QUI VIVRA VERRA

She remembers the last time she saw people gathered in front of his house.

It was raining hard, and the sky was so dark and gloomy that not even the little twinkle of each
star helped to make it better. She watched one droplet go splat on the window, rolling down and
making a larger droplet when it bumps into another, and keeps bumping and getting bigger until
it’s too heavy for the drops and it just rapidly pours down the rest of the way. She looked away,
wondered impatiently how long until the stoplight says go, and stares at the grey miserable view
in front of her.

She had wished she had Mr. Fox with her, because she knew he would make things better.

The stoplight says go, and her mom continued driving through the streets until they get home.
The travel back home was silent, the uncomfortable kind that starts to create this phantom white
noise in your ears when you haven’t moved a muscle for a few minutes, or when you’re too tired
and sad to do anything more than breathe. She wanted it to stop ringing in her ear, but she
didn’t dare, so all she did was stare straight ahead. She sneaked a look at her mother without
actually turning to look at her, and when she saw her looking back with deep concern from the
corner of her it suddenly was the final straw. She squirmed in her seat, and it squeaked a tinyo
noise, and she had inwardly sighed with relief, too tired of hearing that white noise. She’s really
tired, and all she wants to do is crawl back to her room, lock her door, and sleep for a long time,
but all intention of going through with that plan (god, she is so sick of plans) vanished when she
sees the people gathered around in front of her friend’s house.

She froze, unable to do more than observe the ambulance parked as well.

“Sweetheart?” Her mom whispered, but she didn’t move, didn’t speak, until a few minutes later
men in uniforms carefully push a stretcher as fast as they can.

And there, face peaceful (as much as she could tell through glimpses between the gathered
audience), was the man who quickly became a huge part of her summer, unconscious.

Static bursted in her mind, and she went blank. She didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t even
breathe as her brain tries to process this information. She knew she was smart, knew she could
take in information but somehow, she can’t comprehend anything she saw that night for all of 2
seconds.

The same sentence echoed and echoed in her brain, over and over again until it sinks in.

Her friend is unconscious on a stretcher.

Her friend is on unconscious on a stretcher.

Her breath hitched, and she began to shake as the dam broke and the emotions overwhelmed
her like the biggest flood of all time.

G11 Ordonez, Kaylee Dominique T.

10 - Thankfulness
No.

“No!” She screamed, getting out of the car. Her mom called after her, but she didn’t hear it
enough to process it. She shoved it to the back of her mind as she pushed through the people
murmuring and whispering, put it away in a box because there’s nothing more important than
seeing her friend.

“Wait! Wait!” She continued shouting, but the stretcher’s been loaded into the ambulance, and
the van had began to move. “Please! Wait!” She kept shouting as she moved, willing her legs to
keep up with the vehicle, but it’s too fast for her. It wailed into the empty street and speeds off to
the hospital, and she slowed to a stop.

“Honey!”

She turned, finally looking directly at her mother, who’s holding an umbrella and looking at her
with great concern. She had wanted to run back to her, maybe cry in her arms, but she stood
her ground.

Her mother had been with her through everything. She had taught her about planning, about
working yourself to the bone for the academy, about not taking risks and books and life plans.

Her mother had taught her all this, and yet…

She turns her back and sprints with full speed.

It was like she wasn’t in control of her body, like she was just watching and feeling everything
without being in the event itself- if it made sense, like her friend being unconscious made sense.
She was so scared that she would never see him again that she didn’t care who she bumped
into and who got mad and who kept calling her again and again and again. She bumped into a
kid with a bicycle, and she would’ve asked him if he was okay if she was her normal self at the
time. She wasn’t, because all she saw was the bicycle readily available in the blink of an eye,
and she did was snatch it up and pedal her way through the streets.

She was soaking wet from the heavy rain- raindrops or maybe tears blurring her vision- and her
legs were burning from exertion, but all she knew was the vivid and immeasurable desperation
to see the old man again, to tell him sorry for everything, to thank him for telling her the story, to
beg him not to leave yet--

She pedaled faster, and everything after that was an angry, depressed, anxious, and miserable
blur.

