TIME STOOD STILL as I found myself looking into the eyes of the girl standing in front of me. My heart rapidly sank into my chest, its rhythm echoing in the weird silence. The girl stood before me, smiling, and somehow her face was like a combination of the teenager she'd grown into and the small, Asian girl I once knew.
Her dark brown eyes were the same, but her face was now replaced by a mature glow that probed through the weight of the years that had passed. Her once cherubic cheeks are now more prominent; the tenderness has changed with time, like a cobblestone that's unprotected and altered by continuous downpour. Yet, beneath these changes, parts of the Mamori I once knew back in the orphanage when we were kids still stayed, or that's what I think it is. I mean, the bobcat hair, the almond eyes, and the luminescence of bubbliness in her smile remained unchanged.
They were all memories of the childhood friend I'd lost track of.
"Is it really you, Prim? How have you been?" Mamori's voice washed over me, birching up a ripple of my past recollection. My lips disjointed, but the words were odburate, latching at the back of my throat, not wanting to let go.
I was too dazed, flabergasted, or amazed—whatever you want to call it. The sound of our laughs and whispers underneath the massive oak tree still knelt in my ears, and the thought that she stood before me now, after so many years, was enough to send my mind spiraling into a vortex of disbelief.
Suddenly, Leo coughed intentionally. My reverie was shattered, and I found myself staring at Leo's annoying face.
"Excuse me to ruin your moment but do you two know each other?" Leo asked.
Mamori and I shared glances before she nodded. "Yes," she replied. "This is my only friend back at the orphanage. She was the one who saved me back when I was being bullied by three kids. It's been years since we last saw each other," Mamori added.
A brief stillness blanketed us three, unfurling over Leo's office like an avalanche, with each word becoming submerged in the silence. The brisk lights whirred overhead, creating long, gloomy shadows that remained motionless on the tiled floor. In addition, a familiar smell of antiseptic and caffeine danced in the air, and the sterile scent of Leo's office now became a contrast to the wistful scent of our old orphanage.
I looked at Mamori again, my eyes painting the outline of her face. And if there's something I noticed, that is the fact that she has changed, undeniably so, but at the same time unchanged in a way that sent a trace of nostalgia within me. Despite all the years and miles that had expanded between the both of us, despite the tableau curtain of the one incident that had obnubilated our paths, it was still her. It was still my childhood friend. This is indeed Mamori.
From my peripheral vision, I noticed Leo wrinkling his forehead in thought, staring at the both of us back and forth. Mamori, however, seemed oblivious to his scrutiny; her attention was entirely on me.
"As much as this I love this reunion, I think we know why we're here," Leo said. "Especially you, Primmy."
He stood in front of me annoyingly, his figure a towering pillar against the thin, grey light that entered in through the small and narrow window. His eyes, strict and arresting, bore into mine.
"Primmy," Leo's deep voice broke the silence. "If you have Ms. Greene's wallet, just surrender it now, please. I promise I will just let you go with a warning. I know you have it."
The wallet. For a moment, I forgot about that.
A sly grin twitched at the corners of my mouth, even as I faked innocence. I could feel the texture of the faux-leather wallet squeezing against my thigh from its hiding place in my pocket.
"I don't have it," I lied, my eyes never leaving Leo's. I could see the spark of doubt and annoyance in his eyes, the hint of exasperation starting to play on his stern, heroic features.
Leo inched forward, his palm touched on the sturdy-looking wooden table that separated us. He was closer now, close enough for me to see the details of his squinted eyes, the creased up lines on his forehead, and his raised eyebrow. "I promise I won't arrest you if you surrender it," he said, his voice softer, almost begging. "If you have it, just give the wallet to the pretty lady and we're done."
Beside him, Mamori moved, her gaze shifting between the dumb officer and me. Her voice faltered, but there was a sense of strength in her tone that I recognized. "It's okay, officer," she told Leo while patting him. Mamori looked and me, and a smile formed on her face. "If Primrose doesn't have it, she doesn't have it."
I looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since we'd been shoved together in this white office. I saw the outline of calmness written into her face, the dark circles under her eyes. But there was also the same obstinate set to her jaw, the same spark of resistance in her eyes. She was still the same Mamori from the orphanage, the one I'd shared my dreams to when I was a kid, my fears, my memories.
Leo's sigh broke me out of my reverie. He ran a hand through his hair, raking it back from his forehead. The air in the room somehow strained around us, twirling like a viper ready to bite. It was a noticeable tension, one that frightened to break the uneasy peace of the room.
Mamori broke the stillness, her voice soft, almost a whisper. "I'm just happy to see you're okay, Primrose. After all these years."
