WESTTHESUNFROMANOTHERSTAR, Chapter 16: Happier
Daotok
In the evening in San Francisco, I gazed out through the hospital room window, the beige curtains fluttering with the breeze.
I felt much better than I did in the morning when I had a headache and was all achy, barely able to get out of bed. I looked back at my hand, pierced with an IV line.
Normally, I consider myself someone who goes to the hospital often, so being hooked up like this isn’t a strange sight to me. If my hand could talk, it would probably complain about having enough, being all pricked up.
My room neighbor just left, looking somewhat displeased after bombarding me with questions. I had just talked with North, who grumbled about the recent incident, saying I was too careless and that my roommate also felt guilty. That must be true because he just apologized to me. It’s not his fault, he didn’t force me to do anything.
With a habit of always doing things to the fullest and often forgetting about oneself, consequences like this always follow. Like when working, I give it my all until I get sick, not knowing how many times it’s happened, but even when sick, I still work. This is something people around me constantly complain about. I don’t know why either; maybe it’s because I think I’m always okay and can handle it.
After lounging around for nearly half an hour, the doctor came to check on me and said I could go home. Nothing serious anymore. After the doctor left, I changed my clothes and went outside the room, where I saw my roommate already waiting.
I followed him out of the hospital after he paid for my treatment and collected the medicine. It was getting dark outside. While he was driving, I asked:
“Did you find anything at the cemetery?”
“No.”
“…”
He didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. I turned my attention back to the view outside the car window, surprised to see spirits walking all over the street. I then remembered I hadn’t put on my protective bracelet and started searching for it in my pants pocket.
But I found nothing. I remembered taking it off and putting it back in my pocket at the cemetery this morning, or maybe it fell out when I fainted or when I changed clothes at the hospital.
“Looking for this?” the person next to me said, as if knowing what I was looking for. He handed me my bracelet, and seeing it immediately made me feel relieved.
If I had lost it, it would have been a big deal. I didn’t want to see spirits until I got back to Thailand, and if I lost it, my grandmother would scold me.
I took it and quickly put it on.
“Thank you.”
I sincerely expressed my gratitude, and he seemed surprised to hear those words from me.
“Where did you drop it?”
“At the cemetery.”
“Oh.”
We didn’t talk much more until we got home. The homeowner told me to go to bed, reasoning that I should fully recover before doing anything else to avoid worsening my condition. Since the homeowner insisted, I couldn’t refuse, so I went back to my room and managed to fall asleep.
Having slept all day and then going to bed early in the evening, I woke up in the middle of the night feeling very refreshed. There was no way I could go back to sleep, so I decided to go outside for a little walk to get some fresh air.
The sound of a guitar being played in a relaxed tune came from the back of the house, prompting me to follow the sound curiously. I saw my roommate from the side, cigarette in his mouth, sitting and strumming the guitar in his hand.
He must have heard my footsteps because he turned to look at me.
“Not sleeping?”
“I’m up.”
“Are you better?”
“I think so.” I noticed the ashtray was full of cigarette butts, and there were several empty beer cans scattered around. This amount was too much for one person to consume in such a short time.
“Did you find anything?”
“Now?”
“Yeah.”
“I did.”
“Sure?”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded slightly because I now felt I was fine. No more fatigue or headache. Hearing that, he put down his guitar and stood up, looking not so good, like someone completely exhausted, his face mixed with concern and confusion, barely concealed.
It must be because this is the last place; with the answer right in front of him, he couldn’t keep himself calm.
“Then let’s search.”
“Uh-huh.”
It was midnight, with only the light from the outdoor lamps around. I took off my bracelet and focused, as nighttime is more their time, making it easier to see. He led me around the house as he had done before.
But whether it was the backyard, inside each room, the living room, everyone’s bedrooms, the bathroom, the music practice room, or even the balcony, I didn’t find his mother anywhere.
The last place he deliberately avoided was the living room at the back of the house, an area with a fireplace, a sofa in front of it, and near the sofa, a rocking chair.
The rocking chair…
“That chair.”
“Your mom passed away there.”
“…” I didn’t say anything, just stared at the white chair that stood still, took a deep breath, and looked intently, but there was no one else in the room. I shook my head slightly, as an answer, and the person standing next to me said nothing.