It has been years of academy as well as precious time with the old man since then, and ever
since then all she ever wishes for is that she doesn’t have to go through that pain anymore, that
she’d never have her friend taken away from her and her mom. All she wants is a life full of
amazing memories with him as they go on every adventure and talk about the Little Prince, as
well as studying in the academy and having more fun times with her mom, and for a few years
she gets her wish every time.

Then one stormy day, just like before, it happens again, yet its different. Different because it
happens in front of her instead, because it’s her screams telling the old man to wake up that got
the neighbors’ attention. It is her mom’s shaking voice and her sobs in the background that the
rescuers hear, and it is her mom holding her tight with silent tears falling down her face that they
see as they put him on the stretcher and do everything they can to save his life.

It is different, because this time nothing is ever the same.

-----

The car stops in front of their house after their trip from the hospital, and just seeing the road
ahead and his house gives her vivid flashes of his gasping breaths.

“Honey, let’s go,” her mom tells her softly, and she snaps back into reality with a small jolt. Her
mom takes her hand and squeezes, and she’s thankful that she still has her through everything,
and she feels a new crack in her heart when she’s painfully reminded that she’s the only person
she holds close now.

She hears gasping breaths and trembling hands on her face.

“Okay,” she whispers, afraid that it would crack and lead to her crumbling piece by piece on the
ground, and her mom probably gets it because she kisses her the same way she does when
she’s sick, impatient, and very very miserable; caringly, understandingly, and full of love and
support.

“Let’s go,” was whispered on her forehead, and she nods as her heart fiercely squeezes at the
thought of how lucky she is to have this amazing woman. She nods, keeping her eyes close to
prevent the tears that are threatening to flow. They part, and she finally opens her eyes as her
mom steps out of the car. She gulps in breaths and pointedly keeps looking at her wringing
fingers, but it was inevitable; she can’t help but let her eyes drag up to the familiar road up
ahead. In just a second she feels it come to life right in front of her, and she watches the colors
bloom and paint the scene just like when she was eight years old.

She feels his heaving chest on her fingertips, and his loud gasps for air that can’t quite reach his
lungs fill the space. “Please don’t leave me,” she whimpers, “I don’t know what I’d do without
you anymore.” And isn’t that the sick truth? She grew but she never learned how to deal with
someone leaving her for good, of being left behind in a world where she is as important as a
singular grain of sand in the Sahara.
He keeps wheezing as his wide eyes fall on her, and in that moment all she wants is to defy
science and wish it all away. If she could she would breathe for him, but then there’s science
and facts and all she could do is pray as she holds him. “Come on, I know you could do it-
please, please,” she pleads and whispers, and then she’s crying. She sobs and sniffles as a
part of her brain registers her mom telling the rescuers to come immediately, and in a
miraculous moment the old man finds the strength to reach up with his right hand and wipe the
tears that fall from her eyes. The motion makes her sob harder.

“S-Sw-”

“No! No- just, keep your strength okay? Just-” he cups her face with the hand that’s already
there a little tighter, and there’s a demand in his eyes that cuts her off mid-sentence.

“N-never,” he whispers in a raspy voice, and outside the room full of toys and papers and
miracles and worlds is the distant sound of commotion. “For-,” he gasps for air a little weaker
than before, and silent tears just keep flowing from her eyes as realization dawns on her.

“Forget,” he tells her harshly even if it’s obvious they’re minutes away from the inevitable, and
somehow she finds the strength to smile.

“I’ll never forget,” she tells him with whispered ferocity, even when her voice cracks on the last
syllable, and then she’s being pulled away by familiar gentle hands as the rescuers reach for
him. She sobs harder as her mom pulls her in a firm hug at the same time they put him onto a
stretcher and put a mask on him to help him breathe, and she simply watch as they pull him
away from them.

She forcibly tears her eyes away from the road and gets out of the car.

