Diazepam

One of our professors once told us that a Noh play often starts with a dead character. For minutes on end that character would sit utterly still until people in the crowd start to fall asleep. Now and again there would be a gesture from the deceased, a sleight of hand, a turn, a bow, and then finally the character would start telling the story of how he or she died.

I died from heartache, or rather, my heart stopped beating – just to be a bit more precise. To put it bluntly, it started from cardiac arrest and then overworked itself. This impairment started roughly five years ago. And now thank heavens I am dead. So there, I have divulged the reason for my demise, it’s your turn to watch me waste your minutes and do vague gestures. But since I am dead why waste the living’s time, don’t you agree? If you haven’t decided to do something better yet, then let me tell you the story that led to all this.

Of all places, fancy that it started in the music room. I didn’t hate music but my art lay more on the visual side. I was just sitting rather still so that the humidity wouldn’t get the better of me. For those who thought that I was sad or sullen, they would’ve imagined that I was casting that sidelong glance because of a sultry thought. For me, I was just catching a glimpse of my reflection on one of the glass cabinets – one of the things that you do when you get a new haircut.

“Hey, Kat, something wrong?” asked one of my duped classmates. I shook my head and made a gesture to mean that I was just sleepy. Okay, my name isn’t Kat. If it was I’m not sure if I can live with that – pun not intended. Imagine how I would introduce myself, especially since I like felines.

Going back. A chair pulled up near mine. Daniel, the new kid. My brows furrowed a bit. Did I really seem that friendly?

“Hey, is there something wrong?”

I wanted to really laugh, the kind that would make people turn and cause wagging heads, but I kept quiet and shook my head with a smile.

“You’re cute,” continued the mild annoyance. “What if I court you?”

Should I consider it insolence, or flattery? Was it a question that I should dignify with an answer? Surprisingly, drowsiness always put me in this detached, meditative state where all conversations just resound as echoes. I laughed softly. “You must be joking.”

“I’m serious,” said the new kid with that admirable smile of his. “What if I do? What do you say?”

“Ay, bahala ka,” I chuckled. “I’m too young to think about those things.” And honestly, how can you answer that kind of question from someone that you haven’t talked to for more than five minutes before?

Another chair pulled up, from beside me this time. “Hey, Kat, do you know about…” Now this one conversation, if you can actually call it that, came as a blur about anime samurais, chopped bodies, and blood splattering everywhere. There were also the continued questions from the first boy about being a boyfriend, memories of ex-lovers and even more courting. The two voices did not seem melodious at all, it was like listening to a wannabe rock star that tried to bring classical music into the ‘new’ age in a very disconcerting manner. Exactly the type that would make you wonder why you didn’t keep painkillers in your bag.

I couldn’t remember if I walked out of that room with a smile, a blank face or a frown. I couldn’t even remember whom I walked out of the room with, if ever there actually was someone. I could only remember the glass cabinet, the two boys and the old electric fan blowing with an ancient sputter as it tried to remedy the humid day. I could also remember that I didn’t want to smile and walked on with a nagging pang of guilt over my shoulder. You see, when you are dead, these are the memories that would linger; the ones that made you think twice about your life. All the other details are sadly funneled down the Styx.

“Daniel talked to you again, right? What did he say?”

I looked at my best friend with the sincerest smile that I could manage and then lied, “He told me things about Jay. You know, updates.”

My best friend nodded, obviously frustrated with the lack of news, or if she suspected my atrocities, with the lack of details. I wanted to drown myself in a 2-foot deep tub of water and die a horribly embarrassing death. There are just some things that happen, I wanted to say, you try your best to be a good friend but sometimes you betray your best buds just by sitting quietly on one corner of a useless classroom. I wanted him to like you and get to know you, went this guilt-ridden unspoken monologue, but fate has lots of tricks up its sleeve doesn’t it? Honestly, I had no hand in all this.

