The Sad Side of Happy

8: if

THE DAYS SEEMED TO pass by in a blur; every day was a reminder that life was fleeting—everyone had to make the most out of it. But life was different when you’re in catharsis camp—or when you’re attending two Support Group meetings, trying to adjust the morning ones because the people were always trying to please each other. In simple terms, to Elisa, there was an invisible sign taped on everyone’s foreheads, saying: I’m here because they said I needed this!

Elisa was the first to arrive in the assembly area. The cabin was slightly bigger than Tyra’s cabin office; there were fifteen chairs shaped in a typical circle, and a small table was situated at the center with a bunch of finger food and refreshments at most twenty people could eat. The morning meetings were more generous with food than the afternoon because supper was already prepared by the time they finished the meeting. It made sense, but Elisa still felt like it was unfair.

“Hello there.”

Elisa stood from her seat and greeted back. “My name is Elisa,” she said and outstretched her hand to the woman in front of her. “Everyone calls me Elisa.”

The woman shook her hand firmly and said, “Wonderful, beautiful name, Elisa. I’m Christine. Sullivan explained to me why you rescheduled.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t,” Elisa chorused, “I still take the afternoon meetings.” She then explained the whole ordeal of her schedule.

Christine only let out a hearty chuckle. “My, my,” she said, “I’d want you to stay here, though. You look like you could bring sunshine over here.”

Elisa only smiled in response. It was only fifteen minutes later, when the cabin was full, that she understood what Christine meant—it’s because everyone wore that invisible sign on their foreheads. Christine chattered mostly, talked about the same thing Elisa’s counselor talked about in the afternoon meetings: About not becoming lesser persons when someone is better than us. She was talking animatedly about something—her love for animals—and then it was time for introductions or the individual sharing part.

The bullshitting part.

Christine scanned the circle and said, “Melanie”—a tall girl with ash-gray hair and a sharp jawline looked at Christine with a forced smile—“would you like to go first?”

“Lovely,” Melanie replied and sat up straight. “I’m Melanie. I’m turning twenty-four next week. I was diagnosed with clinical depression. And for a certain time in my life—but not so long ago—I was anorexic and suffered bulimia. I quit school when I was seventeen for some reason. Anyway, I’m here because only a few people understood my past, you know? I think it’s the same for all of us.” Everyone nodded their heads. “I’m getting better. I have a nutritionist now, and apparently, he’s my fiancé.”

Christine nodded her head in understanding. “It must be hard, going through all that,” she said, “but we hear you. You are brave. Everyone let Melanie hear it.”

And everyone chorused, some in a hopeful voice, some in monotone, “We hear you, Melanie.” 

She nodded her head in appreciation and smiled at everyone. The cabin door then creaked. All heads turned to the direction of the sound.

“Marc,” Christine acknowledged him, “nice of you to join us.” When Marc made his way to the circle, she continued, “Just for the information of everyone, Marc had just completed his Support Group program two days ago. Let’s congratulate him on his wonderful progress!” 

Everyone clapped, except for Elisa who didn’t seem to understand what was going on. Marc sat four chairs away from Elisa and smiled appreciatively to everyone. He waved his hands in the air, signaling everyone to stop. He looked around the circle and, for a very brief moment, met eyes with Elisa. Christine spoke, “We are very proud of you, Marc. Do you have anything you want to say?”

He nodded and took out a neatly folded piece of paper from his jean’s back pocket. He said, “I’m Marc Khader. I’m nineteen years old.” He paused and cut a glance at Elisa. He continued, slightly stuttering, “Some of you don’t know that I — I have a minor speech defect caused by the trauma from my accident. If I read from a paper I can — can say the things I want to say with ease. So, here it goes.” Another pause. He read, “I’m still taking daily therapy sessions with a really good psychiatrist. My progress is slow but I think I’m feeling okay now. It’s a long road—healing. But just like what our friends said—never forget to look back and smile and congratulate yourself for a job well done.” Everyone nodded their heads. “Anyway, I’m here to say goodbye, but not goodbye-goodbye. Just that I’ll see you around. Yeah. It was really good — yeah, good—knowing that I wasn’t alone. I hope everyone feels the same way too—assured.”

