Purple Haze in Sebastian’s Eyes
By Ulysses U. Navarro, SSP
SUMMER ... HEAT ... FRICTION
This story began like all others except that it ended the way it should not. Letters that became words were like the anarchist raindrops that fell whenever and wherever they wanted. Some hit the concrete pavements of the garden and went divided. Others fell on the blades of the dying thistles but slid down to be drunk by the oven-baked earth. Others still fell on me. I begged them to stay but then, they were not really meant for me, I guessed so.
It was a paranoid Thursday early evening. The sun must have been a little bit lazy that day so it rested rather earlier than usual. The air was a melancholic soup of a humid dry spell characteristic of a typical summer cynicism. Nocturnal creatures should have been singing their choicest repertoire by this time but there was silence lingering in the air, except for the rustling noise of the coconut leaves. For more than six months now, I have been into this engagement trying to entangle the trouble that plagued our business. It was rather a difficult task, though definitely not a boring one. I already went into sleepless nights trying to measure this and that. Surely, it has given me some sense of self-worth and pride, boasting that I alone can solve the problem. Fat-headed? Who cared, anyway?
And so, I decided to take a stroll for a while. I have been confined in this building for more than a week now and it gave me the creeps, like I was slowly being eaten up. I needed some fresh air and a new perspective. So I walked out of the lobby. One... two... six... eight! Nothing has changed so far. It still took me eight measured steps to completely get out of the lobby. I advanced westward, thinking that it was such a classic joy to see the dying sun. But I was frustrated to see the purple haze instead of a butter-glazed sky. So I just remained on my place for a while and regretted that I should have not gone out of the building. I should have stayed in my room and doused myself with Gustave Flaubert's “Madame Bovary.” I hate this when it happens.
As I was blaming the wrong timing I had, Sebastian came. He, too, was ready for tonight's meeting. Sebastian had been a ferocious animal the past few weeks. He used to be patient and comical but he had been different these past weeks. Probably, he's been losing his patience. Anyway, people sometimes experience mood swings.
I was skeptic about Sebastian's presence now. His broad shoulders brought an air of dominance. I pretended not to have seen him coming my way but his eyes seemed everywhere.
“Want to enjoy the evening breeze?” I asked him though evening was still an hour away.
He did not answer. Five ... six... his footsteps stopped. He took me by my shoulder and suddenly slapped my face. I was totally surprised and was grounded to a halt. But I automatically looked at his eyes.
“What's wrong with you?” I tried to be as calm as I could. This was frustrating. I never saw him display such anger before.
“This was just the perfect timing. Come, walk with me and you will see.” Sebastian walked westward where the crescent moon had just risen. His feet were heavy and threatening but his spicy perfume was ambrosia to my vulnerable being. Just like the legend in Magnesia, I walked straight to the lodestone which was Sebastian. I placed my footsteps on his footprints. This was how he walked, consistent while at the same time unpredictable. I tried to walk faster. And calmed myself at the same time.
“This is not happening.” I told myself. “This is not happening...” I repeated as I pinched my left arm. I felt an immediate pain; this was for real.
Sebastian stopped. He stared at me. The lines on his forehead were visible and his eyes were questioning something I could not comprehend.
“For the last time, I want to tell you that I never intended to go this far. This was all your fault, you and your lousy ...”
“... stop it!” I cried. I could not stand hearing another accusation from him. He has pained me so much but this one was devastating.
“And how could you correct the mistakes done? How could you redeem the fallen moments you've been into because of me? Tell me!”
I hate arguing with him but I tried to defend myself. “But I thought they were the right thing to do” , though I was not really sure about my answer.
“And what is the right thing for you?” His tone was insulting. They were filled with contempt and it appeared that no amount of explanation would satisfy his belief.
“When one ... is happy and satisfied with what was done.”
“Silly answer. Come on now, it is getting dark.”
With that, we walked toward the building. No one dared to speak another word.