I wasn’t much of a talker, and up to now I still haven’t developed the taste for uttered words. If someone would so much as bother me with a Ouija board I guess that all that they’ll get from me are yes and no answers, even if their questions are not answerable by yes or no. One of the events that reinforced my distaste for conversation happened accordingly. There was Paco, my best friend, the new kid, and myself. Being a high school student in a co-ed school, with a shy friend beside you who wants to know who her heart’s content desires, the conversation went like so, with me initiating it:

“Okay, guys, just for fun I’ll tell you who my crush is and you tell me yours. Deal?”

Of course they agreed. I confessed that my eyes are set on Jay, that doleful artist who was so kind as to chat with me during that art contest that only had me as a female contender. So much for affirmative action. Okay, the cat was out of the bag. Paco did his share by divulging, red cheeks and all, that the girl whom I believe half of the male population in our batch admired was his dreamgirl. My best friend, hiding behind that trusty handkerchief of hers lied that she liked an obscure upperclassman. And then the new kid said during his turn, in this unfazed manner of his as he looked at me, “You.”

If I had already known how to speak Nihongo then I would have said a resounding, “Dame da yo! Watashi no tomodachi wa anata ga aishiteru! Doushite shiranai?” But I didn’t, so I said with the best poker face that I could manage.

“That’s unfair, tell the truth. Telling someone who’s here that she’s the one is the oldest trick in the book! Tell me you can do better than that. Come on, spoilsport.”

He smiled and told me that he wasn’t joking. That’s the problem with new kids, I believe, its either they don’t speak or they don’t have tact. I turned away indignantly, holding fast to the conviction that it was an excuse and then glanced at my best friend who sat there, quiet and flustered. I guess she wasn’t exactly expecting that kind of answer. Well, that makes two of us.

Perhaps those were the events that started the cardiac pains, for there were several moments thereafter that caused me to have shortness of breath and fits of palpitation. If I had taken the heart pills I wonder if I had died the same way. Well, there’s no use crying over spilled milk, unless if you’re a cat that is.

Retreat. Last chance being in senior year to go out somewhere far with your classmates, have all expenses paid by your parents and with a permission slip secured by your school – a neat package that offers the privilege to not wear uniforms. Everyone was excited, everyone swearing that this time they’ll never cry. Perhaps I felt the same, but gossip, or so I gather, kept on ringing in my ears, keeping me from meditating on my life and that god-forsaken instrumental music that they have been playing in retreats for the past several decades.

The funny thing is Aquinas, Tennant, and most self-righteous scientists would insist that there is some divine order in the universe that directs everything towards the course in which they are meant to end up in – with humans as the zenith. Despite the cacophony of problems that arrest us each day — unruly, dastardly neighbors, and disjointed rules regarding stupid traffic violations and what not — according to these great personages there is an infallible endpoint to which everything attains rationality. I find it funny, and despite being dead, I constantly hear myself laughing because of this.

You see, if this is true then there is no order at all to begin with. Disorder is order, and being such the two words lose meaning. If their logic proves true then keeping yourself healthy has no point. The idea of living a clean lifestyle is to avoid catching long-term diseases that they attach capital letters to (such as the Big C) and thus live longer. Rubbish. According to the infallible divine order, mortality is the rule and when it’s your time, it is your time because that’s the way the divine Chi grooves; or else the entire webwork of destiny would get entangled and Armageddon would break lose. So instead of every single chronically doomed soul falling into the bowels of the underworld in one go, well we just die incrementally. I can attest to that. I mean, I’m dead aren’t I? So much for the ultimate plan of the universe when you’re already pushing up the daisies. The point in this is, I did nothing wrong. I actually felt like a pedestrian waiting peacefully by the bus stop when a manic driver suddenly decides to go 360 degrees and hit the waiting shed instead of the old lady crossing the street with the ‘Danger! Don’t Cross!’ sign.

So here’s what happened. All I wanted was to go to a retreat. In so many hidden ways I was a good person but there is always this nagging feeling that I’m one skip from damnation, and despite all of the incredulous people that chuckle when I tell them I think about being a nun – it was true at some time. The thing is, instead of the divine groove favoring my salvation, as I have already said gossip got the better of my attention. So here’s how the play rolls:

Characters: Myself – student wishing to take a true Christian, save-my-wretched-soul retreat, but ends up reading the book of revelation.

Daniel – the persistent new student; Casanova; the Devil.

