Love Across the Street

The sky is shrouded in melancholy, its clouds hanging low like mourners at a solemn assembly. With the cool breeze from the river and the solemn tone of the long bridge approaching the cemetery, I felt as if I had unknowingly invited them to grieve and reminisce with me through the memories I had with mom and dad. While peddling the vintage Mamachari pink bicycle my mom got me when I was nine years old, little tears stream down my cheeks, making every fuzzy memory translucently clear: justice is my plea, for they deserve rest in the green pasture with serenity. I roll up to their graves, and with a little quiver in my voice, I say, "Hi, mom and dad." Then, I lean in closer to those tombstones, like we're having a real heart-to-heart. "How's heaven treating you? You had better be having a blast," I whispered as I swept away some leaves and dirt that had gathered around their tombstones. With a half-smile, I'm like, "Happy anniversary, you two! I hope you're living it up in the big paradise in the sky. I've got this bouquet of white tulips and a caramel cake with a blue candle on it, like a modest little party for you!" And then there's my childhood best friend, Angelique, sitting right next to me. She's all chipper, asking, "Hey, Aunt Lisha and Uncle Anthony, remember me?" I'm quick to reassure her, "Yeah, of course, they remember you!" I mean, who could forget the jolly Angelique? And then Angelique, being her usual playful self, cracks a joke: "Besty, I just hope they don't decide to haunt me when we head back home!" She's laughing, and it kind of breaks the somber mood. Well, I can't help but let out a sigh. "You know, maybe bringing you here wasn't such a great idea," I said, maybe a tad grumpy. But Angelique gets it. "Okay, okay, I'll zip it," she says, backing off a bit. And here, in the silence of the cemetery, amidst the gray clouds and that chilly breeze, I carried on with a chat with my parents. A lot of years had passed since the day my world crumbled with the loss of my parents. Standing at their resting place, I couldn't help but blurt out, "Today marks your 10th anniversary of death, and it's been so long, yet I still don’t know where that horrible man is!" Tears welled up as I admitted, "I’m sorry that I failed to keep my promise to put that man behind bars," my fist clenching with anger and disappointment. But amidst the grief, I vowed, "But I promise you, Dad and Mom, that I'll do whatever it takes to give you the justice you two deserve. I promise!" Suddenly, my phone buzzed, breaking the solemn moment. The investigator in my parents' case had a message for me, displayed on my phone's lock screen. "Good day, Ms. Karmela! We are sorry to inform you that we haven’t yet received any updates from the owner of the establishment at Fifth Avenue." The first message appeared, a roadblock in the pursuit of truth. Then, another message popped up, bringing a glimmer of hope: "But there’s an old man who personally came to our precinct and shared information about the copy of the CCTV footage from that night in 2004." He continued, "If you’d like to personally talk to him, come to our precinct on Wednesday at 3 pm." The message offered a lifeline, a chance to uncover long-buried secrets. With determination in my heart, I wiped away my tears, desperate to embark on a journey that might finally bring justice for my parents. "Karmela, are you okay?" Angelique rushed over to me, concern written all over her face. "Yeah, I'm fine. The NBI just texted me!" I blurted out, still processing the shock. "Really? What did they say?" Angelique asked, mirroring my surprise. "I need to track down the old man with the CCTV footage!" I stammered, my emotions barely in check. "CCTV footage? What are you talking about?" Angelique looked puzzled, seeking clarification. "The CCTV from the night of the car accident. I must talk to the guy who has it," I explained slowly, making sure she caught every detail. "Are you sure about this? It could be another scam or a wild goose chase," Angelique said, her concern obvious. "I don't care. I must find him, no matter what. Even if it means risking everything," I declared, determination flashing across my face. With newfound hope, I added, "I'll do whatever it takes." And with that, I would head off, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. "Mom, dad, did you hear that? I'm closing in on that guy! I swear, he's going to pay the price with his own life!" I vowed. "The clouds