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Typical. Common. Usual.
June knows it. It's a story she has heard a couple of times. Too much that she had memorized the pattern. The plot, from how it began up 'til how it ends. She's smart enough to know what to do, and what not to do.
Until the story became her own reality. Until Junia fell in love with Augustine- her best friend.
June
I have it engraved on the back of my mind. Twelve years ago— in a calm afternoon of July.
Inside the empty classroom that collected dusts and dried black marker inks on the whiteboard. Third row, first and second seat. It has only been a week since school started. August carefully tucked her envelope of papers inside her bag, quiet. Until she spoke words that lingered in my mind far longer than her voice did.
"I'll give the second button of my uniform to you."
Fifteen-year-old me was stumped. August was taller than me— so I had to look up at her with my wondering eyes, brows creased unsurely.
I was young, sure. But it wasn't a foreign concept for me. I have heard it from the school seniors, my parents, and even my grandparents. It's an unspoken tradition people do to either confess their heart, or to prove the love they have for someone important to them.
"Do you even know what it means?" August's eyes gave me nothing but certainty. And that scared me. Not because I felt uncomfortable, but because I knew it was the moment I have dug my own grave. And I swore I heard my own heart thumping chaotically inside my rib cage that day.
"Yeah, you give it to someone important to you."
"That's not what i-"
"You're important to me."
The cranky wall fans have never been quieter. The classroom has never felt too cramped, and the cool wind from the open windows have never felt so warm against my skin.
August was young, sure. But how careless of her to leave a fragile heart questioning what it has already known.
It was shallow. It was too brief. I managed to fool myself that it was nothing but a mere appreciation. It was just my heart letting me know how thankful I should be that my best friend told me how important I am to her. It was nothing.
No, it was something.
From then on, every moment with her was more than a simple bond. Every interaction, every stolen glance, and every shared gazes that we were too awkward to hold. They became purposeful. Sacred. Like a photograph preciously framed in the middle of a gallery everyone can witness, yet only one is privileged enough to hold.
I swear I tried the hardest not to fall deeper than I already had. But every strand of effort I have carefully constructed, were destructed by no other than August herself. Piece by agonizing piece.
It was an afternoon after our class. August and I went to the local park that we've already gone to for countless times. She took off her jacket and placed it on the aluminum park bench before letting me sit on it.
"Use that. I know how much you hate getting your skirt dirty."
August even placed her handkerchief on my lap, before handing me the sandwich she split for the both of us. An act that used to be so thoughtful, now a deep contrast to what I was trying not to think of.
August was the one who held each part of me during moments where I felt like breaking apart. She was the one who wiped my tears and offered a shoulder I can always lean on.
It was then followed by small gestures that screamed the biggest truth I have been keeping silent.
August hates walking home from school. We always ride our bicycles and compete for who can drive the fastest. Not until one completely normal day, August told me not to bring my bicycle.
"June, don't bring your bike to school tomorrow. Dad's dropping us off, and we can just walk back after class."
"What? But you hate walking! I don't carry any extra transpo fees with me."
"Well... Yeah, but walking would let me spend more time with you before we reach home."
August hates sharing her slice of pizza. Pepperoni pizzas are her favorite, and so is mine. I hated olives, and so does August. Yet when we attended a party, she swapped our plates.
"What are you doing? You hate olives, August."
"You hate them too. Just go have my slice of pepperoni."
"Dummy, I can just eat at home."
"Party ends in another hour, June. You haven't had your lunch."
"Then we can just sha-"
"June."
"Alright, fine. Thank you, though. I'll treat you one some other time."
August had this camera of her that she wished for her seventeenth birthday. She always had it with her, the straps hanging on her neck along with her school I.D. From the moment August had it, I was never once able to touch it. I was never able to take a look at her captured photos, because August reminded me of how clumsy I am that I might delete the photos for the campus photojournalism.
But what the students' campus publishing club told me gave me the answers I wasn't prepared to hear.
"August will send the photos a bit late. She said her phone gallery had too many photos for the club, it was lagging." I was confused.
"But doesn't she use her camera for taking photos? The one she always carries?" All four members stared at me, like I have spoken something absurd.
"You don't know where she uses it? I thought she always shows you your photos?" They shared the kind of look that held some knowledge I wasn't able to receive.
"My- my what?" August entered the club office. So casually, with the camera on her hand. As if the device didn't carry a secret that brought me the biggest hope I could ever ask for.
That was ten years ago. Before we entered college. Before August had to leave, just to study in a more prestigious school than the ones our town had. Before I felt my own heart slowly losing its strength to thump against my rib cage.
Today is the third Saturday of the month of June.
The heavy clouds reflected on my bedroom window, in front of the desk where a piece of paper sat. I picked up the black pen I bought from the same bookstore August and I used to go to. The pen that's stored beside the shelf where her favorite book used to be displayed. Few raindrops began to hit the concrete ground outside, as I let myself pour the words I couldn't utter on the paper underneath my hand.
Augustine,
You were the only constant in my life for eighteen years. People had come and go, yet you're the one who stayed with me and reminded me of how strong I am to conquer life on my own. I still remember the day you told me our college life would be far from one another. I spent twelve years of my life that knew an August beside it. And I was scared to live a future where you're not there. But you told me I am a person of strength and wit. That it'll be nothing for me. That I should be brave.
August, I am sorry.
I apologize I never became brave enough. Not in living a life without you near, but to tell you the words that remained buried inside my chest.
I love you, Augustine. Since we were fifteen. Since we were young, clumsy, and barely knew how the world works its mysterious ways.
And I am sorry I never gave us a chance. I am sorry for running away that day you told me the reason why your camera held nothing but images of me. I got scared. I got scared that letting the truth in would destroy what we have built. Would destroy us. And it's stupid of me to destroy us instead. I should've been braver. I should've just told you that I love you, too.
I am sorry you had to leave with the idea of your feelings being foolish. I have been foolish. We were two young girls who realized we've found more than friendship with each other. And I feared what the world would've done for us. I never wanted to make you feel like it has been just you building us all along.
But I knew that keeping you for myself would just ruin you along the way. Maybe it was better to let you have what's easier, than to let you crave for a life that'll never be easy.
You were never mine to lose, August. But in the end, I have lost us, still. And it'll always haunt my stupid heart. I don't really know if I'd let this piece of paper reach your hand and have you read my messy handwriting once more. But I want to let you know that I am deeply happy for you.
For you and your husband's wedding. I am grateful you invited me, but I'm sorry for not showing up. Just know that it's for the better.
You are the first person who taught me loving can be this bittersweet, August. You are my first love. We will always be June and August. So close yet so far from each other's reach.
Somewhere, someday, we'll have a lifetime meant for no one else but us. For now, in this life, I'll quietly spend forever grieving our almost.
Sincerely,
— Your June :)