Jay – my true love interest but lives in another world parallel to our own.

My Best friend – unwitting girl that always ends up on the wrong side of the equation.

Adversary #1 – unwilling nemesis to someone who has no idea that she has a nemesis.

Adversary #2 – much like the best friend but in a more peripheral status, usually of the opposite gender.

The Villagers™ – brings in the props, spreads the word, fans the fire and consists of the over-all collateral damage.

Plot:Love triangle, circle, square, oblong (as long as there’s a shape and with more than two players involved); unrequited love, unrelenting suitor, unwilling lady, and unknowing best friend (other ‘un’s’ may be included according to the season, weather, logistical capacities and measure of freewill present among the characters)

The Villagers™, henceforth referred to as my classmates, told me about a very interesting predicament that was taking place. It appears that the Adversary, henceforth referred to as May, wrongfully interpreted Daniel’s friendship and assumed that it was actually going to go somewhere. Daniel, being blunt, told her otherwise. There were some metal tube banging, crying, stolen glances and disdainful looks thrown here and there. Besides this, as I have already told you, there was the issue of my best friend which I truly adore but in turn likewise adores Daniel. Finally, there is the issue of Daniel bugging me about these ‘would you be my girlfriend?’ questions while at the same time asking me about Jay.

So imagine all of the characters that I mentioned above being present in my soul-searching retreat. Yes, there was ample reason to pray and listen to the awful music. It was a shame that I only decided to consult the heart doctor after the events that transpired in that retreat occurred, perhaps my hands wouldn’t have shaken so badly, I would’ve breathed better and thus would’ve been less nauseated… hell, I could’ve been more lucid. So this is what happened.

So after the inspiring talk, and expertly avoiding much of the spittle that was thrown about across the room because of the emphasis that the retreat masters wanted to put in certain quotes, the drill followed the appropriate schedule. They told us to walk around, reflect, contemplate, be quiet, and find our center. I obediently followed instructions, and being pensive 80% of the time I easily found a spot which allowed me to look at the grass and think about everything that’s happening in my life. But my contemplative bubble burst as I looked a large pair of shoes with a person attached to them stopping in front of me.

“Here, have this,” said a voice and I thankfully received tart, or whatever morsel of sweet pastry that was. I wanted to say ‘thank you’ but the shoes walked on. Have you heard about minor strokes? The small killers that come before the big one; much like the choking waves that precede the calm and occurs minutes before the tsunami. At that time I haven’t, which was too bad because I didn’t know that I was already experiencing them. It didn’t help that Catholicism, especially my school’s brand, basically molds you to become overly conscientious. What made it even worse is that all of these things were occurring in a be-nearer-to-your-God-and-be-steadfast-bearers-of-the-Divine-Word function. I had a whiff though that something big was going on because the little voice in my head was asking him if he wants to stay. And then it was as if there was a bargain that offers you two tickets for a movie for the price of one, which incidentally was offered when you are all alone. Thus you had to watch the same movie twice to get your bargain’s worth. I think Alanis had a song about that one. There was a snack break – which simply translates to the same walking around and find your center routine but reflection was optional.Samurai and gore boy, henceforth referred to as Joel because the former label is far too-long and misleading, came up to me and asked me how I was. Because of my impending salvation bid I engaged in some idle chit chat. Joel was honestly fun to talk to. He was intelligent, unusual and had the strangest variety of humor – one that borders on the macabre and obscene – but sadly he was adversary #2, the protagonist of another story. Credit has to be given where it is due though, especially when you’re dead – or else you’d be more than grateful that you’re already dead when they recite eulogies for you. I must say then that Joel made me think.

As he talked his voice trailed away, though this type of fade was not one that ebbed away peacefully – it was more than a disgruntled halt. I turned to my shoulder.

“Kat, I have some updates for you.”

“What are you now, a reporter?” I said, immediately buffering the retort with a friendly grin.

“It’s about, Jay.”

Although my brows only furrowed ever so slightly and a miniscule smile crept from the corners of my mouth, it definitely didn’t require a rocket scientist to know that I was definitely caught off guard.