“Can I sit…here?” I asked for permission because I felt there was something about that chair. If I tried sitting, I might understand.
“Uh-huh.”
Once I got permission, I walked over and sat down on the white rocking chair. After a while, my heart started beating faster, and I felt an indescribable warmth in my chest. I moved the chair to rock gently, making myself comfortable, and suddenly, tears started flowing uncontrollably because this was where she had passed away, making the sensation much clearer.
“…huh, huh.”
“What?” He asked with a shaky voice, quickly sitting on the nearby sofa. “Here…where she took her last breath.”
“…”
“Christmas…right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“The Christmas tree was placed there.” I said as memories of his mother’s last moments before she died came back, though faint, they were still visible.
“You…and dad, sat on the sofa, warming yourselves by the fire together.”
“…”
“She was…so happy, your mom.”
I spoke with a trembling voice, unable to control it, tears streaming down my face along with an overwhelming warmth in my heart.
Strangely, I wasn’t crying because I felt pain. Not at all.
“She wasn’t in pain.”
“…What do you mean, but you’re crying?” His face was filled with pain and confusion, his voice not as confident as it usually was.
“She must have prepared herself for her own death…huh. It’s just that she’s
sad…that she won’t see you grow up anymore.”
My words started to break due to exhaustion, but I tried to express what I felt, both thoughts and the feelings of the mother before she left.
“She was saddened, but…”
“But what?”
“She’s not here anymore.”
“…”
“Huh…she must have moved on. Not here or anywhere else, only love remains. I feel warmth, no pain or sadness.”
“…”
“Your mother, she…she passed peacefully.”
…
Arthit
I looked at the extinguished fireplace in front of me, not understanding, my heart pounding like it hadn’t in a long time, my hands numb to the point of immobility. Mom…isn’t here anymore.
It was the answer I had prepared for, but when it came true, preparation seemed meaningless. As soon as I entered this room, one of my legs stepped back unconsciously because of that white rocking chair where my mother took her last breath. I could hardly bear to look at it.
Because of the illness, my mother had to fight for years until there was no hope left for treatment. She was one of many patients who decided to stay at home, at least to see her loved ones and familiar places one last time before she went to sleep forever.
We used to sit here by the fireplace during Christmas. A few days later, she passed away peacefully on that chair, as if just taking a nap, like she always did, and then I would wake her for dinner. The only difference was there was no more breath, no matter how much I tried to wake her.
I didn’t know how my mother felt in the moments before seeing only darkness forever. Was she scared? Was she sad or in pain?
But according to what the little guy said, at least, my mother wasn’t in pain. She wasn’t sad or scared.
Mom left…truly at peace, didn’t she?
Even though my mother left many words before she died, I couldn’t remember them because I was too scared and in denial, telling myself she would be fine, she would live for many more years, there would be a miracle like there had been for so many others. She didn’t need to leave any final words at all.
Until the day when no matter how much I called, there was no response. I still told myself she was just beside me, just invisible. But reality always reminded me it was impossible. I became just a man who couldn’t come to terms with my mother’s passing.
Mom never showed her own pain. I don’t know if her smiling at that time was just to make me and Direk feel at ease, or not. Mom said she had accepted her departure. I don’t know if that was really what she meant or not.
But if she said so…then it must have been so.
Only love remains.
“If she was worried…then why didn’t she stay?” I looked up to ask the person sitting on the white chair.
“She believed.”
“…”
“She believed that both of you would be strong and could move forward.” The other’s words made me sigh, lean back against the sofa, and look up at the ceiling, with many feelings swirling inside, indescribable in words.
She believed that Direk and I could move forward like that, huh…
I sat there, lost in thought on the sofa for several minutes before I had the strength to get up. I didn’t even notice that the short guy on the sofa had fallen asleep. When I touched him, I found he wasn’t feverish, so his illness probably hadn’t worsened, just the usual exhaustion, I guess.
I walked out to sit in the same garden behind the house and called Direk. It wasn’t long before he answered with his usual complaints.
“Direk, Mom’s not here anymore.”
(…)
“She’s not here or anywhere.”
(Uh-huh.)
“He said Mom wasn’t in pain or sadness before she died, maybe he can sense people’s feelings or something. He said Mom was just worried and sad about not being with us.”
(…)
“But Mom believed that both of us could move forward.”