Her words were suspended heavy in the air, a distinct reminder of the years that had passed, the bond we'd once shared. I gobbled hard, my throat deserted. I managed a single response, a small tribute in the face of our childhood.
"Yeah."
I felt of her stare on me before I looked down. I looked up from the sturdy, wooden desk, my stare finding Mamori standing there, her eyes flickering with a zeal that was as conveyable as it was perturbing. Against the well focused backdrop of Leo's office — a place of old painted walls, flickering fluorescent lighting, and the faint smell of papers and coffee — she stood out like a striking speck of color on a grayscale painting.
"Prim," she called out, her voice as soft as a morning sunrise, "how about we go for a cup of coffee? It's been ages since we last saw each other." Her words were suspended in the air, encasing around the silence like a thick and worn out shawl on a cold day.
I paused, my fingers moving on the edge of my chair anxiously.
"I would love to, but I need to see my father, Elliot," I said, the words toppling over like pieces of marbles, clinking onto the table between us. "He needs me."
She nodded, her smile never flickering. "That's fine. I'll come with you instead."
Before I could say a word, the deep voice of Officer Leo slice through the stillness. "If you need anything, Mamori, don't hesitate to call," he said to Mamori. He was now standing near the door, his muscular shoulders a shadow against the light of the hall. He then shifted his gaze on me, his eyes like two intense orbs, chilly and firm.
"And Primmy," he added, leaning against the doorframe, "I've got my eye on you." The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous.
I felt a flush crawling up my neck, my cheeks flaming hot. "I didn't steal anything," I lied, my voice barely muted.
He just gave a timid nod, the edges of his mouth tugging into something that was midway between a smirk and a scowl. I watched as he turned, sighed, and closed the door, leaving me feeling like a prey under the watchful eye of its predator.
My heart was beating loudly in my chest, each hit echoing the accusations. But as I stared at Mamori, her kind eyes filled with empathy, and I knew that I had someone in my part.
***
The world disintegrated into a haze of different hues as the late afternoon sun cast long silhouettes across the meandering path. The air, suspended heavily with the scent of the approaching rain, stuck to us as we made our way to my plebeian home. Mamori, her almond-shaped eyes shining with enthusiasm, talked gleefully. Her words, evidently unimportant, bore the weight of a meetup years in the making.
"I forgot to tell you," Mamori continued, the soft lilt of her voice melting into the chorus of chirping crickets. She's been talking for what it feels like hours. "My stepmother and I moved here like, a few days ago. Her name is Esther Greene. She's also so kind to me. She likes to cook, and is also a very passionate person who loves knitting."
Mamori's cheeks glowed with the happiness of our reconnection, a distinct opposite to the anxiety chewing at the corners of my mind. "I was also happy to live with her because Esther took me in as a daughter of her own, even though I'm not related to her in any way. She's a strong and independent woman I know."
I nodded, a mechanized bouncing of my head, as my mind contested in a turmoil of worry. The edges of my eyes quavered, a telltale sign of my gnawing anxiety. Mamori, now staring at me, picked up on my unease. Her eyebrow raised, creating a soft wrinkle of concern on her forehead.
"Is something wrong, Prim?" Mamori asked, her tone meshed with worry. I shook my head quickly, trying to send away her concern with a delicate wave of my hand. But Mamori was not one to be easily put off. She narrowed her eyes at me, her gaze squinted down to the swell that inflated from the pocket of my jeans.
A surge of guilt came over me as I slowly pulled out the faux leather wallet. I handed it out to her, my hands trembling ever so slightly under the weight of my actions. I expected anger, disgust, even shock. But what I received was the softening of her stare, a kind sigh breaking out of her lips, and an uncanny empathy that seemed to cross the gap between us.
"I thought you didn't have it?" she asked, her voice only just above a hushed tone. I swallowed hard, the truth coiled above my tongue like a bitter pill.
"I didn't mean to," I said. "My father's sick. I had to do something. And I didn't mean to steal from you. I mean, I don't want to steal, but I have no choice."
A silence suspended in the air, emphasized only by the distant sound of cars speeding. Mamori's soft smile, however, offered an ease for my disturbed head. "It's okay, Primrose," she murmured, her hand reaching out to gently squeeze mine.
The world around us appeared to grow pale into obscurity as her words rang in the silence of the late afternoon. A silent word of understanding and empathy hung weightily between the both of us, tethering us in a tapestry of unsaid thoughts. As the sun began to set, decorating the heavens in hues of darkened orange and brownish purple, I couldn't help but feel a gleam of faith cutting through the darkness that had become my life.