“Excuse me,” I said to Joel, half-regretting that I actually had to say those words. “This’ll just take a minute.”

“Jay’s our roommate,” said the devil with the most admirable smile of his “it’s fun bullying him.”

Words of indignation flew about but amidst all these he kept that smile, obviously amused. His next words explained why. “I’m going to tell him about you – ask about what he thinks of it.”

“What do you mean about me? You can’t be… Hey, Daniel –“

“I’ll tell you about it later.”

The devil left with that smile again, and Faust couldn’t be more flustered. Imagine yourself just seconds after selling your soul to the devil and only after which did you realize that the typos in the contract got everything that you wished for wrong. Like instead of ‘heart’ instead it said ‘hearth,’ or instead of ‘part’ it said ‘fart’, and so instead of the creepy yet cheesy deal, “May I have his heart forever – and till death claims its toll we would never part’ imagine what you would get instead. Imagine that and your soul forever suffering in hell with Mephisto gladly allowing you to bring your wish down to Hades; a much coveted fireplace and methane explosions.

If only Mephisto knew that I was considering making the creepy yet cheesy deal with him in mind, would he still have played with our deal and would he have been so anxious to bring about my death so that he could claim another soul? The answers are lost to both of us now – dig them up six feet underground if you want to.

Again there were questions from my best friend. I was not lying when I told her what we really talked about but of course the deal was sacrosanct and thus not to be a matter of conversation. Yet the unspoken part of my diatribe kept running in my head. With all honesty I felt the weight of guilt on my shoulders but never had I realized that there was actually another being that could feel that there was a heart beating quietly within my chest. That was a feeling that I wanted to cherish and… no different from smoking … a simple need and habit began to take its toll on my body.

—–

My dear reader, should you be a lady there would be no need to further elaborate this, but should you be of the opposite gender let me describe a ladies’ dorm room. Too many varieties of lotion, perfume, soap, powder and other such subtle tools for vanity linger in the air like a thick, colorless mist that is sure to induce migraines and sleepless nights. Surviving that, one would get the impression that the Huns are about to attack. Save perhaps the war drums, the cacophony of gossip, singing and other such idle sounds can shoo off any impending army of males – and believe me, neither Hague nor Geneva can do anything about it. At that time perhaps it was too much for me. Heaven knows that if I could hear that same measure of noise from where I rest now, my neighbors would call the gorgons. So I invited my best friend outside to get some whiff of fresh air and some sanity. I was already planning where to sit, where to contemplate, where to think of the next good picture to describe in the story that I was writing. As you may have already deduced, something went wrong. There always has to be something like that.

“Ei, Kat, got a minute?” said a pair of hands that suddenly found their way on my shoulders.

I tried to get a better look at the devil to tell him that, hey shouldn’t we be making pacts when there are no one else around?, but with his hands on my shoulders as he towered behind me I couldn’t exactly give him the knowing glance that may at least hint of this reminder: “Daniel, what are you doing?”

I glanced down and found my best friend struggling with her shoelaces. She was taking too long for a respectable young adult to finish with the knots.

“But I’m with…” I tried to protest but was cut off.

“It would just take a minute,” said the Devil to my best friend, then to me “See? She says that it’s okay! Come one.”

So there I was, as if a cartwheel being led around the hallway and then down to the ‘save-your-soul-and-think-about-your-life’ pillars near the fountain. Then finally there we were, alone, face-to-face.

“So what’s so important that you had to-”

“I asked him.”

My eyes flew wide open. If there was a rule in high school life that was probably the one that he broke. My being wanted to protest. Surely, I felt this surge of indignation swell up my chest, blocking all the airways in my body. I didn’t want to ask what the response was, for my curiosity would betray the resentment that I harbored, and yet another somewhat alien side of me felt that I didn’t want to know, lest the answer be good it would break the Devil’s bond with me.

Somehow I wanted the visitations.

“Do you want to know what he said?”

I wasn’t shaking my head nor was I nodding in feverish delight. Although it may seem that I was simply purposefully avoiding to give any answer, the inability of my muscles to move and my tongue to produce any sound was not voluntary. I asked a deceased doctor a few tombstones across mine about it and he said that for sure it was one of the major symptoms of heart failure. How helpful it was to know something like that after I have already died. At that time my silence was a puzzle even to myself.

