I see a hand moving in front of my face and snap out of my thoughts.

I blink at July, who is walking alongside me. He checks the little piece of paper with the map to the motel as he says, "Sweetheart, it's really not good to walk on the road while being spaced out. I know you have a lot to think about, but first, let's find this motel and settle do . . ."

But I have already stopped walking. He stops a bit ahead of me, then turns around, giving me a questioning look.

"Cedar?"

"July, I-" I desperately search for the right words to express just how I am feeling right now. But it's complicated, and in the end, the only thing I manage is, "I can't seem to accept this."

July crosses his arms and takes a step towards me. "Cedar, aunt Sayra wasn't in her right state of mind, you know that right? You know people are not themselves in times like this."

I shake my head. "Even if she was in her right state of mind . . . she still would have doubted me, wouldn't she? That's what I can't accept. I'm sure the thought has passed her head several times. After all, no matter how much love she showed me, at the end of the day, I'm not family. I'm an outsider." My heart sinks as I say this.

"Cedar, why are you thinking like this? They have treated you like their own son. Did you forget everything? She even doubted her own son before she doubted you."

"That's not the same. Aris is a kid. She thought he did it to help grandpa. But she thought I did it 'cause I'm a- a thief." I press my lips together, my ears again starting to burn.

July takes my hand. "Cedar . . ."

"I just- this is effecting me more than I thought. July, if it was my own mother she would never think I would steal something from her."

"Of course. That's because she's your mother, she knows you. Aunt Sayra is not . . . your mother."

"Exactly," I whisper, looking at the ground.

"Cedar?" He frowns, clearly unable to figure out what exactly I'm talking about. "Exactly what were you expecting?"

I let out a deep exhale and rub my temples. "I don't know, maybe I just . . . unknowingly created some kind of illusion in my head of this- like, this perfect family. A family I'm part of as well. A family that is full of love and laughter and happiness, where my heart feels at ease. Where . . . I'm loved."

Without a doubt, I have received more love and warmth from this family in a few days than I did from my own family in my whole life. And there was no fakeness, no ulterior motives, no forced politeness within that love—this really is just how they are. Especially aunt Sayra. The soft, affectionate voice she talked to me with, the way she ruffled my hair, the way she praised every little thing I did, cooked my favourite foods. All of that, perhaps, contributed to me subconsciously perceiving her as a mother figure to me. Because my own mother never managed to express her love to me in such obvious, open ways.

I also think that, this same thing might have happened to me way before, except with Dawn's family. I did spend a lot of time with them, and they too made me feel like their other son. Maybe the reason why I didn't feel this way back then, was because Dawn was there to somehow singlehandedly fill in every single gap in my life. How can I ever blame myself for growing an excessive dependency on him?

I glance at July, who finally seems to understand what I've been trying to say. Shaking my head again, I continue, "I don't know why I thought that way, because no family is perfect. I didn't even realize that I was naturally starting to include myself in the picture of their family, even though I don't belong there. I never will. That's just how it works. I . . . I just didn't realize it this way before."

I suppose it's because ever since I came, they accepted me in so naturally, and included me in every single activity they did. Even discussions on grandpa's treatment, they made me a part of it. Maybe at some point I really did forget that I have no blood relation with these people, that if it had been anyone else in place of me, they would treat that person the same way. They are, after all, really kind.

Softly, July replies, "Cedar, I really don't know what to say. I'm sorry."

That takes me aback a little. July always has something to say. One of the many roles he has played in my life for the past month is help me see things from a different perspective, elaborate my thoughts in a more articulate manner, point out where I'm thinking wrong, or at least something.

But then I remember what July had told me once. Illusions are our escape. The real world is dark and ugly.

I am probably reminding him of himself.

I squeeze his hand. "Don't be sorry. I know you understand. That's enough for me. Because if you weren't there, I would think of myself to be a very pathetic person."

He stares at me for a long time, before looking down. "I think . . .  that it's good that your illusion has broken early on. Illusions are just that, illusions. I didn't realize that sooner, which is why I had to go through a lot of pain."

I am reminded of the night we sneaked into the top of Tower Louisa at an hour much like right now. I am reminded of what he said when I told him to see the moon through the telescope. He had refused, saying that the illusion his Moon had created by her last words to him, will be broken if he doesn't find her there. I never came around to ask him if he really managed to break out of that illusion or not.

Right now, high above in the night sky, a crescent moon is hanging alluringly, a lopsided smile. I glance at it once, before looking back to him. His eyes are still on me, his lips perked up in a small, tender smile.

"You don't look at the moon anymore?" I ask.

"I don't have to," he replies, interlocking our fingers together. "Because now, I have my Saturn to look at."

My heart skips a beat, my mind replaying as if an old voice mail.

"Look at it properly, Cedar. Saturn is my favourite planet." 

---------------

"Hey, is that a cinema hall?" July asks, pointing at a small building by the street.