STRINGS OF ENTANGLEMENT
That night, I did not attend the meeting. Neither did Sebastian. I went to bed earlier than usual and intended to take a long rest. But sleep refused to blanket me. I turned my body from one side to another but all I got were cramped arms. I turned the lampshade on and pulled a book from a nearby shelf. Oh, it was poetic Whitman's “Leaves of the Grass.” I have not been comfortable with poetry. They give me some sense of artificiality. Surely, they bring with them lots of emotions but they were never expressed directly - in the most natural way. I returned Whitman and took another instead. Hugo's “Les Miserables”, what a nice pick! I opened it to page 765 where Marius comforts the dying Eponine in the middle of a barricade. I always loved this scene: Marius spoke words of love for Eponine who sacrificed her life against a bullet that should have killed the man she adored so much but has love not for her but for Cosette. I often cried for Eponine though I never blamed Marius. Indeed, in times of unrest, some true love abound. I read through the pages over and over, and Eponine lived and died again and again. Finally, I closed the book and yawned. My arms were raised but my system wouldn’t follow. I closed my eyes for a while and opened it: oh no, I was very much awake! So I just reclined on my bed and started counting crows flying above my head. “One, two, three... sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight ...ninety nine.” But it did not work at all. How about bleating sheep. It was just the same. Now what? I wanted to sleep but I can't. I knew it, the thought of Sebastian kept me awake. I slapped my face, trying to recreate the burning sensation I got from his hand. It pained me. I did it again, hurtful enough that my cheek turned radiant pink. Sebastian, how could had he done such a thing? He was my best friend but why was he treating me this way? This wasn't really like him at all. He had lots of explaining to do. I won't take these things for granted. Tomorrow, I'll confront him.
I took my Discman and fed some classical collection. Maybe, a dose of Vivaldi will drown me to sleep. I pushed on the button and in a little less than a few seconds, the orchestra began to sedate me. A little later or so, I guess I fell asleep.
PLAYING GODS
Friday. I lost the thought of Sebastian until the evening came. Right after supper, I strolled along the garden on the northern part of the compound. It's my own sacred place. Although there was nothing there but hibiscus and a few wild roses, for me it was the most flamboyant garden I've ever seen. Like a youthful whore, it seduced me to be with it every now and then. The scent of the tranquil earth entered my soul and sweetly poisoned me even for just a while. Like a saint in ecstasy, I felt so comforted but stirred at the same moment, divine yet so sinful, fulfilled but wanting to feel more. I slapped my face to be awakened. I knew it, it was just another wishful thinking.
I walked a little eastward where a meter-high jagged rock stood. Two years ago, I chiseled out my initials on it. They were still visibly there. I always thought of this rock as my grave marker. No epitaph would be ever needed. No birth date and no death date yet it has everything that speaks of me. At other times I also think that it is “actually” already my grave marker. With it were all my dead days and dead memories, dead parts and dead paths. A solemn requiem was all that was needed to complete the ceremony. It was while I was pondering my virtual demise when I heard Sebastian's voice.
“Enjoying the evening breeze?”
“Those were my lines.” I never dared to look at him. I just continued staring at the rock in front of me. I picked up some pebbles and threw them mindlessly.
“You haven't forgiven me yet. I mean, the thing I did yesterday.”
“Why? You haven't asked forgiveness yet.”
“Then you really haven't forgiven me yet.”
I stood up and glanced at him. I tried to overcome the air of dominance that lingered between us. This was very abnormal and I have never been in this situation before, but I was mustering both my primal fear and discipline. I sat on a nearby steel bench. He walked slowly and sat, too, a few inches away from me.
“Why did you slap me last night?” I was trying to be strong and convincing but I guessed I sounded miserable.
“Because you deserved it. You need to be awakened to the reality that we can never be the same friends that we used to be. The game is over. You can now stand on your own.”
He stood up, took a good look of me, and said forcibly, “I have done my part. It's all over now.”
The flaming heat from Sebastian's eyes penetrated my eyes, trespassed my mind and triggered memories from a distant past. Ah, yes, I remembered. I had just broken up with Giselle then, my third girlfriend. That damn pretty lady trapped me madly with her strong embraces. So addicted was I to her that her decision for us to cool off for a while pissed me off badly. I found out later that Giselle was dating another guy. It devastated me and I was a madman for weeks. I was trying to see things clearly and be man enough to cope up with the sudden change but my obsession for Giselle grew wilder than I could ever handle. It was during one of those insane moments when Sebastian entered the picture. His apartment was in the second floor while I was staying in the third floor. Sebastian's presence was the exact therapy I needed. I remembered it well, it was a humid Wednesday evening. I was silently sitting on this same sacred garden. Sebastian came with two cool cans of Cali shandy. He offered a can to me. I was reluctant but, after all, “misery loves company.” In a little less than a couple of minutes, he already jumped into my inner self.
“Feeling sick?” he said.
“Sort of. Maybe...”
“Maybe you should try to free your girl and begin spending your time with another. We could be friends, if you want to.”
He felt sorry for the loneliness I was in to. He told me that he had been observing me for the past few days and he felt obliged to perk me up. I thanked him for his concern, and he sealed our acquaintance with a firm grip on my shoulder.
The following nights saw us in each others company – talking so much about many things – from the silliest episode of the X-Files to the sexiest girl in town. We never ran out of topic, and we also never ran out of Cali. At certain weekends, we went downtown and chased girls for fun. And on other lazy nights, we drowned ourselves with whiskey. Twice or thrice, we even woke up and realized that we shared the same bed like nasty little boys. We became naughtier each passing day and we became inseparable partners in every funny sin we could think of.