Even in her own house the memories don’t stop. Her eyes roam over the wall where a life plan
used to be, where the rotor blades once crashed into, and the garden that stands witness to
every single memory they ever had together. Memories keep crashing into each other in every
corner, painted on the walls and slinking across the floor around her feet with every step she
takes, and she’s so engrossed in each passing moment that when she finally drags her eyes
away from a memory of her leading the man to her room to show the stars she pasted again on
the ceiling she freezes at the view in front of her.

She stands in front of the broken part of the wall, with a clear view of the broken fence and the
bushes beyond it.

She takes an aborted step forward, almost smiling at the sight, but then it hits her.

She could go there right now, pretend that this day never happened and play the part, and
maybe it could work. Maybe it’d work because the bushes are still as thick as ever, and the soil
is still fresh of fertilizer as well as how the leaves will still be the same shade of green. The little
brick path will still be there to walk on, and the plane she once used with Mister Fox would still
be there, but at the end of the day these will never be enough.

Because even if she walked through that gap blindly, or put cotton wads in her ears and
numbed every nerve ending she has on her fingertips, the one person she looked forward to
hang out with will not be there to smile at her and present drawings, tell her stories, or even pat
her on the head when he thinks she said something great.

At the end of the day, the old man next door, her best friend, her father figure, will not be there
waiting for her.

She blinks rapidly, and her lungs fail to take in air as easy as it should be to do, and she quickly
runs up the stairs without even looking back. She sprints into her room and slams the door shut,
dropping face down on the bed unceremoniously, and she chants to herself to not start crying
over and over again.

The pillows start to become a real problem, since it doesn’t really help when she’s already
hyperventilating, so she rolls onto her back with her eyes still closed and breathes.

“Do you think the Little Prince is happy right now, Mom?” She asks all of a sudden, and her
mom is clearly surprised. Surprise slowly morphs into fondness, and when she turns to her mom
she gets a kiss on her forehead. “I’m sure she is, darling,” she says, gentle and soft as she
slowly falls asleep.

She opens her eyes, and the stars on the ceiling glare boldly at her.

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.

She cries.

-----

She wakes up five minutes before her alarm as the sun shines brightly on her face.

“Ugh,” she groans, covering her eyes with both her arms, but the birds are chirping loudly and
the alarm starts to fill the room with the obnoxious beeping, so she grumpily slams her hand
down on the alarm and stomps her way to the window.

She sees the birds on the branch of the tree next door as they make too much noise, the sun’s
burning light making it unbearingly hot even through the window, and if she glances up high
enough that she has to squint she’ll see the telescope that blinds her as it reflects the sunlight.

She closes the curtains with a hard tug, and then it was dark.
She stands there, staring blankly at the little dots of light that went through the threads of the
fabric, and she stands there in the dark space of her room as the silence gets too loud. It’s
uncomfortable and it crawls under her skin, and she feels goosebumps appear on her skin as
well as the stars on her ceiling watching and judging her every breath.

She thinks she should be scared, or anxious, or at least uncomfortable.

She doesn’t feel anything.

She watches the light try to seep through the curtain and thinks it’s a proper representation,
because the stars could shine all they want, but it won’t be enough against the darkness in her
heart.

-----

Her mom clears her throat to get her attention. She has been playing with her cereals due to
lack of appetite, just aimlessly stirring the colorful loops around with the milk.

Her mom sits across her, scraping the chair across the floor, and she looks up from the
unappetizing bowl to give her full attention.

“So this is the plan,” her mom says quietly, sliding a notebook on the table towards her.
“Tomorrow is Friday, so you still have to go to school, but as soon as I’ll pick you up we will
collect his ashes at the morgue,” her mom pauses, choosing her words while she stares at the
notebook and all the scribbled words and arrows blankly. Her mom composes herself, and then
continues.