After the feat of returning Mamori's wallet, I looked at her as the corners of her lips wreathed upward in a lenient smile. There was a coziness in her eyes, like the first rays of morning driving away the coldness of the night. She took my hand in hers, her fingers folding around mine in a consoling grip, her voice carrying a tone of excitement.
"I can't wait to meet Elliot," she said. I felt a jolt at the mention of my adoptive father's name. I murmured a half-hearted "Y-Yeah," the words coming out as though they were too weighty for me to fetch, too worn out to put up a fight. I thought she was going to be mad.
"Y-You're not mad at me?" I asked.
"I'm not, Prim. I empathized your state, and I understand why you didn't admit earlier inside Officer Leo's office," she said. "However, I don't want to enable this kind of thing. People's belongings aren't just objects you can take away from them. I know you need the money, but who knows, they also need the cash as much as you, you know?"
I looked down, a pang of guilt ascending on top of my chest.
"But that aside, I want you to know that even though you're doing it to help your father, it still wouldn't make it right," she said. "However, I truly empathize you."
Mamori wrapped me in a warm embrace, smiling as she sighed lowly. After our talk, the walk to my home became a silent one, each step on the worn-down path the only beat my ears could hear. As the figure of our house came into sight, a frame parted itself from the veranda. The familiar silhouette of my adoptive father came into view. My heart quivered, like a young bird unsure of its flight.
Inching closer towards the doorway, a soft swishing notified me to the presence of Ophelia, her fur glinting in the waning light like spun gold. She circled around my legs, a quiet purr vibrating through the silent air as if to say, 'You're home.' I bent down, picking her up into my arms, and my heart snug at her contented meows.
I turned around towards Elliot, his face a painting of soft wrinkles. I paced into his embrace, my head eased under his chin, his arms encasing around me like a butterfly's cocoon. After I hugged Elliot, I turned towards Mamori, her face beaming with a warm smile that etched across her lips.
"Mamori, this is my adoptive father, Elliot," I said. I could see the joy in her eyes, a flicker that reflected my childhood memories of our shared ventures in the orphanage back in the days. "Elliot, this is Mamori, the friend I told you about... the one from the orphanage."
Elliot's face split into a smile, his eyes gleaming like two stars caught in the eventide. "Ah, so you're Mamori! Primrose told me a lot about you," he said, his tone ever so kind and warm, as pleasant as a hot cup of cocoa on a cold night.
"Sh-She did?" Mamori asked.
"Yup, she did. She told me a lot about you and your shenanigans together. I'm glad to see you here. Come," Elliot said, gesturing Mamori inside our tiny house.
Mamori's answer was a radiant smile, her joy beaming and infectious. Her merriment, mirrored on her face, was like a reflection showing a place where things could be simpler, where past grievances could be cured with an act of friendliness. The way Elliot and Mamori stared at each other, I felt a sense of tranquility came over me. I saw the unification of my two worlds, the past and the present, the memories of the orphanage back when I was a kid and my adoptive father, and for the first time since our reunion, I felt like things would be better. This was my home, with all its discolorations, all its colors, and all its love.
The moment suspended in the air like an insect caught in a spider's web, as delicate and as cherished. Elliot was speaking in a low, relaxing voice to Mamori. The irony of the situation was not gone on me, and I felt a rope groping in my stomach. The rich scent of hot cocoa enveloped our humble living room once we entered, lending a calming aura to the otherwise strained living room. Elliot had always had a flair for making the best cocoa, and in spite of our poor means, it was a small treat that we allowed to ourselves. I stared from a distance as he stirred the mixture in an old, slightly chipped white ceramic mug. The tune of the metal spoon gently hitting against the mug was a common rhythm that usually brought me ease. Today, however, it felt more like the tick-tock of a time bomb.
Mamori, on the other hand, turned to me. Her eyes, usually light and enthusiastic, held an affection that made my remorse twist even further. I looked as she walked in the worn-out carpet, her black boots sinking into the decades-old tendrils of fabric, her jacket opposing with our threadbare furniture.
"Prim," she called.
"Hmm?"
"I have something for you and your stepdad," she said, pulling out a few clump of cash from her wallet. Each note seemed to yell at me, jogging my memory of the wallet hidden in my pocket earlier, its contents now significantly lighter. I wanted to descend into the cracked floorboards, vanish into the wooden planks that groaned under the heaviness of our poverty. But Mamori's voice pulled me back instead.
"I want you to have this."
"Huh?"
"Take this," Mamori said while handing me the money.
"I-I c-can't," I said.