Then suddenly, the dream was over!
“I have done my part. It's all over now.” I was re-awakened by Sebastian's voice.
“Can't you say anything more than that? You've been puzzling me for the past months and blame me for every cynicism. What has entered your mind, Sebastian?” I tried controlling my ire but I simply wasn't able to do so.
He raised his clenched fist, took me by my collar and punched me so hard that my back was pushed to the steel bars of the bench. I stood up, unmindful of the sudden pain and retaliated him with a similar blow just below his chest. Soon, we exchange bouts and like experienced pugilists, we hid our pains and concentrated on beating the other. We fell on the ground. The night seemed to be enjoying our fight: I saw the moon rising and falling as cicadas and crickets provided the eerie soundtrack. I received more painful punches that I ever gave; Sebastian's bigger than me. But when I saw blood gushing from his severed lips, I stood up and signaled a halt. He stood up, panting and weak but he never lost his domineering stance.
“Speak up, Sebastian, and explain to me what this is all about.”
He was silent.
“Come on, you are not the Riddler and I am not a genius to unlock your unsaid words. Will you stop acting that way.” I was beginning to exhaust the patience I got.
Strange. But the moon which had just risen was now nowhere to be seen and the sky turned to a velvety black occasionally accented by silver forked lightning. The wind was dry and cold. Soon, big drops of rain fell.
“Speak up, Sebastian. It is getting late but we have to settle this down.”
He bowed his head. The wind blew on him and crazily unbuttoned his soiled polo. Another gush of wind exposed his bare chest. He began to shiver. Then suddenly, he fell on his knees.
“This should not be happening. This is not what I should feel, at least, not for you.” His cries were more of a child than of a man.
Seeing those lachrymal drops blending with the rain, I cupped my hands and ran towards him to catch them. But I was so confused now, more confused than ever. His words meant something but I did not know how to understand them. It was insane.
I embraced him as tightly as I could. I wanted to feel once more the warmth we used to share. If keeping our hearts hear the echo of each others beat would ease his pain, doing it was more than instinct to me. I held him around my arms, not to imprison the poor boy's soul but to secure him an anchor that must steady him. The harder I held him, the stronger the rain fell on us and, soon, the garden was muddied with puddles gathering the precious rainwater. Then there was a sudden stillness. I sensed a ritualistic silence. The downpour became steady and the wind tamed itself. Then within a split second, Sebastian snapped himself and ran way from the garden. He was so swift.
“Sebastian, come back!” I cried.
“Don't worry, I'll be fine.”
I heard him say he'll be fine but his voice told me that he won't. I intended to follow him but I felt so miserably weak. Part of me was with Sebastian and seeing him falling apart tortured me down to my soul. But I hated him for having grown enigmatic. I knew he was sick of something but he wouldn't tell me what it was.
“Shit. Damn you Sebastian. You've been keeping a secret. Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!”
Then I realized that I was desecrating my holy grounds. But I couldn't help it. Soon, a stream of tears flowed from my eyes. I was never troubled this way before.
I decided to leave the garden. By now, the rain has stopped but the sky was still very dark and the gods were still playing tenpin on their olympian alley. Before I was about to take my second step, however, I heard a sharp gunshot. It was from the building. I ran wildly and as fast as I could. I took the shortest route possible even if it meant running over thistles and bushy hibiscus. I must be there.
My feet were muddied as I entered the lobby. Immediately, I went to the left corner of the second floor to ensure that I just have had an exaggerated thought. Yet before I reached the corner, my apartment neighbors were already in front of Sebastian's door. Their faces bearing Van Gogh's brush strokes. It was indeed Sebastian... he blew his heart out.
There was nothing more that I can ever do.
EPITAPH
It was Thursday once more, almost a week after my friend's death, or was it his breaking away? His body was flown to Puerto Princesa last Monday where his family intended to cremate his body. I was supposed to have gone to that beautiful city but I could not stand the thought of accompanying my lifeless friend to his final destination. How could have Sebastian done such a thing? I felt so guilty. I could have prevented it but I was a fool to see or to touch deeply his suffering soul. Or, has Sebastian shelled himself away from me? Poor boy, his last days were riddles to me and I wasn't able to decipher even a single one. Was it, after all, a poor life with Sebastian? But how about the laughter? The girls? And the cans of Cali? The blood compact and the time we both wasted and treasured in each other's company?
I took some pebbles and threw them to the sky, hoping that they would somehow reach the heaven and hit God or one of his angels. But all of them returned to the ground. I picked a hibiscus bud and walked away from the garden.
Then I remembered myself crying: “Sebastian, come back.”
And he answered back: “Don't worry, I'll be fine.”
I hope so, Sebastian. I really hope so.
