I was sitting by the window listening to Kelly Clarkson's Stronger, when I saw John Garcia walking slowly towards my house. I couldn't breathe. I didn't know what to do. I never saw his face for six years. Although I was listening to a song called 'Stronger', my body got weaker.
I closed Spotify, took off my headphones and put myphone on the table near me.
That voice. So familiar. It deepened a little but still as sweet as a mango. His voice is a character on itself - like a lost man in a big city, every word feels heavy and full of meaning and urgency; it's fast yet soft.
That voice that could sprout flowers on the driest soil. I was studying alone in the library when I first heard it. He was in the History section talking to his friend. Although I had not seen his face, I knew he was someone special. The lifeless library became a palace garden. And I knew somewhere, behind those bushes, talking to his royal friend, was my prince.
John Garcia was outside my house, staring directly at the door. When he swayed his head a little, ours eye met. I was on fire. And I knew I couldn't control it.
We were just ten feet apart, between us was the open window.
He started walking towards me. It's weird that I remember every detail of his walk.
That walk. He limps. It's like the earth beneath him is always shaking.
That walk as fast as his voice. I was there when the accident happened. It was all my fault. He had an obsession with mugs from other countries and coincidentally I just came back from the Philippines, where I bought a couple mug with half a heart printed on each. One night I stalked him and put one mug on the door step. I knocked and hid behind the little tree in their yard.
Because he is always fast, he opened the door and stepped outside withoutlooking down. Then it happened. I remember there was a lot of blood. The glass must had hit the bones in his foot.
"Sheena. Finally." He said, smiling. A happy smile, I could tell. Was he happy to see me?
He was there standing outside my window. This never happened until his last day in this town, and that was six years ago. That was December 24, 2011.
2011 was our senior year. John Garcia was a popular kid in our school. Not that he's rich and over-confident kind of a popular kid. He was smart. He got twenty-three medals that year, and I know how every medal looked, he showed them to me.
I invited him over to our house that Christmas eve. I was on this same spot waiting for him. By eight, he showed up, but he got a large bag with him. He said he will go to the big city because he got a scholarship. I asked him if he wanted me to be his girlfriend, even just for one night. He was shocked and then laughed and thought it was a joke. I pretended and said it was just a joke. He said he will never have a girlfriend until he get a job and that I should not worry because I am his first best friend.
And that was the last time I saw his face, waving and smiling at me. Now that he's back, I would ask him the same question.
John Garcia was here. And that's all that matters. Instead of me asking him, I felt like he was going to ask me.
He shot his arm through the open window as fast as he had always did. Dangling on his soft-looking hands was a white envelope with white ribbon.
My chest got heavy. I knew what it was. It was a wedding invitation.