I look to where he's pointing and indeed, squeezed between the shopping mall and a bakery, there is a movie theater named Cine L'horloge, written in a neon blue sign. The nameless motel Tiara directed us to is right next to the bakery, with a large parking space right in front of it. The only way to know that it is a motel is the series of doors visible on the second floor behind the balcony.

"Yeah, it probably is," I reply. "Isn't it closed?" It should be like 1 AM right now.

"Doesn't seem like so. Let's go check!"

"Check what?"

"Whether it's open or not. Come onnn." He takes my hand and begins to pull me, but stops halfway when he sees a man walk out of the bakery. He lets my hand go. Under his breath, he mutters, "He came out so suddenly . . ." Turning to me again, he asks, "Cedar, you don't want to go?" He blinks at me with round eyes. I can almost see them glittering in the dark, like those huge boba eyes they show in animes.

Well of course I can't refuse him. And it will most likely be closed anyway. So I say, "Okay, let's go."

Pushing open the semi-transparent glass door, we go in. Much to our surprise, there is a lightbulb alight right over the counter, illuminating an old woman beneath it. Her frame is chubby, her thinning gray hair tightly tied in a bun. She is busy knitting with a blue ball of yarn. July and I exchange a look and walk over to the counter.

She doesn't look up at first. When I tap on the table twice, she glances at me through her oval-shaped glasses. Her eyes move to my left and right before landing back to me. "And what may ya want at the crack of a bloomin' summah night, lonely young man?"

Nothing in this world could have prepared me for that voice, which not only doesn't go with her face, but also contains a kind of intensity I've never heard before. It's thick and raspy, but not like a man's, but not like a woman's either, somewhere right in between. After recovering from the shock, I ask, "Um, is the movie theater open right now?"

"Well, do ya think this old hag here as a watchguard or somethin'!"

"Ah no, I mean, is there any movie playing like, right now? Are there people inside?" I look at the door behind me that seemingly leads to the hall.

"Oh well, ain't your timin' quite sweet? There's one startin' in about ten minutes."

"Oh wow. But like, movie theaters aren't usually open this late at night."

The woman shrugs as she concentrates back on her knitting. "Maybe this ain't a movie theater. Maybe it's a gateway to a whole different world."

Given how my life has been the past month, I suppose I can't say, that's ridiculous LOL. So instead I ask, "Which movie is playing?"

She jerks her chin behind her, pointing at the poster of a movie. My heart skips a beat.

"Perks Of Being A Wallflower," I breathe out.

"That sounds like a great name, have you heard of it?" July asks.

"Yeah, I read the book," I say out loud, but then cover my mouth immediately. I totally forgot she can't see July.

Luckily, the woman thought I was talking to her. "Well, books n' movies. Movies n' books. They ain't the same. One's about feelin', the other's about experiencin'. I'd say you give it a try, lonely young man."

I look at July, whose eyes are quite literally sparkling. I already know there's no backing out. So I tell her, "Okay, two- uh, one ticket please."

---------------------------

The entire hall has about thirty seats.

Currently, only four of them are filled. There is a bald, middle aged man sitting alone on the very front row. On the extreme left corner of the third row, there is an old man and an old woman sitting together, their ages seemingly similar to that of the woman sitting at the counter. On the fourth row, there is a young woman. Perhaps she is a little older than me. July and I just sit down on the corner of the very last row. I put my bag, where I've managed to squeeze in the candle, on the seat on my other side. 

The movie is one made for new adults, so I suppose while me and this woman in front of me will be able to relate a little with it, the three in the front will get to relive days long past them.

Soon after July and I sit down, the lights turn off, momentarily hiding all the souls present within this small hall in the folds of blackness. I blink in the dark, my mind almost involuntarily being pulled to that rainy night in the cave, that time when I felt July so close to me that I thought I couldn't possibly want anything more in this life.

Before the large screen in front of us turns on, July finds my hand with his.

The movie begins to play. The coldness of his hands no longer surprise me, rather, it feels as though I would never crave for warmth again. I bite the bottom of my lip and stare at our entangled fingers, as a sense of teenagerish joy bubbles up in my heart. Well, I'm a teenager after all. I just never felt like one. That kind of joy, I barely got to experience in the life that existed before July. Back then, the only thing that truly made me happy was spending time with Dawn, and also his family. But even that had become such a constant, normal thing, that I never managed to truly separate it as a positive emotion, let alone appreciate it.

But now, things are different. The deep awareness that none of it will last, is perhaps what's making me truly, wholely appreciate every little thing. And I'm grateful for that.

"Was the book funny?" July asks, snapping me from my thoughts.

"Hmm?" No, absolutely not. It was one of the most painful things I've read." I keep my voice low.

Perks Of Being A Wallflower. I read that book years ago, but I vaguely remember the story, but I vaguely remember it was about a boy named Charlie. He is similar to me in two ways. One, he became good friends with his English teacher, who gave him books to read just like Mr. Craig did for me. A universal experience for the introverted bookish types, perhaps? And number two, is something I didn't know would be a similarity back when I'd read it. Charlie lost his best friend to suicide.