“Well, I’m going to tell you what anyway. Hey, are you okay? Why are you frowning like that? Are you angry? Hey, don’t be – no, you’re not? Well, okay, I asked him about you and he said that you have a nice voice. Yeah, he said ‘voice’. Well, you do have a nice voice. And then I asked him if he had any plans on courting you. Yeah, I asked that. He said not at this time, but after senior year maybe… hey, why are you so silent? Are you angry? Why? What? So what do you think?”

Literally the cat got my tongue. If it wasn’t beginning to get dark maybe I would’ve started looking for it. But how should I put in words what I was feeling? What was it that I was actually feeling to begin with? Imagine all the trouble that I went through and it appears that the Devil wasn’t trying to bargain for my soul anymore. A simple person would be happy, salvation is within reach once more but I wasn’t that person. For the devil to give up on you, that’s something.

“Hey, are you okay? Aren’t you happy? Hey, where are you going?”

I walked away, still without saying a word. There was this terrible cold and numbness spreading across my body. I couldn’t move my limbs properly and it was as if I was floating on air. But still what was the sensation? I don’t know. Paralysis? Shock? Relief? Whatever it was, it rid me of my appetite and my taste for conversation for the entire night. More sharing… ever more sharing, baring your soul and innards all throughout the night. If it wasn’t for the students being so self-absorbed with the fact that they are literally divulging every single secret that they had – thus they didn’t have the ability to listen what any other person was saying – then perhaps come the end of retreat all of us would be so bare that we would be stark naked. I can’t pay an iota of attention to the psalms that the retreat masters read, nor the ‘interesting’ life stories that they imparted with us. There was this terrible numbness that hung over me and around me that I simply couldn’t shake off.

Did I tell you that I am a writer? It’s funny though that at this moment I’m doing more talking than writing. I always thought that my words were more composed when I don’t actually utter them. But please, humor me on this one. The point in giving this little trivia is that at that time I was writing a story. I would pretend that it was an epic, and truly believed it was so but although I had the entire plot perfectly scrambling across the twisted pathways within my head it was so difficult to write down something that you have not even experienced. I was stuck with a bit regarding a fountain wherein the two protagonists would meet, exchange doleful glances, and then part ways without a single exchange of words. The clincher is, the moon and night was too magical and enchanting – one wherein the moon really trimmed silver lining at the edges of lifeless objects, making them stir and breathe with life and boring lawns would suddenly transform into a pearlescent sea, that there was no need for words although they were much warranted. I was struggling to write that scene, and that night I saw exactly what I was looking for.

We were led to the small courtyard wherein there was this less than noticeable fountain. To my surprise when all the lights in the retreat house were turned off and we were simply standing there, a hushed and clueless ring of impressionable youths, it was as if the world that I was writing about slowly unraveled my dreams into reality. It was more than perfect.

It is one thing for an expectation to fulfill its highest possibility. For example, if I wish for a DREV987 bike – if ever there is such a thing – and I get the exact thing for Christmas, then the gift is perfect, but when something that you have simply conjured from your imagination appears before you, the very presence of the thing causes vibrations to run like quicksilver through your very being. It is as if you dream something into reality. The very reason why I refuse to forget everything that occurred during those days and nights that we spent there is that I refuse to forget about that fountain. And whenever I felt the sting those times caused that simple image serves as my sheath. Despite the small respite that it offered though, inevitably, the ailment that I harbored that resulted from dealing with the Devil ran its course.

I was never the same, ever. I would always look at the ring that the Devil gave me as a reminder of our bargain. It was a confusing little thing for someone who does not have a one-track mind. Mephisto didn’t notice apparently, with all his cunning and wickedness. I wore it sometimes, but sometimes I forget that I even had it. And with each day that my heart grew weaker, the world got colder, emptier, and more reticent. It was as if all the clocks and timepieces were broken. The days went on too fast even though the minutes took hours to pass. The Devil dutifully hung around, but I could not remember if his tenacity waned or if I simply grew more distant. The Adversary, Joel, believe it or not, take the bid as well and to be fair he was surprisingly poetic for someone who had a fetish for watching films where bodies were cleanly sliced up. For that he truly touched my poetic heartstrings – the choice of words I mean. But he received the same honest answer, “Not now, please. Things are a mess. Can you wait?”