“I know I said that we have to plan a funeral, along with the details, guests, and where his ashes
will be thrown,” she flinches at the words, at the thought of letting her friend’s body disperse
across a vast space, “but I decided to do that on my own.” Her mom smiles at her gently when
she looks up in mild surprise.

Her mom reaches for her hand, holding and squeezing in reassurance, and for the first time in
hours she feels herself relax just the tiniest bit.

“I want you to rest, sweetheart, because you’ve been through a tough day,” her mom tells her in
a hushed voice, and something akin to gratitude flutters briefly in her chest.

“Let me worry about everything else, okay? I’ll make sure everything is organized for him.” Her
mom draws circles on the back of her hand, and she nods in agreement because she doesn’t
have it in her to refuse.

She’s exhausted, but she doesn’t think she could ever rest after this. She still says “okay” after a
few moments, and her mom leaves her alone with her thoughts.
Now she’s alone again, and she never felt how alone she is until the silence mocked her
mercilessly.

-----

It only really sinks in once they’re face to face with the ceramic vase full of his ashes.

“Is that,” Her mom’s voice almost cracks, shaking hands already reaching for it before she
remembers to compose herself.

Her mom tries again, and this time her voice is the polite and curt one that she always used
strictly for business (and for when she’d rather not feel).

“Is that him?” It’s a stupid question, really, and she’s almost tempted to talk back to her mom.

No, it’s the other old man next door.

Good thinking, Sherlock.

What else do you think, Mom? Geez.

It’s at the tip of her tongue, and for a second she actually considers saying it, but words fail as
the person in charge nods with a sad smile for condolence and offers the vase. Suddenly, it was
a thousand times more concrete, and then the world is crashing down on her as she stares for
what felt like hours at that upsettingly plain and boring white vase-

Her mom takes it.

She continues staring.

“I’ll be there if you need me,” says the woman, pointing to the door just a few meters behind her
that is labeled “OFFICE” in bold letters, and she quietly walks away.

Her mom is still holding the vase.

She’s tempted to push it out of her grasp and watch it shatter on the floor.

“Do you want to hold it?” “Him,” she corrects her mom on instinct, the word slipping out of her
mouth without warning, and she doesn’t blame her mom watching her as if she would begin to
fall brick by brick until all there’s left is the shadow of the girl she was two days ago.

She thinks she probably would any minute now anyway.

She realizes she hasn’t answered the question.

“Okay,” she says, and then it’s being handed to her until it’s comfortable in her arms.

She tries to comb his hair back in hopes that she could comfort him that way.

“Please, please,” she sobs, squeezing his weakly frame as close as she could without being
part of the problem. His hands are pale, and she tracks the motion as it reaches up to wipe her
tears.

“Never forget.”

“I will never.”

“I will never,” she mutters low enough that only she and the vase hears it, and holds the vase
tights. She squeezes it, as if she’s making up for the way she couldn’t hold him like that in his
last moments, and she lays her head on the lid as wetness floods her eyes. This time she can
hug him as tight as she could without hurting him, because he’s not in pain anymore.

He doesn’t feel anything anymore.

“Oh, baby,” her mom hushes, and she’s wrapped in a warm hug that makes her silent tears turn
into full on sobs. She can’t help it, the way she cries in despair and pain as she sniffles loudly
and squeezes her eyes so tight the tears are forced out not on their own accord, and how she
lets the emotions finally dance and swirl around her beaten heart, lets them impale and tear and
stomp and stab to their satisfaction.

Because she doesn’t have to drop the vase to see something shattered on the floor, along with
memories, inside jokes, and stories that will forever be ruined because life nudged the bottle of
pain and it poured all over each broken shard and crystal. For a second she’s mad at the old
man, because how dare him make her swear to never forget when remembering was worse?
How dare her call forgetting the worst part of life when he’d never have to live through what
she’s going through right now?

It’s a nice distraction, putting the blame on someone else, but it quickly vanishes; because those
memories are all she would ever have of him now, and she’ll treasure it because she’d rather
remember he was in her life than never know what it would’ve been like without him.

