—do you expect to be that small forever? Give it here, I’ll put it up for you.

Thank you.

Just hurry up so we can leave.

Ok.

And stop with your ok’s!

Sorry.

Really! I’d think those are the only two words you actually know.

Sorry.

Just shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

It’s ok, Mari. You’re ok.

Shut up!

“Do you regret it, Mari?” Matt whispered. “It’s ok as long as you don’t regret it. It’s ok as long as you don’t.”

The calendar frozen in October stared back at him indifferently, its anger exhausted after so many years of abandon. Time keeps flowing and yet the calendar that was supposed to keep track of it, vulnerable unlike its master, stood still with its purpose defeated. The deafening silence of the room was broken by the doorbell. He could faintly hear the sound of the door opening and closing as his uncle stepped outside.

 “Yes, good afternoon-- Mr. Carlos, was it?”

Matt stood, looked out the window and saw a silhouette of a woman standing outside the gate. He could faintly catch a glimmer of graying hair illuminated by the ornate streetlamp by the house, the only one of its kind, maintained obstinately by the Vizcarras for generations.

“Yes, what is it?” Mr. Carlos asked.

What is it, not how can I help. Mr. Carlos stood his ground, a meter inside the gate, as if the hands that clutched the bars were contagious of some terrible disease. It wasn’t an unusual sight.

“Oh, I was hoping I could talk to Matthew. Is he back from school yet?”

What is it, Matthew? Are you looking for Cedric?

Ah, it’s Cedric’s mom, Matt realized, recalling how for some reason, she insisted on calling him Matthew when everyone else called him Matt. It was the same for Cedric.

“I’m afraid not,” Mr. Carlos replied, not at all sounding apologetic, “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Oh, ok, thanks.”

But Mr. Carlos wasn’t listening. He was already on his way back to the house. The door closed more heavily than before, all restrain and patience lost.

“Then I’ll just come back later!” Mrs. Padua said somewhat distractedly as she turned around to leave.

Matt watched her intently as he listened out for the old man to lock himself back in his pretentious study and descended the stairs quietly, walking on air. As soon as he was outside the gate, which thankfully cooperated and held back a squeak as he pushed it open, he broke into a run and chased after Mrs. Padua’s back.

For a split second, it wasn't Mrs. Padua that he was chasing anymore but a beautiful, young woman clad in a brown floral dress that flowed to her ankles. But Matt knew better, knew in fact that it never happened, and pushed the image aside. Had he known then that it would be the last time he would see her, he would have chased after her like he was doing now.

He thought about calling out to her, but knew he doesn’t have the lungs for it. When he was finally within earshot, Matt stopped on his tracks, and took a deep breath. He was just about to call her out, and at the same time he wondered why he was chasing after Cedric's mother, someone grabbed him from behind and forcefully dragged him away.