Things really were a mess – that I could be completely truthful about. You see, flying saucepans, kettles, ashtrays and bullets did not offer the same comedy that all those funny movies promised. Whenever such a scene enters into my daily drama I would postpone taking my heart pills. For some skewed reason, I had this idea that if my heart wasn’t working properly during those times then I wouldn’t overwork it. I read from somewhere that our hearts have a finite number of beats installed within them when you get the package delivered. I didn’t want to waste any from unneeded episodes of palpitation. The funny thing in skipping your legitimate drugs though is that the very act of forgetting becomes the habit, and because of the royal mess that I found myself in at a regular basis at that time I can no longer remember when I did and did not take my meds. On that one fated, sorry day of realization, I found myself with a heart that was already too broken to be called a heart.

All of those cheesy songs that rhyme about hearts getting crushed by this girl or that guy are somehow overrated – coming from someone with conclusive experience on the matter. Your heart does not break completely with one single blow from a demented cupid but rather, heartbreaking is a slow and constant process of disfunctionality of one’s heart processes until the tipping point comes and it becomes broken beyond any warranty clauses. Like silent little cracks within a poorly-made building’s structure you won’t know the problems during summertime, but when the rain comes all that you’re left with is the indoor shower. That’s why when the first chance of using it came I didn’t know that it was already broken before I offered it.

Do you know what the only use of a broken diamond is? To chip or polish other diamonds. And you know what bored, overcompensated housewives would always whine about, “Diamonds are forever.” I guess that was what happened when I finally redid the ‘Not now, please. Things are a mess. Can you wait?’ script that I always had up my sleeve for someone far from being the Devil or the Adversary. It’s a good thing that I wasn’t sued for offering something that wouldn’t pass any quality control test. That was the first reminder that I had regarding my failure to take my meds conscientiously. Of course, I would not dare to admit this to my doctor. Little did I know that the period that I allowed this to continu

e has already accosted me too much. The Adversary, the Devil and Etcetera Etcetera had come and gone but it was already too late. Who was to think that I only had a few days left when I finally decided to go through my medicine cabinet? I mean, even I didn’t have a clue. And then, Bam! Dead as 98mph swatted fly could be. Quite a pointless story, isn’t it?

For the final question, I guess it might be something that has been bugging you from the very first time that I decided to speak and waste your time. What is the real difference now that I’m dead? You see, there is some truth in the echoes of things past remaining in spirits. A vengeful spirit relives the dreadful circumstances of its life and thus goes about wreaking havoc. That is the emotion left to it. A lonely spirit, who perhaps has died as a result of some deep sense of misery – the Criers as I would always like to dub them – would go about moaning and groaning beside windows or beds or stairs… whichever strikes their fancy. The emotion left to a wandering spirit cannot be that of joy or contentment, if that’s the case then all that’s left is to go to that white light. The emotions of a spirit cannot change because since the unfortunate chap is already dead there can no longer be some epiphany or great change that would come about to modify its worldview.

I died because I stopped breathing… my heart ceased from beating. Henceforth that shall be the state that I’m left with. I can tell you the entire story wherein the different circumstances of my eventual passing came about, and how Friend, Little Boy, Memnoch and Cheeks played an integral part in it, but it wouldn’t be any fun to tell a story about a character that can no longer change. I can only tell tales now from purgatory and purgatory is not somewhere far flung with piñacoladas and those little umbrellas. No tickets, no passports, no Visas – it’s right here. Contrary to public opinion, the dead walk among you and worry about Value Added Tax like everyone else. Just as I do. There may be some interest in the stories that we tell, but the sad truth in this is that nobody would dare tell us how long we have to linger in purgatory – or if there really is a heaven or hell.

Since there isn’t much point in lying though I can safely say that the dead won’t lie to you. This story is real. It is the story of how my passing began. Pray for me, will you?