Page 57 of Between Then and Now
“Bullshit,” I say.
John sighs. “Ry, I think she went out that way, and she couldn’t have gotten far because she walked,” he says, pointing to the patio.
I don’t say anything else and proceed to the patio, starting to walk. My only focus is to reach her. I’ll deal with John some other time.
Now, if I were Bon, where would I go? She probably walked in a straight direction until there was an option to turn. So that’s what I do. I walk until the road divides. One way leads to the beach and the other leads to the town center. On a normal day, she would choose the beach, but given the recent events, she most probably didn’t. So I turn left.
In the distance, I spot the outline of a church, its spire reaching up toward the sky. It's one of the famous landmarks around here, known for its beautiful architecture and serene atmosphere—a perfect place for someone seeking solace. I could just call her to ask where she is, but I want to surprise her. It’s not as if she’s going to be delighted by my presence, but at least I can show up, let her know she’s not alone.
I walk further down the road, my pace slowing as I approach the church. And there she is, illuminated by a streetlight, sitting on a bench in front of the church. She has her head down, and she’s now wearing a red sweater over her black dress. She keeps rubbing her hands to her eyes, and it’s obvious that she’s been crying.
I walk slower, trying to catch my breath before I reach her. The sight of her breaks my heart. She looks so small, so vulnerable, and all I want to do is take her pain away. As I get closer, I can hear her quiet sobs, the sound like a knife twisting in my chest.
I pause for a moment, gathering my thoughts. What can I say to make this better? How can I possibly comfort her when she seems to be hurting so much? I take a deep breath and continue walking, each step feeling heavier than the last.
When I finally reach her, I stand there for a moment, unsure of how to start. “Bon?” I say softly, not wanting to startle her. She looks up, her eyes red and puffy, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of surprise in her expression. But it quickly fades, replaced by a weary resignation.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice thick with emotion.
“I was worried about you,” I say, sitting down next to her. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“You came all the way here to make sure I’m okay?” she asks, a small smile playing on her lips.
I sit beside her and say, “I braved angry ocean waves for you, what’s a few kilometers on land?”
She sighs. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Feel responsible for me. Be nice to me. I already get enough overcompensation from my parents; you don’t need to do it for me too,” she says as she tucks a hair behind her ear. It’s starting to get windier, and her hair-tuck doesn’t keep her short hair away from her face.
“I’m not doing it to be nice, Bon,” I say. “Stop reducing yourself to a burden. You’re someone I genuinely care about.” Someone I feel so deeply for. Someone I can’t stop thinking about. Someone I want to spend every single day with.
“Well, in that case, thanks,” she says. “You really are a good friend.” There she goes again. Calling me her friend. