The Girl Who Sang To Heaven

Wind originally uploaded by Walking Turtle.

When I looked up again, the old ghost was gone. In his place sat a female ghost wearing a delicate white dress with little pink flowers that stirs and floats. At first, I thought it was the moonlight ghost coming to blame me again for what might have been. But then I noticed the short hair. A vaguely familiar figure like someone I knew from a long time ago but had long since forgotten. A rather cheerful voice asked, “You said she was your first love, what about me then?”

That shocked me. The melodious voice that floated across like riding on a breeze, I had heard it before. Though, the question is accusatory, I detected no resentment, regret or malice in the tone. In fact, it sounded playful as if she was deliberately pulling my legs and taking pleasure in my discomfort.

I racked my brain but I could not recall anyone I was intimate with before Kansas. No, I first tasted the bitter wine of loneliness in the wind-swept plain beneath the cloudless sky. In long walk in empty fields where not even an animal stirred, the winds sang me their woeful tunes. They mocked me that man cannot survive alone and only the wind can roam unfettered. I believed them. I learned man needs love only after having drank the dew of solitude. So there cannot be anyone before Kansas.

“Oh, how completely you’ve forgotten. You forgot the laughter but you could not forget the tears. I should cut and make you bleed, then your tears will nourish my memory. I think I would rather be hated than forgotten.”

Again, there was laughter in her voice. If I meant something to her, why is she so cheerful? But I am now quite sure I knew her though there is just no recollection except for the voice I had heard before. My mind went over all the girls I knew but I could not place her. I could not fit a memory to the voice that sings.

“You said I sang to Heaven.”

I felt blood rushing to my face. Oh, my god! How could I forget her? She observed me with great interest seeking to peer into my feelings beyond the embarrassment. I could not meet her eyes and hang down my head to avoid her steady gaze. She said nothing but continued looking intensely, a smile appearing at the corner of her sensual lips. She is quite ordinary looking but there are moments when an inner brilliance shines through and you will think her terribly attractive. Like now.

Finally, I found the words “I’m sorry, Beth. I have not forgotten about you but I do not know why I have not even recalled you once this last twenty years. Please forgive me.” I said honestly.

“And do you really remember me now?”

I first met you in the apartment above mine where I stayed as a student next to a Coca-Cola bottling plant in Manila. In the apartment of a good-natured American soldier who looked a lot like “meathead” (the son-in-law of Archie Bunker in “All in The Family”). He has the same moustache and a loose relaxed manner that made his six foot frame cuddly. His wife is a slim shiny brown skin Filipina and they have two young children, a bouncy baby boy and a beautiful girl with naturally curvy hair that is neither dark brown nor gold. Both were fair and looked more like the father. I never see him with a shirt on in his room but always with a chequered sarong round his waist. They were a happy family and friendly to strangers. So I used to drop in, the only warm place in this drab concrete building where the corridor was the only common thing shared by its inhabitants.

I did not know what you were doing there nor how you knew that family and I never asked. I only remember hearing you sang that day I was there. A voice in need of no music. When you sing, people stops to listen. It is not like a storm that seized attention by its volume and power. No, it is like a running drizzle moved by shifting winds. You strained to hear the softest note. It is like the light quivering of the bamboo leaves on a still summer day. Like the dripping drops rolling off roofs surrendering to the puddle below. Like the splintering waves expiring with sighs on unyielding rocks. I stood there afraid to breathe, worried the coarseness of my breath will mar the perfection of your song. I fell in love with your singing before I fell in love with you. Or is it I fell in love with you because of your singing? Or is it I think I fell in love with you because when you sing, you were the most attractive woman in the world to me?

“Ha ha, you remember. And after all these years, you still do not know if you love me.”

“But you’re right. Whether I truly love you or not, you’re my first love.”

“Contradiction. You are always the confused one and good in confusing others. Do you know that is because you think too much? You feel too much too. Then you need to ask – what is this I’m feeling? Then you go on, like a dog chasing its tail. Whether you love me is not as important as whether you remembered me.”

Yes, I remember now. But I do not know why I forgot everything about her for so long. When the memory now is as clear as the tinkle of the metal spoon against the crystal glass. I felt I have wronged her.

“It is okay.” There is gentleness in her voice. “You did not forget but you bury me. Why, I don’t think even you know.”

Her seriousness suddenly evaporates like the mist under the rising sun. She laughed, “We can explore that together later. But now, tell me more. What else do you remember? I want to know.” Her whole body was shaken by her merry laugh. And tonight, I am glad I have company.

To be continued...