are turning gray. It's time to head out before the rain crashes the party!" Angelique suggested. "We're also cutting it close on time! Let's go!" She urged, glancing around to ensure we didn't forget anything valuable. "Goodbye, mom, dad! I'll catch up with you soon!" I called out one last time, turning away and walking alongside Angelique. We sprinted toward the cemetery exit, eager to catch the bus heading to our academy. At the bus stop, amid a handful of other passengers, as we patiently waited, my eyes caught a glimpse of my bicycle near the front gates of the cemetery. I'd completely forgotten about it. Without a second thought, I turned to rush back, only to feel Angelique gripping my right arm, halting me in my tracks. "Where are you going? The bus will be here any minute now," she informed me, a hint of panic in her voice, mindful of the impending class. "I just need to grab my bicycle. You go ahead and catch the bus; I'll ride my bike," I reassured her. "What? You're still planning to ride that bicycle?" She looked at me, her expression a mix of seriousness and concern. "Just have your grandma's driver pick it up." "Do you really want to dodge a flying board eraser thrown by Professor Paterson? Come on!" She retorted, trying to sway her with a mix of humor and reason. As Angelique persistently urged me to give the bus a try, I couldn't help but feel the weight of my horrible experience pressing on me like an anchor. The vivid memories of that incident—the screeching tires, the shattered glass, and the haunting echoes of sirens—still haunted my thoughts. I looked into her eyes, filled with worries. "I appreciate your support, Angelique. You're my true best friend," I said, my voice laced with gratitude. "But you know that I can't ride a bus. The trauma from that accident is like an uninvited guest that just won't leave." Karmela, always the optimist, chimed in, "Come on, I'm right here with you. I promise, lightning won't strike the same spot twice." I hesitated, my inner commotion evident on my face. "I knew you meant it well, but the memories of that fateful day still paralyzed me." "The fear—it's like a shadow I can't shake. It's etched in my mind, etched in my very being." Angelique, with a soft, understanding yet giggly smile, placed a hand on my shoulder. "I get it, but can you just try this time? Please?" she asked, her voice gently imploring. With the bus approaching, Angelique hopped on board, waiting for me to follow. But my legs remained rooted to the pavement, uncooperative. My heart was racing, and a deep sense of longing to overcome my fear warred with my overwhelming anxiety. Angelique's already inside the bus, one foot on the stairs, cheering me on. "Come on, you can do it!" I shook my head firmly, resolute in my decision. "I can't," I replied, a knot of anxiety tightening in my chest. "Just go, please." I gestured to her to sit down, my voice filled with urgency. The bus driver, impatient and in a hurry, interrupted, "Hey, is your friend getting on or not?" Angelique, still extending her hand towards me, tried to reason with me. "Just a moment, please," she said, her eyes pleading with me. The bus driver, growing increasingly impatient, warned, "I'm going to have to leave if she's not getting on. We're running late." I couldn't bear to keep her waiting any longer. "Tell him I'm not riding; I really can't," I said with a heavy heart, bidding her goodbye. With a sigh of relief, I watched as the bus doors closed, and it drove away. Alone on the pavement, I took a deep breath and shook off the lingering feelings of disappointment and grief. Desperate, I retrieved my bike and set off, cycling quickly. While peddling away, I couldn't help but reflect on the long decade that had passed since the accident that had left me with this deep-seated fear. "Ten years of not getting used to this trauma," I whispered to myself, "ten years of being incapable of riding any bus, the place where my family's tragedy unfolded. How I wish I could erase this trauma and stop it from triggering painful memories." As I spoke these words, tears welled up in my eyes, streaming down my cheeks. Then, while crossing the bridge near the academy, I felt an itch in my eyes. Thus, I let go of my right hand off the handlebars, attempting to rub my eyes, but as I opened them again, I met with the shocking sight of a black Benz car rushing towards me. "Oh no! Oh no! Ahhhh!" I screamed in pure instinct, fear, and adrenaline coursing through my veins.