a pebble to remember by  

Tumahimik na naman ako. I told myself that I was writing this damn thing because I needed to let out the thoughts in my head. Sure, I let some of them out. And it did help. For a while. See, I had no idea when I began writing this that the writing would open up other doors: doors to memories that had been lying dormant, doors to emotions that had been stewing away in the darkest recesses of my soul, doors that led to mirrors. Eventually, all I found was me.

I couldn't take it. Had to shut off that part of my brain for a while, that part of my soul that was crying out for release. Blessed, blessed, release. No. It never came. I was the only one turning away. I am still the only one turning away. So I stopped. I let myself get so involved in work, that I lost track of everything else.

Still, I find myself back here, pounding away at the keyboard like there's no tomorrow. And I do realize, there are stories that have yet to see the light of day. And so, I write.

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I find myself thinking a lot lately; when the day is done, and the darkness starts to settle in, I find that the memories take over. They come in torrents. I do not like the way they start rushing in. Most times it's because something as innocuous as a pebble stuck between the ridges of the sole of my shoe happens to catch my attention. Yes, a pebble. Damn pebble.

Last night I walked home. I haven't done that in a long time, and since the night was cool and clear, I thought it would be a nice change from my all too droll routine. Before I set out, I made sure all my papers were organized, put on my jacket, and walked out to check the lock on my bike. With everything secure, I set out.

It was nice to feel the pavement underfoot. I started off just minding the path I had chosen for myself (back at the office, I'd decided that I would take the longer, more scenic route). I had plenty of time to kill. Pretty soon however, I lost myself in the familiar rhythms of my footfalls. My mind began to wander. All that I passed seemed to blur into colors and shapes and sounds. I let my feet lead me where they wanted to go.

I began to daydream a little bit. I thought wistfully about childhood, how as children, Manong and I would climb the hills behind our house. We would race each other to the top and fall to the ground, panting, our bodies wracked with silent peals of laughter. I though about the time I fell down the hill because I'd slipped on a loose rock. I rolled the entire length of that slope until I came to a stop by our father's old workshop. Manong had run all the way back down, screaming bloody murder. I heard the terror in his voice. I remembered how he lifted me ever so gingerly, as if he was afraid I might break in his arms.

I vaguely recall other people rushing to us: mom, her sister, some of the neighbors. I remember looking up at the sky through a tangle of arms. The clouds looked close enough to touch. I wanted to reach up my bloodied arm and tear off a bit of that cloud to put it in my mouth. The moments that followed were all a blur.

Back on the street. After about half an hour of walking, I turned a corner and I realized that I was nowhere near home. Somehow, somewhere, I had gotten turned around, and was now on the other side of the city. I cursed under my breath. I'd been distracted, absent-minded, totally foolish. Darkness was settling in around me. I decided I'd just take a cab home, so I dug around in my backpack for my wallet. I rummaged around my pack for a good 10 minutes. To my absolute dismay, I realized I had left it back at the office, right by the stack of papers I had set aside for the next day. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

No choice but to turn right around and head for home. Now that I think about it, I could have probably just walked over to the house of a friend who lives in that area to borrow cab fare, but it didn't occur to me at the time, and besides, I didn't want to see anyone. So I set out again, this time my strides longer, my pace quickened. I took several shortcuts. I hurried past the houses, the dimly lit alleyways, the street-corner littered with the refuse from some drunken brawl. Beads of sweat started to form on my brow.

As I walked, I kept thinking about my brother. We haven't spoken to each other in over two years. I remembered the last time we spoke to each other. We'd been arguing that day. The argument escalated into something that was beyond our control, and we began hitting each other. I don't even remember who threw the first punch. His friends had to break up the fight. The last thing he ever said to me, as he stormed away was, "I don't to know you any more." He screamed this at me, spat blood, turned on his heel, and walked out the door.

Why is it we often end up hurting the ones that we love the most? I never meant for things to end up that way with him. Hell, I don't even remember why it was so important for me to be right, to have my own way. During the course of my musings, I got distracted yet again. Didn't see the pile of gravel out on the curb. Walked right into it, in fact. I took a step back and made my way around it.

It would only be another 10 minutes and I would be home. Before me lay the familiar stretch of road that I passed every day on my way home. I started walking up the slope, I saw the light on my front porch: warm and welcoming. It was then that I noticed a faint scratching on the pavement. I stooped down to look under my shoe. A pebble had lodged there, right between the crenelations of the sole. I pulled it out from the rubber, held it in my palm.

After I fell, that time when we were kids, I hadn't been allowed to play on the hill anymore without an adult present. It saddened me. I missed my rowdy afternoons with Manong, being high up, feeling the sun on my arms and face. I missed the way we would run up and down with absolute abandon. My brother saw this. I don't know what he was thinking, but somehow he found a way to convince dad to let us study with our older cousin after school. That day, he had a large grin on his face. He told me we'd be going somewhere. My cousin gave him a nod and said, "Let me know when you're ready. Tapusin n'yo muna homework n'yo."

I was puzzled, but was anxious to find out what they were being so secretive about. So, I went through my homework as quickly as possible. Then we all took a walk. It was a 15 minute hike. When we reached the top of the hill, I saw the most magnificent boulders I'd ever seen. They had so many shades of gray, and brown. The jagged edges reminded me of the dragons we'd read about in books. The largest one was bigger than a house. Our 17 year old cousin was going to teach us to climb. For months we kept this up. Manong and I would head to our cousin's house to do our homework and to study, then we would climb until it was time to go home.

It's something my Manong and I have always done together since then. We used to take trips together, climb mountains, do a bit of bouldering when we could find challenging rock forms. When a climbing wall opened just 4 blocks from his house, we were as happy as kids in a candy store.

I held that pebble in my hand last night and remembered all of that.

Tomorrow, I'm calling him. I don't know if he'll hang up, or if he'll listen. But I do know I need to try. There are too many things that need to be said. I need to tell him how I miss our climbs. I miss that triumphant and arrogant look he gets on his face as he reaches summit. I miss the talks. I miss my brother, the foundation holding up my rock.

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When I got home, put the pebble on my mantel, along with the things I keep to remind myself of what I should be looking at. Sometimes, I don't look hard enough anyway.