Keyholes To Flowerage

III. Keyholes to Flowerage

III. Keyholes to Flowerage

TRANQUILITY IS plum wine. It's cloaked behind the shape of trees and camouflaged in a form of mountains that people could resume total healing by being one with the green-tinted goddess. I managed the pace as I gazed at the surrounding. The good thing about living in a province is that it makes you feel like a helium-less balloon. The bad thing about it is that it holds ghosts of people passing through the each place of the town, it gives strangers the sense of longing for the loved ones they lost-be it recently or long years ago. I affirmed the beauty of having no tall buildings and malls by forming my tangible admiration for the Rural Town.

It was 15:38 when I reached the convenience store. To mollify the fatigue of descending from the walkway, I played push and pull with the glass door for the next two minutes and kept my pace and shifts moderate afterwards. I joined the swirling of winds to spot what I'm looking for. Vegetables. Bottles of liquid condiments. Boxes of milk and coffee.

I glued my eyes at the next partition. The breads. My favorite. April's and Mary Joy's, too. I pulled a soft smile, intending to get the breads. My intention was distracted due to a slight complain from the familiar tone.

It was Amanda. And Emmie too, holding cans of beer. I was offended with their apparent avoidance. I felt the human cowardice to face them without pink jealousy.

Cans of beer. They are drinking already at a young age. "Is April drinking too?" Emmie showed kindness by nodding.

"But April doesn't drink."

"So you still care for her, huh." Amanda chuckled. "Doesn't change the fact that you neglected her three years ago, though."

Afraid of the situation might get a little out of hand, Emmie called out for her.

"No, Emmie!"

A whistling arrow struck out from her soft sound, it collaborated with the bristling atmosphere as though declaring a war against my silence.

"Aren't you tired, Marceline?" She neared me. "Of forcing yourself to April? Of reminding her the pain you caused her? Of hurting us all?"

"Three years ago," she stuttered. "You weren't there to mend her and bind up her wounds. You weren't there to hug her so she wouldn't think of her frustrations." She bit her lips, eyes shining as if they'd cry. "You weren't there to be her shoulder and a guide through rough situations. She was fucked-up and scared. Hurt and unstable. But where were you?"

I tried my best in holding back the fountain from dripping off. She wasn't there. She was always watching the three of us from afar, always hiding. "You didn't know what happened back then."

She advanced her feet, making me step back. "I was also there. You just didn't know how to notice."

"Amanda, I think we should go." Before they could storm out the convenience store, I called them to communicate my wish and surrender.

"Take good care of April." They eyed me for the last second like it wasn't necessary to say that.

HEAVINESS BROUGHT me home. With a mug of bitterness swung to my hand, I sat on the windowsill, sitting my exhaustion as well. I grew up thinking April was the equivalent of balloons. Very rainbow-like. Very democratic. Very outgoing. Very far from me, to reach. On that day, Mary Joy's burial, when we loosened the grip of white balloons glued onto our palms, I should have let go of April, too. She was the balloon I didn't plan to let go of; I was the engine fumes that suffocated her.

My shaky hand hastened to find a pen. At the end of sunset, I penciled the letters I wanted to say to her on a piece of paper: I want to start with an apology. For not voicing out the fondest words to uplift you. For not being there, in the dark streets you were scared to pass through. For not asking how you were because I thought you were always brave and okay. For not nursing your wounds and brokenness. For reminding you the pain-

Knuckles knocked on the door, "Marceline."

"Hey, Mom." She settled on the bed, facing her offspring. "Have you seen the groceries? I put the them on the counter."

I was expecting for noises and nags. Not anxious to see her daughter having a heaven that would cry at the very moment, she smiled at me like I wasn't the same kid who'd sit sulking for the reasons why she was always away. I took it as an invitation for me to break some walls I built.

"Mom, I don't really know what's happening to me lately." She tucked my strands at the back of my ears. "It hurts not knowing what you want most in life. But what hurts the most is the fact that there's no point in hoping to bring back the friendship I had with April anymore."

She gave birth to sighs and chuckles. "Did you even try to understand her?"

I surrendered my ears and understanding to Mom. Hoping I could expound my horizon even more and setting myself to flower with her water-like wisdom. "Yesterday, when I was travelling back to home, I had a little talk with April." Her eyes looked down at our feet.

"She was silent all throughout the talk, I didn't have to force her. It was evident that she wants isolation. And there's nothing wrong with wanting it."

If she desired for it, why was she always with Amanda and Emmie and some college guys? "Why does it seem like she only isolates herself from me?"

"You're at the age of shaping. Of blossoming. Tough but sometimes, you have to let go of people and zones that you're most comfortable with." She shut my window close, reached for my mug, and headed towards the doorway.

"But why, Mom?"

"Because that's where growth starts." Then she left the door wide open. Hinting me to be the physical representation of doorway. To be always open to those who knock.