(Are you crying?)
“Huh?”
(You’re sniffling.)
“No, man.” I said, forcing out a laugh, wiping away tears that I didn’t know had started flowing, trying to dry them but they kept coming.
(Cry then, I won’t make fun of you.)
“Direk, you are a real joker, damn, huh…shit, tears just won’t stop.” I began to sob as Direk had said, trying to hold it back but couldn’t.
(And do you believe what that kid said?)
“Ha, huh…yeah, at this point, I have to believe it, it’s…how do I put it, Direk, it hurts like hell to know mom’s not here anymore, but it’s such a relief to know she passed peacefully.”
(She said before she died she wasn’t in pain or sad, right?)
“Huh…yeah.”
(That’s good.) the voice on the other end said, starting to sound a bit shaky. Because for all this time, it was Direk and I who watched over mom, seeing her fight the illness, undergo treatment, endure the pain both physically and emotionally for years. At least now, we know she wasn’t in pain when she passed.
“Why am I crying, Direk, damn it, I can’t stop, huh.”
(For you, Miss Emma might have just left for real, maybe because you’ve only now accepted it.)
“Yeah, huh, that must be it. Even when mom died, I thought she was just asleep, but now I have to accept it.”
(Yeah, good. Move on for real this time.)
“Must be so.” I said, wiping my tears hard once more, “Does it still hurt for you,
Direk, when you think of mom?”
(It hurts sometimes, but thinking of her brings more happiness than pain.) “Really?”
(If you accept it, it gets better, man.)
“Uh-huh. I hope so.”
I talked with Direk for a while longer about mom, reminiscing about the past and the times when she was still with us. It used to be taboo to talk about her because it was too painful, but now I feel more nostalgic than anything – missing the things she liked, the food she cooked, the songs she listened to, the paintings she made, everything.
(Stopped crying yet?)
“Who’s crying, huh, wimp.” I said while wiping away the last drop of tear from the corner of my eye.
(And when are you coming back?)
“Tomorrow.”
(Okay.)
“Direk.”
(What?)
“I’m embarrassed. I love Direk, you know. I damn well love you Direk.”
(Yeah, I love you too.)
“Ugh, why are you saying it back? It’s embarrassing.”
(Well, what about you, I’m also embarrassed, have you ever said it before?)
“Yeah, yeah, then I’ll hang up.”
(Okay.)
And then I hung up. With the way I am with Direk, it’s not hard to guess we’re not the father-son type who often say “I love you” or have heartfelt talks. I don’t know what made me say that, but whatever.
I lit up a new cigarette and picked up the guitar to play, hoping to ease the turmoil of feelings inside. It was warm, sad, relieved yet disappointed, comforting but still heart-wrenching, having accepted the truth which was painful.
And the tears, damn it, they started flowing again. I didn’t try to stop them like before, just let them flow while strumming the guitar, playing the melody my mom liked.
At least, I could play the songs she liked…
Even if I was crying while playing, damn it.
After nearly half an hour, I felt a little better. The tears had stopped, and tonight was the first time I cried so heavily. I went to the bathroom to wash my face and looked in the mirror to find my appearance was a mess, but still, I looked good. I walked out, grabbed my guitar, intending to go play on the rooftop instead because sitting in the backyard earlier, I got bitten by some insect. Thinking back, it was a pathetic sight, smoking, playing guitar, with tears plopping down. Got bitten by some damn bug on my feet, too sad to even move.
I was surprised when I reached the top floor balcony to see someone standing there for a short time. You woke up and came to stand here posing like some artist on someone else’s rooftop?
“Standing here like a model.”
“…” He didn’t answer, just slowly turned to look at me. I raised my eyebrows in surprise.
“Don’t look.”
“At first, I was going to sit in the backyard, but I saw you crying.”
“Damn, you saw that?”
“Uh-huh.”
Shit, why did this little guy have to see me crying…
I made a sour face looking at him before sighing, deciding to let it go, and then walked over to sit on the small sofa. The rooftop balcony was spacious enough to sit and watch Dao. The little guy was leaning against the balcony railing. “You probably won’t read my feelings again, right?” I asked, remembering how he had once read my emotions, making me wary ever since.
“No. Just reading your mom’s feelings was almost too much.”
“So you passed out because of that, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“How did you know she wasn’t anywhere else?”