I stammered a refusal, but her soft smile was unyielding. "Please," she insisted, pressing the money into my hands. It felt like holding a hot coal, burning and accusatory.
"Consider it as my little something. A gift."
"No," I refused. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because," she said, "like what you said to me when we were kids: you can't just stand back and let things happen. If you have the capacity to help, then help. You are just, as much, part of the problem if you are just watching and not standing up for the people... or in this case help those in need."
The sound of paced steps echoed through the living room as Elliot arrived, holding a plastic tray bolstering a steaming mug of hot cocoa and a small plate of assorted biscuits. Upon Elliot's return, Mamori slipped in the cash on me before I could even return it to her. Then Mamori's eyes met mine for a short amount of time, a speechless conversation passing between us. I answered her with a slight nod of my head, casually telling her, Thank you.
She bobbed subtly before returning her gaze at Elliot who is now giving her the tray with a warm smile. As they talked, I stared them both, the bitterness etched in my mind not entirely from Mamori's stolen wallet now. The mug of hot cocoa and plate of biscuits now felt like a reminder of our poorness. As Mamori sipped the steaming cocoa, complimenting Elliot with its sweetness, I couldn't help but think about what it would be like to exist in a place where you could drink hot cocoa whenever you wanted. But for now, all I could do was silently watch Mamori and Elliot talk, the money still tucked in my hand, the scene misting before my eyes as a single, hot tear rolled down my cheek.
Odd. I almost never cry.
***
Later that evening, I tucked myself in bed as Ophelia jumped to sleep beside me. Mamori has left our house already, and Elliot had also closed the door. After a while, I was consumed by the silence of the evening. Few hours after I first closed my eyes, I realized I was once again enmeshed by the nonstop gripping of my recurring dream. Sleep had become a portal, not to rest, but to a world that appears in my head from time to time.
The dream always started the same way. I would find myself standing in a limitless sea of darkness, unembellished and quiet as a black velvet canvas. There was nothing to see, nothing to come in contact to, nothing to hear — only the feeling of cool air caressing my skin and the melodic beat of my heart approaching in my ears. And then, as if mustered by an unseen puppeteer, the massive Victorian house would emerge in the void, sand-like particles swirling around before it would finally materialize in my sight. It was a magical and majestic edifice, its embellished carvings worn by time and its sky-scraping spires touching the shadowy veil above. The sound of lost conversations and hushed secrets escaped from its vine-caparisoned walls, and a sense of sadness wrapped over it like a winding sheet. I knew every room, every sound, every passageway of this house, for I had visited it many times before — in my dreams.
As expectably as the house emerged, so would the man. He stepped out of the ether as if knitted from the very fabric of the void. There was an enchantment in him, an inviting tug that pull my eyes towards him. He was a figure opposed to the shadowy glow of the house, a paradox swathed in the veil of darkness.
His words usually reached me with a prescient pitch, sputtering lines like "You are our salvation" or "You are our hope." These puzzling words would echo through the empty room, leaving a reverberation of wariness in their wake. But tonight, the words never tumble out of his mouth. Instead, he inched closer towards me, his approach as quiet as a flight of an owl. The children trailed behind him as well, their small shapes covered in white clothings that seemed to contradict the darkness with a delicate light. They followed him with a quiet sternness, their eyes fixated on my direction with a mix of fear and hope.
As the man drew closer, his eyes came into contact with mine. He encased me in a warm embrace, and I stood there in total confusion. This is odder than me shedding a tear earlier. What's going on?
"Be careful, Prim," he said, his voice a soft breeze that disturbed the silent air. "Be wary. Be cautious. Be prepared." His words were like a mysterious and strange puzzle, each one a piece that refused to fit into the image I tried to fabricate in my mind.
"Be wary about what?" I asked.
He lets go of the hug as he looked at me in the eyes. "Everything will make sense soon. It may seem confusing right now, but you will understand everything in the right time."
With that, the sight began to shatter, the images fracturing like glass. The man, the children, the house — they all became blurry, disintegrating into the darkness. I stick onto the paling sound of his words as I was pulled back into reality.
It may seem confusing right now, but you will understand everything in the right time.
I woke up, my heart beating rapidly in my chest, the lingering pieces of the dream still remaining before my eyes. I was flooded with confusion, left to ponder over the weird warning and the assurance of me understanding everything. This dream had always been an enigma, but it now felt like an unsolvable riddle that's more than just a conundrum. What was I to be wary of? To be cautious? What was it that will make sense soon?
I tried catching my breath, looking up at Ophelia, before eventually calming down. What will I understand in the right time?