Charlie. Cedar. Toru Watanabe. Cedar. We're the same.

I am pulled out from my thoughts from July's reaction. With his jaw dropped, his asks, "You brought me here to cry?!"

"You were the one who wanted to watch!" I protest.

He makes a face and turns back to the screen. "It's going to be so uncool when I start crying, ugh."

"It's not like you've never cried in front of me."

"But still! Not from a movie. Not in a date."

"Date, hmm."

"Shuddup."

I remember, Charlie was compared to a wallflower, because he prefers to watch the world from the sidelines. Until he befriends two seniors, who pull him out to the main stage, and he gets to experience the beauty of friendships, and the thrills of life. I remember reading it and thinking I wish I had Charlie's life. But then when I got to the part where it was revealed what happened to Charlie when he was a kid, I thought to myself, I could've never survived that.

Finally, the movie starts.

It starts with music, of course. I don't know the name of the song, but it's a good one. July and I bob our heads to it. The music plays while the screen shows the names of everyone in the team, as the camera drives through a tunnel, and then a street alight with lampposts. And then we see a teenage boy, seemingly around my age, sitting in front of his window, writing something. A letter.

"Dear friend," are the first words of the movie. Appropriate.

"Who is he writing to?" July whispers.

"His best friend, I think," I whisper back.

"Lives somewhere else?"

"No . . . keep watching."

And he does. Soon, within the walls of this midnight cinema hall, the surrounding world melts away, as we are pulled in deeper and deeper to the film. I see myself as a tiny object in the dark, observing the life of people I have developed a deep sympathy for. Oh, they are people, alright. They are just like me, suffering so much that they fall down on their knees, but getting back up again, stronger than ever. I laugh with them, because I feel their happiness throb in my veins. I want to shed tears with them, because I feel their pain bleeding my heart. They are people who are nothing like me, but people who are just like me. Charlie, especially.

And amidst all of that, a cold hand clutches mine, squeezing at times, rubbing at others, sometimes loosening up slightly only to tighten up again. It reminds me, that I'm not the only tiny object in the dark. Beside me, there is another person watching. Another soul, with whom I have created my own movie. What would people think if they see it? Will they pity us? Will they smile? And when it ends, will they think, Oh, poor them, but this is what life is all about.

Truly, this is what life is all about.

Through July's laughs, tears, gasps, giggles, the movie begins to draw to an end. And they are in the tunnel shown in the beginning of the movie. And Charlie is saying, "We will all become stories someday."

I am on the brink of tears. But when Charlie is there, standing in the back of the jeep, his arms outstretched as the three friends drive through that tunnel so alight with life, and he says, "I feel infinite,"  I think to myself —That's it. That's the word. Infinite. That's the only synonym for happiness, the only synonym for the freedom accompanied with that happiness. The feeling of your existence being stretched to a boundless point of the universe. The feeling of the air in your chest flowing in and out with ease. The feeling of all the knowledge of the world dissipating momentarily. The feeling. The feeling.  The feeling of realizing, this is what we live for.

And I am struck with the discovery, that I have felt it too.

I have felt it. I felt it while running away from the security guard of my school alongside my fiery classmate after getting revenge for my best friend. I felt it at the highest point of the city, at the top of Tower Louisa. I felt it on the train to Greenwoods, while jumping from one carriage to another, life on my legs. I felt it on top of the bus driven by the kind man named Aziz. I felt it when listening to Vashti Bunyan with Tiara's grandpa sitting in the living room. I felt it when watching a movie sitting in the same living room with Tiara's whole family. And I feel it now, sitting in this small, dark, cinema hall in the after-hours of midnight.

Throughout it all, one person has been there, in every scene, every frame, every second.

So I turn my head to the side, wanting to tell that person, The happiness I feel with you is infinite. I want to tell him that, but when I look at him, in the dim light of the ongoing scene on the screen, I see his eyes frozen and unfocused, transfixed on the back of the seat in front of him.

In fact, he has long since let go of my hand. I blink out of my reverie, and put my empty hand on his shoulder. "July? What happened?"

He jolts awake as if from a dream, then stares at the hand on his shoulder, before violently jerking away. Then he stands up and rushes out of the hall.

The movie ends.

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

07-07-2022

Hello my dear readers. It's been a long time. I hope all of you are doing well. My exams have ended, and they went pretty well. I hope to finish this book by this month. Expect lots of updates soon.

Perks Of Being A Wallflower is a very favourite movie of mine, and Charlie a very favourite character. I highly recommend watching it. It's sad, but also happy, so it's bittersweet. But it's very, very beautiful.

That being said, next chapter will have some triggering topics. It's a very long and heavy chapter, so read at your own pace.

Thank you so much for reading, if you still are. Take care of your health, and of those around you.

— love, Poma