“It’s the feeling.” He said, staring off into the distance, standing there with the gentle breeze blowing in, “that she really passed peacefully.”
“Uh-huh, that’s good.” I said before grabbing my guitar, starting to play again while asking another question I had intended to ask earlier but he had fallen asleep,
“How did you know about Christmas?”
“I saw it.”
“Like, from mom’s memories?”
“Probably.”
“Do you sense things that strongly?”
“I don’t know, maybe because it was where she passed. The happiest memory before she died, she probably wanted to hold onto it, so it lingered.”
“Oh, uh-huh.” I nodded slightly. If mom was happy about Christmas, that was good. Every year, Direk and I came back home to celebrate Christmas together, it felt like we were doing it for her too, “Yeah, don’t go telling anyone I was crying, especially not North.”
“Why do you have to say it?”
“Come on, in case I want to tease you with it.”
“Do you have to tease? It’s not even funny.”
“Then what do you find fun?” I said, sounding annoyed, still sticking to my statement that he’s like a low-battery robot, “Anyway, thanks, it’s been a few exhausting days.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’ll finish painting Mom’s portrait, right?”
“Yeah. I’ve taken the job.”
That was all he responded with. I continued strumming my guitar while on the balcony, looking at the pitch-black sky, with the breeze blowing occasionally.
Neither of us spoke, only the sound of my guitar filled the silence.
I don’t know if he was annoyed since I suddenly showed up to play guitar while he was quietly enjoying the view, but who cares, this is my house after all. In that silence, my mind wandered through various thoughts. When curiosity about what he sensed struck me, I spoke up.
“When you said Mom believed I could move on, how did you know?”
“It’s a feeling.”
“Go on, explain more.”
“It seemed like she wasn’t worried about having to die; there was confidence in that.”
“Damn detailed.” I said to myself. If I hadn’t known, I’d be surprised, but the short guy’s senses are really impressive, though they come with their downsides and dangers, “And when you said she went to a good place, where?” “Don’t know.” He answered quietly.
“Oh.”
“Just know she went somewhere good, but what happened after that, I don’t know.”
“But you said she went somewhere good. So it’s good, right?” I said softly, reinforcing what I believed, almost as if I was trying to convince myself that Mom was happy somewhere.
“…” I looked up to see when he had come over to hand me a tissue. I took it, puzzled, before realizing I was tearing up again. I sighed, annoyed with myself. Why are these damn tears flowing so much? Just for tonight. After this, no more tears, damn it.
“I was just thinking if mom is happy now…is that it?”
“Uh-huh, do you think it’s like that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh.” I raised my hand, using a tissue to wipe my tears vigorously.
“I only know she passed peacefully, but what happens after, I’m not sure.” “At least, normal people would say she must be happy now, something like that, right?”
“I really don’t know if your mom is happy now, but…”
“But?”
“But one thing.”
“What?”
“Your mom wanted you to be happy.”
“…”
“Because no matter what, she’s gone, it’s you who’s still alive that should be happy. If you keep being sad, how can your mom be happy?”
“…”
“So from now on, don’t be sad and be very happy, okay?”
“No one’s ever told me that, you know?”
“Maybe because you’ve never shown your sadness to anyone.”
“How did you know then?”
“I’ve read your feelings, remember?” He stood in front of me, speaking in his usual soft voice.
“Yeah, right.” I said with a big sigh.
Because in my whole life, no one had ever said that to me. No one had told me not to be sad because I never showed my sadness, and people like me didn’t need or never had anyone tell them to be very happy.
“…What?” He asked, confused when I was just staring at him with a surprised look.
“Nothing.” I averted my gaze, looking elsewhere. He turned back to lean against the balcony where he was before.
After a while, he excused himself to go to bed, leaving me alone on the stupid sofa, looking at the sky above while enjoying the cool breeze. My mind kept racing with thoughts I couldn’t stop.
To think of it, that short guy is the only one who understands my feelings. Even if it’s because of his special abilities.
“It’s the ones who are still alive like you who should be happy. If you keep being sad, how can your mom be happy?”
“From now on, don’t be sad and be happy as much as you can.” You didn’t just help me find Mom.
You also helped me.
Helped me who had been dwelling in pain for many years. Those words mean a lot to me.
Thank you, really…
Leave a Reply