Featuring Hugo and Livvy

November 4, 2005 (part 1)

present day

Hugo woke up that day to the rays of the afternoon sun filtering through his window and right into his eyes. He tried to go back to sleep but to no avail, putting his head under his pillow and his pillow under his head until he just laid there staring at the ceiling with nothing on his mind but everything in his heart.

When he checked the time, he saw that it was 1 pm. Not late enough, he thought to himself, but got up nonetheless, begrudgingly.

Stepping down from his bed onto the creaky, plywood floors–the creak that he never bothered to fix, in the past because he had no money, and now despite the fact that he has lots of it–, he looked around his room, properly this time, in the light of the afternoon.

The only thought in his mind was that there were so many memories in this place, which seemed to be untouched by time. With his family, friends and, of course, with Livvy. Every crevice and corner of this room, every item seemed to bear her name, and some indeed did bear her name:

(1) the photo of her and Hugo in front of the theater, framed in brown and engraved with the words, "from Liv" (she was supposed to engrave it with a longer message, but, "it's a lot harder than you think to carve this thing. I have bigger biceps than you now."),

(2) the writing on the side of his cupboard, where it said the words LIVVY WAS HERE when she won a bet against him ("wait. you'll look at this everytime you get dressed. ew. is it too late to remove this?")

(3) the plethora of letters and notes stored in his drawer that he couldn't muster the courage to look through and also,

(4) some of the 30¢ pens she bought on a sale one day more than twelve years ago, with a label of her name stuck to it, but what was white had turned yellow and frayed with age.

He picked up the pen and tried to draw something on his hand, to no avail. He motioned to throw it, but found that he cannot do so. He put it back on his nightstand.

The doors of his childhood bedroom also creaked, and so did the stairs – a stark comparison against the polished marble and shiny exterior of the high rise apartment he lived in in the city, in a building known as the "most exclusive building in the area."

Yet somehow, the familiarity of this place made him feel more at home than he ever was at that place. He's asked his mother on several occasions if she wanted to move to a better neighborhood, or if she wanted any renovations done, and the answer was always a resounding, "No, Hugo. I like where I live now."

They seemed to have guests downstairs, but he did not bother to look at them, until he heard a voice most familiar to him.

"Hugo Park, is that you?"

Olivia's mum. She and his own mum sat side by side on the sofa, two cups of tea between the both of them. She smiled brightly at Hugo when she sees him, a smile that was all wrinkles on the eyes and all her teeth visible, a smile reminiscent of Olivia's. She rose to hug him.

She did not treat him any different, though Hugo expected her to. She made him tell her what life is like in the city, and asked him if he's eating well, "because you've become so skinny." At this, his own mum gently nudged her on the shoulder and said, "it's not called skinny. He's called shredded."

The mums laughed like it's the funniest joke in the world, and even Hugo cracked a smile. As he slinked back into the kitchen to grab himself some breakfast, the voice of Olivia's mum reached him, "By the way, son?" he looked back at her. "Via's waiting for you at the theater."

*

Finding his way to the theater took a lot longer than he thought it would. He remembered the way–very, very vaguely–but this foggy memory did not help him at all. The landmarks he once used as guides were no longer there, and he could not recall where he should turn and when he should cross the road.