Elisa hadn’t expected for Marc Khader to write such a crappy message that still made her sad and torn. She didn’t know if she was supposed to cry or to laugh but she clapped along with everyone else as he finished anyway. And then everyone said their short impromptu messages to Marc. He attentively listened to everyone. And then Elisa Ridley was one of the few people left who hadn’t said a thing to him. Christine sat up on her seat and said, “Anyone else who’d like to say their good wishes to Marc?”

Melanie chorused, “I think Elisa has something to say.”

“She’s new here and had just met Marc,” someone said. That wasn’t entirely true but neither Elisa nor Marc denied it. She was fidgeting in her seat and Christine was aware of it.

Christine said, “It’s okay, dear, you don’t have to say—”

“No, I’d like to say something,” came Elisa’s quick response. Her breaths came quickly as she focused her eyes on Marc, who never looked her way again. “Well, I just want him to know that it’s never his fault.” She paused. “Marc, you don’t have to apologize for being who you are. You...didn’t choose this life cause this life chose you but you can do whatever the hell you want. You just…continue living and try to have a nice day,” Elisa said. She looked at her hands and absentmindedly fidgeted with the loose thread of her shirt. “And I hope you did that. Looking back and congratulating yourself, I mean. I’m proud — I mean, we all are proud of you.”

Marc still had his eyes on her. “Thank you. That was reassuring. And great,” he said, awkwardly, unsure what to say. Elisa nodded and smiled to the floor. Everyone was clapping their hands again.

Twelve more personal stories, and numerous ‘we hear you’ and ‘we are proud of you’ later, Christine had finally raised her hands in praise and prayed a closing prayer. “Benevolent Father, we praise You, and only You. We are gathered here today as strong-minded people to remind each other that we will not give up. Lord, we hope that throughout our healing process, we will be guided by You, as You grant upon us wisdom and peace of mind…”

The prayer lasted for almost ten minutes as everyone took turns in saying their prayer or whatever wish they asked of the Lord. At some point, someone mentioned about Marc’s speech defects—to which gained a few amens, and Melanie prayed for everyone’s appetite which also gained an abundance of amen. And then Christine finally said, “This we ask, Oh Lord, Amen." 

And then everyone minded their own business and walked out without glancing, but some—meaning Elisa, Marc, and three others out of fourteen—were kind enough to stay with Christine to eat the offered finger foods, out of respect.

Elisa hid her disappointment when Christine congratulated Marc, again, for being able to ‘graduate’ from Support Group and advancing to whatever program he was going to join. Marc smiled throughout the session and when it was time they all parted ways, he quickly walked out of the cabin, Elisa trailing behind like a lost dog.

Marc purposefully walked across the playground—even though it was a long and muddy walk—and went back the way he came to figure out what the girl behind him was up to. She was silent the whole time, kept a respectful distance, but still trailed behind. When Marc was certain Elisa was following him, he pivoted on his heel, and said, “Ridley, you’re — you’re following me.”

She caught a glimpse of his green eyes before she looked away. “I’m not,” Elisa said, her eyes wide in shock. “I’m probably heading the same direction as you.”

Marc raised an eyebrow. “Really? Cause I already walked acr— across the playground and back.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“That was awesome though,” said Elisa, “what you did there at the meeting.”

Marc snorted and laughed at the same time. “That sucked.” He paused. “Why were you there?” Elisa noticed he was slowly walking toward the path to the Garve cliff.

“Where are you going?”

“Our hideout, L-O-L,” Marc said it in a deadpan, his voice monotone.

Elisa heartily laughed. “Did you just spell out LOL? As in L-O-L? Without even laughing?”

“I did, LOL.” A small smile crept to Marc’s face when her laughter grew louder.

“It’s written in the law that you shouldn’t say LOL without laughing, Marc.”

“Says who?” He slowed his steps and waited for her to catch up and walk alongside him.

They walked side-by-side, her falling into step with him. The walk to the Garve cliff was tedious and quiet. Elisa didn’t feel the awkward tension between them or the kind of atmosphere that was too thick to break, but it was rather humid which drained the energy in her. 

They each sat on a boulder, peacefully watching the soft waves of the sea, admiring the line where the sky kissed the water. “Ridley,” he called without looking at her. She smiled, gave him a side glance, and waited. For what it’s worth, Marc was already at the stage of accepting the fact that she was someone whom he cannot forget that easily because he’d already known a piece of her.

“Why do I feel like — like I’ve known you — all my life?”

