This is an odd looking parol, the first for the night’s Christmas-lights watching around the neighborhood. I do it every year, at the eve of December, when all the houses are sure to have already been prepared to suit the holidays. I put my hands in the pocket of my trousers and stare at the lantern curiously. It seems to have an extra arm, jutting out between the top and left peaks in much the same way as a turtle’s head between its two forelegs. Could anyone have destroyed the cozy symmetry of a star any better? That is the first of my thoughts; the second being that I must’ve seen it before. Of course, it was likely, considering it is hanging from the roof of our next-door neighbor’s garage, but that isn’t what I meant.
You know how it is when you see something, the commonest of things, and it strikes you as though you could’ve dug out the exact same object from an obscure corner of your mind and replaced it without anyone ever noticing? That is what I meant. Hidden somewhere in the recesses of my subconscious, that very parol flickered, unwavering in one of my distant dreams.
It was in a forest, I think, but I can’t be sure. I was very young then, when I dreamt it. You know how dreams are, most of them are lost to you once you wake up, if not in time. Although I do remember it hanging from a branch high up in one of the brooding trees surrounding me. I looked up at it thunderstruck, with stars warm and twinkling at my feet, and scattered everywhere on the ground. The edges of my vision were a haze, as though mists covered them, and the air was the scent of stardust, which could have been the whiff of the fairy that was suddenly by my side. At least I thought she was a fairy, for when I was finally able to remove my eyes from the hypnotizing parol, I saw her small olive-colored butterfly wings. She was looking up as well, at the asymmetric lantern.
It looks as though there’s another star peaking from behind, she said to me. In that dream, her voice was like the echo of a cello.
In her young eyes were spangles of purple stars and her smile exuded an air of attractive impishness that suited the flutter of her little wings. In less than a minute after I had been awestruck by that parol, I was awestruck by her. She smiled ever brighter with my reaction, I remember, her eyes turning almost bright violet as she did so. It seemed she was used to such a dazed expression as mine.
I’m not quite sure how the dream went after that. The haze at the corners of my vision had been closing in. Either she picked up a handful of stars at our feet, twinkling brighter than any Christmas lights, and placed it on my palms before flying off, or she took my hand and we flew towards that oddly shaped lantern that always seemed to be the same distance away, glimmering steadily like we had never moved, even after having flown far above the ground. Its odd, I could remember the stars like droplets of water, warm as the morning sun as they trickled into my little palms, yet the hazelnut scent that trailed from her fluttering olive-green wings as she pulled me up towards that lantern was also so distinct. And behind her outline, the reds and blues of the parol shone like anything. Whichever it was, I was sure I felt that I wanted to be with that fairy with an impish smile forever.
I continue to stare at our neighbor’s parol for a few more minutes, trying in vain to remember which of the two happened next in that dream. The colors danced in constant rhythm without end, and the odd arm’s lights flashed as though it was right where it belonged. I stand there until I realize the person standing next to me. I look to my side and see a girl in simple jeans and a green turtleneck, and for a split second relief sets in. Suddenly there is this urge to take her hand and continue my Christmas lights watching with her the way it always was every year, but I stop myself.
She smiles weakly and tilts her head. “Hey.”
“Oh…Hi.”
“It’s weird noh?” she tells me. It takes a while before I realize she’s talking about the asymmetric latern. I look up at it again, but the odd arm doesn’t strike me as much anymore, much of my staring at it has gotten me used to its asymmetry.
“Yeah..” I let myself muse with its little light dance. From the corner of my eye, I see her watching it as well. I used to enjoy scenes like this with her, and I still do very much.
“Parang there’s another star trying to peak from behind.”
“I was about to say that,” I release a small laugh at it’s odd familiarity.
“I knew I’d see you walking somewhere along this street.” She smiles at me.
“Of course you do.” I smile back at her. We should be walking along this street together, is what I should have said, but I didn’t, because part of me doesn’t want to. I see her eyes twinkle, reflecting the blues and reds of the lantern.
Through the dark of night, I could see the three tiny moles on her face that I adored every time they catch my eye. They seem to me like Orion’s belt, and I admire it again this time, before she suddenly looks down. For the last few weeks of my being with her, I have gotten used to her looking away.
“Look. I’m...”
“I know,” I cut her off, “me too.”
The night before, she stayed at home with her sister, she told me. And yet she walked along the Christmas amusement park three jeepney rides away from home, taking a bite off a sandwich from a guy I’ve seen only once among the photos in her wallet. Fingers intertwined, they took a seat at the caterpillar as I staggered out the amusement park. I waited outside her house until she came home.
“Maybe next Christmas I can go parol watching with you again.” She says.
“Maybe.”
An awkward pause follows. I look back at the bizarre looking lantern and wonder where my olive-winged fairy is. If only she could fly me away from the spot I was standing on, and up towards the lantern of my dreams. She shifted her weight before she spoke again.
“Here,” she pulls out a small clear bottle from her pocket, and puts it in my hand. It is filled with colorful paper stars that I remember making for her a few years ago.
When we started going out, I began writing little messages and secrets every week in strips of colored paper and folding them into stars, slowly filling out that bottle. I gave it to her once it had been filled and told her to read every star. Now here it is, warm in my palm from the heat of her pocket.
I look at her again. The eyes that have lost none of its sparkle seems to want to say something more, but she remains quiet, a quiet that deafens both of us, but which none of us dare break.
As the love of my life starts walking away, part of me wants to hold her back but my arms stay in place, and my lips do not open. I turn back towards the lantern, afraid that she might turn around and see me looking at her still, watching her silhouette amongst stardust of lights along the street.
Only on Christmas day will I realize that she herself left a single white star in this bottle for me, and only then, when I read it, will I realize I have lost the most precious being in my life to nothing but my foolish jealousy. But for now I stand here on the sidewalk of this dim lit street sparkling with Christmas lights. In my hand the warmth of the bottle rubs against my fingers, and my fairy flies away leaving droplets of stars in my palms and a parol, flickering and unwavering as one in my distant dreams.
© Vigile 2006.