Thoughts Thoughting

So many cats have inhabited our house since the last time I posted the first post and with that comes a few problems here and there but nothing that can't be fixed and moved on from. Tonight was no exception for the worms that sit in my brain, watching the world through the lenses we call eyes, sitting on its reclining chair with a cold worm-beer on its smooth left hand. A remote lay nestled on the other. Typical worm, enjoying front seat in this life-long series called Living.

Prescriptions from the veterinary clinic told me to get some antibiotics and that's what I did. I chose the pharmacy that stood next to another pop-up style building selling slow-roasting meats and fried chicken. This particular pharmacy sold OTC and prescription drugs that were cheaper than big pharmacy stores. Such a pairing sounds ironic, a pairing that seems chronological, telling if you will, but that's just myself giving meaning about something that simply happened to be together because the spots were strategic.

Like meeting people because you happened to be in the same place at the same time, or making a poem and accidentally having your crush read it.

Sometimes things just exist in the same space unintentionally but necessarily.

---

I stepped inside the pharmacy, a first-time thing for both of us because I have always bought medication from big pharmacies that not only sold medications but also make-up, snacks, self-care products, drinks, and even frozen food. Immediately, I was greeted with two things: the smell of a mixture of stacked old paper, and storage. If you have ever been inside a huge warehouse where stacks upon stacks of papers in folders were kept, you would be sorely familiar with the smell of a forest of papers sitting atop metal racks. There are only a few places where one might find themselves in such a dizzying forest, and a pharmacy backroom is probably one of them. I was not, however, inside a pharmacy backroom, rather I was in front of the counter, waiting for my turn as another customer came looking for medications meant for personal use.

With a partially blocked nose from allergies that kept coming back, eyes scanning the racks holding boxes upon boxes of medications and taking in the snacks they also offered right on the counter itself, I was taken back. The smell and its musty familiarity took me back to a time I remembered well because of how much time I spent there, to the forest of the dead, quite literally and figuratively, and I felt calm. Excited even, because the smell reminded me of carefree days and makeshift sleeping places when I was not home. We weren't homeless, far from it actually, but when you're a kid with adventurous parents, sceneries can change at times.

That is why I thought of nosetalgia. it's not a real word and there's one out there to describe how smells can make us associate a specific scent to a memory deep in our brains, but I prefer nosetalgia. Describing it for what it is feels appropriate and a wonderful way to honor the unique feeling of mentally and emotionally living in a memory with the associated scent as your running fuel. Once the smell is gone, the memory then also slowly transitions from a vivid recollection to a subtle taste left in our tongues after eating four bricks of a milk chocolate bar. it's such a unique feeling that sometimes, it's the only way I can live for as long as I have. To smell the smells that we associate with something positive is truly...a nosetalgic affair.

The single white rose I held in my hand glistened with droplets of water and I stared at it for a while. Cool moisture developed on the flower from a slight drizzle of rain from gloomy clouds that decided to visit while the sun remained shining. An irony of a weather but accepted nonetheless because Edna would have liked this. The combination of warmth and slight cold would have made her stand out in that pink summer dress she always insisted on wearing every time we saw each other by the park for a picnic. I still remember that the little colorful frogs she painted herself just by the edge of the dress were messy, but she loved it anyway. "It's a plain dress and I'm making it my own. A chaotic touch of personality." She would say. I would joke around with her and she'd play offense while I sarcastically apologize.

We were good together like that, but I wanted us to be better—better together, maybe even best; however, Edna is my twin brother's girlfriend. Edna will remain forever his girlfriend because I am only but a living reflection of the man she is best with. I wanted to be him so badly sometimes, but I didn't want to resent him either for fairly acquiring a love that was consented to him in the same manner. I love them both (although not in equal measures) but respect for my brother outweighs the despair that creeps inside my heart.

Despite this boiling pot of jealousy, brotherly affection, and love for Edna, I still managed to find a way to secretly spend time with her. Does my brother know? Well that's a secret. One, I know, that Edna will bring with her, safely stored in her knowing heart.

There was one time when she came over, the only time I knew of, because our parents were taking a week vacation to a tropical country. Sandy beaches and fresh coconuts were the highlight of the trip along with local foods from restaurants. They sent pictures of everything to us and suddenly, the thought of bringing Edna to the beach crossed my mind. Next thing I know, she was ringing the doorbell and I quickly ran to my feet and answered it. I knew she came for my brother, not me, but I wanted to receive her myself. She smiled a strange smile and I greeted her before letting her know that my brother will come down shortly. "Take a seat on the sofa. I'll call him for you." She thanked me and I felt her stare piercing my back. Why is she looking at me?

Later that night, they both laid down on the bed. When my brother was finally asleep, she went to the balcony and sat on one of the chairs. I got the feeling that she was waiting for someone and after five minutes, I decided to follow suit. She smiled that same strange smile again, but directed to the stars and the full moon that shone brightly above us. Never would I ever expect the next two words that would come out of her lips and the sense of weird relief and embarrassment that proceeded it.

I know.

She said to me and continued to look on the stars. I stared at her for some more, taking in her beauty as the light of the moon pictured it; and I too managed to smile towards her and the celestial bodies above us. And so we continued our relationship whatever this can be called, and my brother knew none of it.

———

Six months later, at 5pm on a Sunday, the devastating news of Edna's death arrived at our doorstep and my brother wept loudly. Edna was on her way to our house when a drunk driver crashed into the mini-bus she was riding on her commute to our place. She died on the spot and we only got contacted because somehow, our address was written on a piece of paper stuck behind her phone case. They thought, perhaps, that we were family since her phone would have taken a while to open and her IDs with her home address were somewhere in the wreckage. Only a work ID, those that only had your photo, name, and position on it, were found next to her phone.

A freak accident.

My brother didn't take that lightly and screamed while crying at some point. He even acted like he almost wanted to murder the police officer that stood before him—the man who delivered the news of Edna's passing. It's true that it's much easier to project one's grief in the form of sadness towards the messenger, but I knew it in myself that he didn't want to be angry at the officer either. I wept and screamed in my own way without my brother knowing while he nursed his grief the best way he could.

———

Somehow I knew that I could never love anyone else like Edna. My heart and soul were captured by her, sealed by fate on that night by my brother's balcony. The moment she confessed her knowledge to me with the blessing of the moonlight and the veil of the night, there was no turning back. No one could ever replace Edna in this heart I share with my brother, but he deserves another chance at love too.

We watched her casket's slow descent and felt our drenched coat as the slight drizzle slowly became a shower while the sun remained shining. The single white rose on our hand accepted the offering of rain too; and when we finally decided to let it go, so did I from my brother's hold. His heart will remember Edna, but mine while live forever on the memory of that evening—that evening where Edna knew she loved two different people in a body of one. Before I left, I wondered what her last thoughts were. Did she thought of us? Of me perhaps, if I so boldly think? Well, it's alright. Similar to those last thoughts, I too, am gone with Edna.