Why did you leave? She thinks, and breaks down a little more in her mother’s arms.

-----

The funeral service is pretentious.

The other neighbors are chatting amongst themselves, glancing in her direction every now and
then before whispering something else to the others. It was extremely rude, and part of her
wants to go up to them and tell them exactly that with other more choice words, but in all
honestly she couldn’t give a single care.

They came her so they wouldn’t look bad. They don’t really care about her friend. They are
rude, they love to gossip, they look down on every person that doesn’t fit their standards from
their high horses and-

-they’re irrelevant, to sum it all up.

So she stays in her chair with her eyes on Mister Fox, playing with his arms every now and then
as time passes by.

Seconds turn to minutes, then hours, and then soon enough it’s over. She immediately stands
up, puts Mister Fox on top of the vase and takes both into her arms, and when her mom asks
where she would want to scatter his ashes (if that’s what she wants).

She stares at Mister Fox, and then the sky when she hears a faint rumble of thunder, and an
idea forms in her head.

“I’ll figure something out,” she says with finality.

-----

She marches into her room, locks the door, and sets Mister Fox on her desk beside a notepad.

“I know what we have to do,” she tells him. Mister Fox tilts his head, questioning, and she gets
to work. He leans in as she begins to draw a plan with such manic energy, and points out a few
flaws every now and then in her design. They work, both determined to find the best resting
place for their best friend, and once it’s done she grabs Mister Fox and puts her in her lap.

Mister Fox reads over the plan.

“What do you think? Would it work?” She asks, and Mister Fox enthusiastically nods. She
giggles, feeling better than she has since that day, and then stands up with Mister Fox.

“Now all we need to do is ask for help.”

They nod at each other, determination on their faces, and out the window they go.

-----
With all things considered, she’s really happy she got to fly with Mister Fox once again on this
plane.

She whoops as they take off, laughing with glee along with Mister Fox as they soar through the
air. She has the old man’s ashes sitting snugly in a blanket she sneaked from her house, and
after making sure the vase is still intact she focuses her eyes ahead.

She realizes how much she missed this; the wind in her hair, being at arms-length with the
stars, and sharing giddy grins with Mister Fox as the plane turns and twirls in the night sky.
There’s a bittersweet tinge to it, because this is the only time she and the old man would be
flying together, and it was only when he couldn’t pat her head or shake her with glee because
only his ashes are here. It dampens her mood a little, but it helps her redirect her attention to
the task at hand.

A part of her, however, couldn’t resist imagining if he really is there.

She’d probably scream and laugh like a maniac, and knowing him he’d be in way too much awe
and shock to even speak, save for staring at how beautiful the stars are.

She doesn’t cry at the thought, but it’s a near thing.

I wish you’re here right now.

She wishes that somewhere, he feels the same.

Mister Fox taps her arm and points in the near distance. Her eyes widen and she grins. “Good
job, Mister Fox! Let’s go visit our friend.” They take a huge turn, and once they’re near the
planet they make a smooth landing.

The dust is disturbed when the plane lands, but once they settle Mister Prince immediately runs
to them.

“There you are!” She grins, jumping out of the plane and receiving the bear hug Mister Prince
gives, and he gives one to Mister Fox too before standing back. “How have you been?” He
asks, and she shrugs.

“You know, could be better I guess,” and then she realizes what she’s here for and deflates
before she could stop herself, and Mister Prince notices. He turns solemn, just like the adult he
appears to be.

“On my travel I heard about what happened. I cried when I heard about it, but I know it must be
worse for you,” he says sadly, and she gives a shaky smile. The mood has changed into a
peaceful yet tragic one; one they all know would change all their lives for who-knows-what.
“Don’t say that, he was-” and it stings to say it in the past tense, “important to all of us. We’re all
allowed to be sad in whatever way we could.” She breathes, and the loss brightens until she can
feel her pinky minutely shaking, but she doesn’t try to back out of her plan.

This is what he deserves; the best resting place anyone could ever ask for.

This will make him happy.

