Close Your Eyes, Count to Ten

“Close your eyes,” Erika told me. “And count to ten.”                We were at the Bridge. Gusts of wind plagued that day, but to me it was one of those better days. Erika was smiling, repeating her instructions. Her jet-black hair was dancing with the wind. She had the knack to just let it all go. Despite the rings of eyeliner around her eyes, her face remained the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.                With the enthusiasm of a much younger child, I obeyed. When I closed my eyes, I could still see her, her smile, her white teeth bordered by pink lips.                1, 2, 3… I started counting.                Her eyes appeared there too, in the darkness. Those eyes seemed like wells to a new universe, to a new reality. They can suck me in and bring elsewhere, a place where I know I am safe, I am loved.                4, 5, 6, 7…                All around me, the wind is singing a song in time to the beating of my heart; its beating and its thumping are symmetrical to the rhythm of words I wanted to tell her for the longest time, words that I often rehearsed to myself, but I never spoke out loud. Things were often like that. Some things were best left unsaid. Wait, isn’t that from a movie? A movie from so long ago…                8, 9, 10… I finished.                “Erika?”                When I opened my eyes, I felt as if I’ve woken up from a dream. But of course, it wasn’t a dream. She asked me to close my eyes and count to ten, which I did.                I was sitting alone on one side of the ledge, with the dirty waters of the creek below rushing in a continuous flow, as if hurrying to some destination. I toyed with the bracelet she gave me while I surveyed around.                Erika was nowhere.                “Erika?”                I panned my head around: the creek, the rest of the bridge, wild grass, concrete posts, an empty street. No sign of Erika. No sign of anyone but me.                “Erika?” I called out again. That was when I heard giggles coming from behind the tall grass.                I turned that way, and finally, the giggle turned into laughter.                “You’re crazy!” I told her.                “Maybe I am,” Erika replied, appearing from behind the wild grass. “But it’s so funny seeing your face! It’s as if the whole world was crashing down on you.”                My whole world will be crashing down if you disappeared, I phrased inside my head but what really came out of my mouth was: “I was worried.”                “Don’t tell me you’ve never played hide-and-seek before?” Erika replied, toying her crucifix earring with her fingers. To be honest, it wasn’t much of a game as it was more of a prank. Now that I think about it, it wasn’t much of anything. Just her disappearing, and then appearing.                “Who’s sixteen and still playing that game?” I quipped.                “Um, me?” she laughed.                She handed me a cigarette and we smoked while sitting atop the ledge of the bridge, in that subdivision called Town & Country, where many lots were still vacant. It was a minute away from our own subdivision. We felt more free hanging-out away from our homes. Restrictions and parental authority were obstacles to the things we wanted to do. We’ve always fancied to go out and try new things, to know different people, get drunk and wasted, and smoke all the cigarettes we wanted. I didn’t know exactly why we did that. But when I’m with her, all reasons seem to disappear.                After finishing our Marlboro Lights, Erika turned to me and asked: “But Rick, what will you do if I really did disappear?”                Her question hit me like the arrow on Achilles. It wasn’t because I didn’t know what to say, but because I was afraid that when I tell her my sincerest answer, she might find it awkward. Girls tend to feel awkwardness the most. You tell them you like them, and they’d be jolted and surprised, and then later find it hard to treat you right again. And the last thing that I want was for Erika to avoid me.                It happened many times before and often, I let my feelings leak out of my mouth with whatever piece of language I managed to muster, and things always end up in the opposite direction. Sometimes, we lose people because of our honesty.                “If you disappear,” I said. “I will search for you.” It was the safest answer I could think about. It was neutral enough that I think it didn’t convey any hint of my truest feelings. Of course, it didn’t mean that my answer wasn’t true, because I would certainly look for her if she disappeared.                Erika smiled when she heard my answer. She twirled her shoulder-length hair, and the color of her fingernails melded with the blackness of her hair. She was just staring at me, as if trying to comprehend what I said, and I just stared back at her, my heart thumping faster than a second every second. I wanted to break the ice; I wanted to tell her right there how much she means to me.                How is it possible that one person’s existence influence so much how I want to exist? Like at the back of my mind, I know that a terrible world existed. But when I’m with her…that world seem to dissolve.                “Do you want to hold me?” she suddenly asked. There was a depth and a  slowness in her voice.                I took a deep breath. “Yes.”                She dragged herself across the ledge, inching towards me. And then, she grabbed my arm and wrapped it around her shoulder. My joints started shaking. What is happening? What is going on?                “Can I lean on your shoulder?” she asked.                My lips were the gates to the world of silence, so I just nodded.                Moments later, I felt the weight of her head on my shoulder. I could smell the scent of shampoo in her hair—the scent of flowers. Or fruit. Or something else.                I wanted to ask her what was happening, what was going on. Why did she all of a sudden asked me if I wanted to hold her? But sometimes, questions tend to ruin things, questions tend to ruin moments. Questions are fueled by doubt. And the moment we begin doubting is the same moment we realize the harsh truth: that there’s no meaning at all, except what we impose upon it.                That was why I maintained my silence while my arm was wrapped around Erika, with her head on my shoulder. It was like a scene from a movie, or the lyrics to a song, from those rock bands we enjoyed listening together. I savoured the moment and tried to plant it inside my head. I was more concerned about this girl right beside me that I hardly cared about anything else.                Of course, I didn’t know it was the first and the last time I would ever hold her like that again. If I had known, I would’ve said something. I wouldn’t just sit there, silent, my heart a drum beat that scared away all of the rains in the world.