The smile fell from Elisa’s lips. ‘Does he remember me?’ she thought. She couldn’t tell him. She shouldn’t. Right then and there, she wanted to tell him that they used to share the same stories and used to laugh at the same jokes. She wanted to tell him that not being able to remember her was the kind of pain she never wanted to experience. It felt like losing him. It felt like he died.

‘It’s true,’ she thought. ‘And I have known you all my life, too. But I can’t tell you.’

“Ridley?” Marc looked at her. It was at that time he didn’t realize she was already looking at him, her gaze never faltering. “What’s with that look?” he asked.

“What look?” she softly said, sadness laced in her tone.

“That look,” he said.

They stared at each other. Green and brown, clashing in between. Cold and warm eyes. “You never answered — previous question,” Marc spoke again and broke the eye contact.

“I didn’t quite catch that,” she replied.

“Why do I feel like I’ve known you all my life?” He didn’t miss a beat. He hardly stuttered. He looked at her. Again.

It was the first out of the many times Elisa tried to bring him to look at her. She felt a warmth surge through her entire system. Her heart was fluttering and she could feel her erratic heartbeat drumming against her ribcage. She found herself leaning towards him. Testing boundaries. Always too close, but never a hair’s breadth close. 

“Perhaps you do know me,” Elisa said, “but maybe in your past life, Marc. I feel the same, too. Too bad we didn’t recognize each other the first time.”

“Well, if that’s true,” he said, “my past self should recognize you by now. What say you if — if it were true?”

Elisa laughed but it sounded forced. “Are we talking about reincarnation now?”

“Come on,” he said, chuckling. “It’s entertaining. Well?”

Elisa paused, looking ahead. “If our past selves recognized each other the first time we met in this lifetime...I would probably…” she trailed off.

“Probably what?” Marc leaned closer as he listened.

Elisa smiled. “Probably tell you that you don’t look good in that haircut.” She burst laughing, disguising the tears welling in the corners of her eyes as tears of joy.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Tyra paced back and forth as she anxiously listened to Sullivan speak with Christopher Kader on the phone in loudspeakers.

“What do you mean it’s better if we speak in person?” Christopher said, worry laced in his tone. “Is my son…all right?”

“Yes,” spoke Sullivan, “yes, he is, sir. There is nothing to be worried about. I’m just saying that there are matters at hand that needs to be discussed in person.”

“Is it urgent?”

Sullivan glanced at Tyra who nodded her head frantically at him. Sullivan cleared his throat and said, “I’m afraid it is, quite, yes.”

“I’ll be there the day after tomorrow,” Christopher said, “that’s the fastest I can do.”

“Will you come by plane, sir?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Have a safe flight, sir.”

“How is he?” asked Christopher. “Is he getting better? We haven’t had the chance to speak for a couple of weeks already.”

“Your son is doing great!” Sullivan answered, enthusiastically. “He’s a really active person—always doing volunteer work, helping children. Supervised, of course.”

“Any remarks from his psychiatrist?”

“Slow progress is better than no progress at all, sir.” Sullivan heard a heavy sigh from the other line. He continued, “I assure you, your son is doing great. Better than two months ago.”

“Well, that’s quite good to hear,” Christopher replied. “Well, I’ll see you soon.”

The line had been dead for ten seconds but Sullivan had not dropped the phone. He listened to the monotone dial tone from the other line and thought. Trepidation sat on his shoulder, whispering menacing things to him. He wasn’t on anyone’s side, but for a long time since Tyra told him her side of the story, he had always wondered why they kept everything a secret.

“What does Elisa know?” Sullivan had asked Tyra. She had already stopped pacing and was sitting on the couch.

“Nothing,” she answered, “she knows nothing at all, Sullivan.”

“And Marc?” he prodded. “I need to know what’s going on if I’m getting myself involved in this.”

“You’re not getting you involved, I promise—”

“Just tell me, Tyra.” He looked at her dead in the eye and waited for a response.

“He doesn’t know anything, too,” she said.

“Goddamn it, Tyra!” he exclaimed. “Say it!”

“Unless he remembers everything that happened, Sullivan!” she yelled and started bursting into tears.

Sullivan sighed heavily, paced a few times, and then sat down beside Tyra to comfort her. “I’m as much involved in this one as you are, Tyra. I have been involved ever since you visited my clinic and told me everything,” he whispered, caressing her hair, softly.

She muttered a string of apologies and sniffed every once in a while. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he spoke, quietly. “It’s okay. We’ll talk about it with Christopher in the morning soon.”