In the year 2034 or 2035, I started going to therapy. By then — that would have been 2033—the corrupt government was overthrown. A new administration was established, rightfully this time.

While I was diagnosed with mild schizophrenia caused by too much stress.

My psychiatrist, Billy Richards, was a short fellow with sweaty, stubby hands, manicured nails, and a silver ring on his ring finger. He gave me a curt little shake, it felt like squeezing a frog. In hopes of trying to make her go away. A queen poster was nailed to the wall behind Richards next to a smiling Louis Armstrong.

On our first session, I sat across his desk where he pulled open a drawer, and for a second, I thought he pulled out a necklace, but it was only a pen. The session began with the preliminaries then we cut straight to the chase.

"I still see her."

"Do you see her now?"

"No, she might be waiting outside."

"Maybe she's left in the car."

"You see, traumas either make you learn from your mistakes or turn you into a horrible person. I became the latter, it's hard for me to trust anyone, especially myself. It's like every time I'd open my mouth, only lies would come out."

But that's wrong traumas aren't your fault,

"But in my case," I retorted, "it was.

"Traumas haunt you to death or grow from it and learn," he continued.

"You know the worst part about all of my suffering, is thinking I deserve it."

He paused for a moment, then said, "I almost had a son once too."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"But we don't have to think that some people had it worse than you," he said, "We're not here to think that."

Most nights, I'd toss around in bed all night and there's this other person, I've been thinking about. Heck, I've been dreaming about whom I didn't know I loved for a long, long time. But my heart only belongs to her even now.

I remember one session of my therapy when Richards asked me to think of a memory or a dream I still haven't forgotten. I didn't tell him about the looping carnival, the school, Santa Villeta. I told him I remember a dream from when I was a child.

There was a mound of ground coated with grass.

And we were playing, everyone was laughing, chasing each other. We were just on top of that hill, without a problem in the world.

"I remember a memory," when Richards asked me to talk about a memory.

"An airplane was flying by, leaving a white trail of clouds.

We were pointing at it.

And wishing someday

We could ride one."

"Now tell me about your fear."

"I have a fear

Of this giant hole.

Not only deep but so wide

I am standing on a cliff

This hole that I couldn't see the bottom

That may have reached the center of the earth

It was dark, ominous, and eerie.

But it used to be just a compost pit.

I have a fear of falling into that hole."

That was the same setting for the last few years but one day, I stopped coming.

Partly because it's expensive another because deep down I still want to see her, to not bury my guilt.

It's been three years since I last saw my psychiatrist. I was thirty-eight now, my hair was receding and streaked with gray, and lately, I'd traced little crow's feet etched around the corners of my eyes. I am older now but maybe I could do something. Worth changing.

In some way, I got used to it. I don't want to forget her, maybe that's why I'm telling this to you to have another witness who knows. Whether she's just a hallucination, I didn't want her to go away, to leave me again. Although sometimes, she wants me to come with her.

Mostly when I was driving my car, canceling plans left and right. Instead of going to business meetings, I'd go wherever my feet or now my car would take me.

To me, It's just hard to fathom, the way we say darkness is just the absence of light and black is just the absence of color. Can you say the same thing by feeling empty? In which case, there's an absence of literally something? or that I'm lost in which case I don't have a direction to follow?

I see your ghost.

Or the ghost of what I had done. And what had I done, other than take my guilt out on the very same people I had betrayed, and then try to forget it all? What had I done other than kill my wife and think of someone else?

What had I ever done to right things other than to run away?

"But you came back," she would appear and say.

"And so did you."

My mother was stirring a hot pot of curry when Rachel and I arrived at our house. On the table, food was already served. Those days my mother's only hobby was cooking. If there's too much she would donate it or give it to our neighbors. She kissed my cheek and asked me, "How's your flight?"

"Excellent," I answered.

Rachel was still holding her rocket ship. "Bless," my mother said as she pressed her knuckles on her granddaughter.

My phone rang and I saw a message from Blinkey, insisting me to come to the reunion party tonight.

Rachel went to her room.

"Are you going to the reunion party?" my mother asked. "I'll be cooking." It's been in everybody's mouth these days. "I'll think about it," I replied.

"You should come," she said, blowing the spoon and tasting the sauce. "You know catch up with old friends."

"I'll go check Rachel, Ma. I'm pretty tired so I don't think I will."

"Sweetheart, can you tell me why this spaceship is your favorite?"

"So I can go up there," she pointed her finger up, "To the moon."

"Why do you wanna go there?"

She didn't answer.

After I left Rachel in the house with my mother, I drove around for a bit. First, I drove through San Rosario, then I drove by our school and Mix's house. Back to the plaza, just circling around town that was smaller than I could remember. The shadows of the trees grew long and the sky became red. I thought about what my mother said, reconciling with old friends. 

But the person I need to be reconciling with is here. With me.

"You don't have to say sorry," She said as she seemed to always read my mind. Of course, she's in it.

"Now forget me."

"If only I could."

"You never really loved me, did you?" she taunted.

"That's not true," I faced her, "you are my first and last love."

"But

today

And tomorrow is another day of agony."

All these years, it was the same routine. Sometimes, I wonder why my memories from twenty or twenty-two years ago were more vivid compared to my recent ones.

It's because I chose to forget.

My phone rang again. I ignored it.

No, I didn't forget, I just stopped remembering.

I opened my window and gazed at the sky. If only I had a rocket ship to go where you are.

I looked for the moon in the cloudless sky and when I found it I asked, "Are you there?"

"I'm here," she whispered, "Come with me." Right, she's here, touching my thigh asking me to press my foot harder on the pedal. The car revved. I could feel my foot pressing the pedal harder, the wind rising, and the car speeding up. Perspiration appeared on my forehead as I bit my lip. Then tears rolled down on my face as I remembered Rachel again. My mother, and Blinkey, who's probably still calling my phone.

Then my other foot stepped on the break. Smoke came out of the engine and so did the tires. I looked over the windshield and saw it was the patio of the church. The church we used to go to back in high school. I got out of my car and walked towards the church. I held my breath, pondering when was the last time I went to church. I wiped the sweat off of my face.

The double wooden doors were closed but the gate was opened. It's not too late to be given a chance to live. With the light of dusk decomposing, I kneeled and prayed.

After that, I thought maybe going to the party was a better option after all.