“Actually, I brought him.” She turns back towards the plane, and after making sure h- it (she still
refuses to make the connection) is safe in her arms, she hops back down and slowly walks
towards the Mister Prince. It hurts, to watch the man slowly morph from cheerful into mourning,
and once she’s close enough to him she holds the vase out, and watches Mister Prince cry over
the lid.

She realizes that’s probably what her mom saw when they first got his ashes.

Mister Fox swoops in to hug Mister Prince and comfort him, and she just wraps her arms around
herself while she blinks away the wetness in her eyes.

After a solid minute, Mister Prince returns the vase. He hands it back, and she cradles it
carefully. “I want to let him fly away using the flock of birds you use, so that he gets to travel
among the stars,” she frankly says, and he nods with determination as he sniffles and wipes his
nose with his sleeve.

“Yes, that will do. I’m sure he’ll love it,” and he turns away from them to search for the birds.
They follow him.

She tries not to think, to let the cool breeze blow away the feelings she refuses to feel and let
the stars blind her from the truth with their light, but as soon as she sees the flock she can’t help
but tighten her arms around the vase.

I don’t want you to go. Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me yet please I just need-

“Here they are,” Mister Prince says, and his voice is shaky as well. “Yeah,” she croaks out, and
her throat is dry. For a solid minute she just stares, until she shakes herself out of it and quickly
approaches the flock. Mister Prince hands her the ropes, and she ties the vase to it with careful
yet robotic movements, and once everything’s in place she just stands there.

This is it.

This is how the story ends; the little girl who met an old man, a hoarder with amazing stories
and cool little drawings, is left behind. This old man shows her the brightest and most beautiful
place she’s ever seen, and when she’s just getting used to this brave new world he leaves her
smack dab in the middle to let her go on by her lonesome.
She’s very very lost.

She doesn’t know if she’ll ever get out.

“It’s time for goodbye,” Mister Prince says softly, and her vision is blurred.

“I know, I know, just-” she hugs the vase, lets her forehead fall down on the lid. A tear falls
down, then two, then she’s crying into the lid. She hiccups and gasps, and she can’t stop crying.

“I don’t know if I could do this without you,” she whispers, still crying as her voice breaks on
some syllables, and suddenly there are arms around her and the vase is warmer than it should
be. The arms grasp her shoulders and gently push her back to see her face, and she looks up
to see the old man looking at her with a smile. She cries more.

“Oh dear child,” he hushes, cupping her face and wiping her tears away. “You are strong
enough to do all this for me, of course you can do it.”

“But I don’t want to without you.” His smile never wavers as he continues wiping her tears, and
he holds her stare.

“Letting go doesn’t mean you have to forget,” he tells her. “It just means you’re ready for more
adventures. Everything I’ve told you, every story and drawing we’ve made together, it will
always be here,” he touches her chest, the skin above her heart, “I will be too.”

She sniffles, but she lets go. Mister Prince and Mister Fox hugs him next and he returns it, and
as he pulls back he says one final greeting.

“Until our next adventure it is then,” he says, laying his reassuring eyes on each one until it
lands on her again. She sniffles, and she still has tears in her eyes, but she gives him the
brightest smile and nods.

“Until our next adventure,” she repeats, and after one more nod towards her, he hangs on the
ropes and he flies away.

They watch until he’s out of sight.

-----

Some days it still hurts.

She still wakes up crying sometimes, clutching Mister Fox in her arms, and sometimes she
refuses to even mention his name because the pain is too much to deal with.
She’s still getting to fully letting go, but she thinks she’s getting there, and as the last box is
closed she breathes.

She’ll never forget.

“Are you ready, sweetie?” Her mom asks, and she takes a moment to look at the house before
looking back up at the skies. A flock of birds pass, and she smiles. She looks back at her mom.

“I’m ready,” she says, and soon enough the car is full of packed boxes and they’re off to a new
start.

Somewhere out there, the stars will be shining bright for them.

I’ll never forget.

I promise.