II. Around the past

It was her.

My ethereal senses couldn't deceive me, to begin with.

Her hand clamping to the pendant, she was heavily walking across the room in a grave rhythm. She hadn't changed from my memories, at least physically; though, her taste in clothes hadn't changed a single bit too. She was wearing a loose deep blue cardigan, with a black tee-shirt, and a dark skirt exceeding her knees for making her attire appear more formal. Putting on a floppy cardigan or jersey was something she strangely loved, never pulling its sleeves up to her shoulders but letting it rest down on her forearms. This time, however, she was properly wearing it, maybe in consideration of the remarks I used to do regarding that. On the other hand (literally), she was holding a shoulder bag made out of leather which didn't have any particularity, or perhaps, its color was, as one would have supposed, dark brown.

Terence stood up from his seat on the front row and came to greet the new guest. As for me, I had the intention of studying every movement of Hermione by getting closer to her; I noticed how her breathing was jerky and heavy, as well as how her lips were slightly bowing downwards and how tightly closed they were. From a distance, I couldn't see the redness of her eyes; I selfishly assumed that she had cried for my sake. Her sole presence made me blissful, and knowing (rather presuming) that my death had saddened her, even more. I was too fearful of meeting her again and facing her disappointment, but I really was just trying to not feel guilty for what I've done.

I threw away these thoughts and decided to appreciate each second she was still there. That being said, I wondered how long I was going to stay a spectra; Death mentioned nothing of it, though, merely gave me the outline of what was about to happen. I floated next to her to listen to the conversation between my two friends.

"Let me guess, you're Hermione McCartney, right?" asked the old man.

"Yes… And who might you be?" she politely added. Her tone had some anxiousness in it, but stroking the collar sure did help since she seemed more relieved by each movement.

"Oh, right. I'm what you can say a friend of Eddie. We…huh…used to drink together," sheepishly added Terence.

He knew various things about Hermione and my relationship with her; she particularly disliked when I was deteriorating my health, especially with alcohol since even before my cirrhosis, I already had aches around that part. But she only sighed at hearing this bad news, maybe because it was useless to scold a dead man.

"I'm Terence Longworth and the one who organized his funerals."

"Hermione McCartney. I…" she stopped her sentence and took a moment to answer.

"Nah don't worry, Eddie told me some stuff about the two of you. I know it's kinda… complicated, I guess… Nice to meet you, Hermione."

"The pleasure is shared. So, he really could find himself another friend," she gently added before showing a faint smile.

"Right. That kid was asocial as hell, but he sure had good qualities, like his weird humor and his sharp tongue."

"He sure had good qualities," she paraphrased with a nostalgic tone. "What exactly did Eddie tell you? I'm curious to hear what impressions I left on him."

"Well, from what I heard, he seemed to really love you. Though, there's that one thing I never understood, did something happen between the two of you? He would just stop mid-sentence when he talked too much about your bonds."

"Ah, that… Let's just say he had enough of me," she replied. The rhythm of her stokes accelerated. "Not that he had enough of me, rather… There's something I'd like to say but, that would only tarnish his name."

"No, of course. I shouldn't have asked these sensitive things to start with. My bad…" sheepishly added the old man.

"…I loved him so fondly… that's why I left him, even if I knew how much it'd hurt him later on. I thought it could help him but, it only worsened things. And as stupid as I was, I slowly kept that sort of reasoning, always convincing myself that it was what he wanted so why not give it to him."

"Right, that kid often did things irrationally…"

Terence had nothing left to say, but even not having a body to feel things, I could tell that the air was incredibly heavy and tense. Hermione always had that odd power; whenever she was happy, so were her surroundings; whenever she was sad, so were her surroundings. Trying to escape that natural phenomenon only led me to be more miserable.

And I remembered. How couldn't I when she clearly enunciated her motives behind our last contact?

I remembered.

It was the 16th of April. That day, I could remember it even without that incident because I was extraordinarily in pain; compared to what happened on my deathbed, it wasn't very far. On these days, I ignored why, but I became incredibly unpleasant; worse, I took pleasure in being so. I used to break others' belongings, insult people, throw rocks or water-filled balloons at them, make people annoyed at me… and that only made me laugh. I terribly laughed like a mad man. Thus, that day, the 16th of April, I cast my spitefulness on Hermione. Looking back, I really did a horrible thing.

She came early to our high school for showing me the latest tableau she had painted. She was amazingly good at arts, and she was very proud of it as well. But, she made arts for a distinct reason; to deceive. Art is nothing more than deceiving reality, subliming it and making of it our fantasy: that were her words. And not only to deceive she did, she deceived a peculiar person: me. I couldn't explain why exactly, but her paintings always soothed my agony by their beauty. I first understood beauty's importance back then, and she was the most beautiful thing of all. I could admire her for hours when she was sketching and painting outdoors or even just in her room; I was mesmerized by her. In fact, not by her external beauty, but what lay inside; to this day, her kindness is my greatest astonishment. I'll even say that it's her inner beauty that reflects on her entire self and all her creations. She was kind, kind enough to create lies that could wash away my suffering.

But I still couldn't accept that.

You see, when you suffer for too long, it replaces good health;

You have convinced yourself that anguish is part of you: that is the lowest lie of all.

So, I took her newly-made canvas and shattered it into scraps before her eyes. I tore it down in pieces and threw away its remains before smashing down the frame. Then, I don't know why I told her that.

"I've had enough of your crappy drawings to ease your worries. Leave me the fuck alone."

She sighed whereupon she tightly held the pendant. She averted her eyes away from mines. I could clearly and obviously tell that she was hurt and sad. But I didn't care.

"Why can't you take it?... I love you, accept that," she said as taking her leaves.

I laughed.

Then, I never saw her again.

I stopped attending school for half a year after that, and ultimately, because I couldn't face her, I transferred elsewhere. The last time we spoke was when we were around sixteen, now we were twenty-six.

"Let's focus on brighter memories, right?" interrupted Terence.

He was right: lingering on the past only made me depressed. For the first time in ten years, I smiled, thanks to seeing Hermione's expression lit up again. Her rose cheeks ignited more fiercely than before, and a sweet smile emerged on her face.

"Terence, did Eddie already tell you how he gave me this necklace?"

"I don't think so, but I'd like to hear. That's what funerals are made for anyway, to hear all the good things a person was. This is the due respect to each dead man."

"Agreed, she gleefully added. So, I used to be nervous all the time and my parents put me in all sorts of therapy and activities like meditation, drawing, painting, etc. I guess it's thanks to that I was good at art in school but I still had anxiousness problem, and have (but don't worry, it has gone better since). When we entered high school, Eddie took metallurgy lessons to create this; that was the first time I saw him move his ass and do something productive. But as coward as he was, once finished, he just left it in my locker with the note:

"Made this for you. Thought of buying you these fidget toys for your anxiety but that wouldn't suit a lovely girl like you. Play with this instead.

— Love, Eddie"

" I laughed when I began to imagine his red face if he ever told me that in person. He avoided me at school during the whole day, but I was also embarrassed, embarrassed but happy that a guy had offered me something with such consideration. Since then, each time I feel it in my hand, I remember that no matter how desperate things would be, that someone who loves me would be there. He really knew how to be kind when he wanted; he would do it subtly, but enough to show his own kindness."

"Glad to hear that he at least knew how to please a woman. And more than that, despite what he has done, you still seem to esteem him high."

"I've never stopped loving him. Maybe less, but definitely still…" a silence followed. "Now, is there anything I can help with? It's already this late. Oh right, sorry for that but there was someone I knew who could've been here; I'm not really in good term with that person."

"Someone you were in class with?"

"Yeah."

"Can't blame you then," rapidly replied the old man. "I can handle what's left, so if you have to go, help yourself."

"Really? Then, how about exchanging contacts as the only friends of Eddie," she added as taking her phone out of her bag.

"I'll give you mine, but I already have yours. Remember, I was the one who invited you by sending an announcement."

"You got it from Eddie?"

"Well, it always was on his fridge as long as I remember. You never texted or talked to each other?"

"He didn't. I often sent him messages to let him know how my life was going through; I guess I was trying to break his wishes by doing so, getting closer to him again and all… But he never responded and I didn't care."

Hermione sent me about a message per year. They were somehow mundane, but her grief was definitely imbibed in her texts. She talked about the paintings she had made, or where she was going on summer vacation, these kinds of things. I only left her on read, but as stubborn and carefree as she was, she evidently wasn't concerned. There are two messages though that alarmed me; in the first one, she announced to me that she was pregnant but she hadn't told me who the father was. In the second, she stated that she dropped out of the art faculty but implicitly added that she had lost interest in art. "It's not the baby's fault", it was surely mine. She continued to paint for a moment, but reaching her twenties, it had gradually lost all its significance for her. Later on, the messages talked about her daily life with her adorable daughter, Edalynn, and her struggles as a single mother. I still wonder to this day who is the father.

"Damn that kid, cursed Terence. Here's my number anyway," he gave her a scrap of paper, "feel free to call anytime if you need something or just for a small talk."

"Yeah, definitely," she joyfully added. "Well, I'll be going now, see you."

"Oh shit, I was about to forget," the old man quickly took a document out of his suitcase. "This, I think, will greatly help you. I heard you're a single mother, and seems like Eddie didn't look down on that."

What he was handing to Hermione was an act of notoriety that proclaims her my only beneficiary. I wasn't rich, but I had a decent amount of money in my bank account thanks to not having any aspirations or immense desires; there were about thirty thousand dollars. I remembered writing that in my last will amidst one of my rare realizations of how spiteful I had been towards her. This couldn't allow her forgiveness, but I only wanted to see her happier. Though, money doesn't buy happiness, but it's better to be weeping in your apartment than in the streets. I also left a note to go with it.

Hermione was surprised to see the paper, but a tender grin mixed with sorrow soon showed on her face.

"The repayment for the lovely painting I broke. Worth much more than that but not enough money. Bet Edalynn's proud her mother got 30k bucks for one of her tableaux,

— Love, Eddie.", read Hermione.

"That kid!" the old man laughed. "I hope this helps you understand how much he thought about you and loved you. He regretted whatever he did bitterly, coped with his punishment, and before leaving us, he wanted to ask your forgiveness."

"I never held any grudge against him, to begin with," she delicately added. "I love him too much for that…"

A tear flowed across her freckles. Her smile became more intense than ever before crumbling apart into an inverted U. She rapidly tucked the document in her bag.

"Oh darling. I miss him too but there's nothing we can do. No, the best we can do is to cherish these moments we had with him and rejoice of them," said Terence as patting the young woman's back.

"Yeah, right, she said as wiping the last drops of tear. Now I think I'll head back home; my daughter must be waiting for me."

"Of course, of course. See you soon," finally added the old man.

"Um, see you soon."

At last, their discussion ended and so did my reminiscences. I was left with a hollow feeling: guilt. If only I had reached her and not kept being distant even though she wasn't even angry at me, I wouldn't be so miserable today: and the same goes for her. Not that she was particularly pathetic, but her greatest tragedy was to stop one of the things she loved the most because of my bitter insults.

So, when she exited the small hall, I decided to keep the company she lacked for these ten last years.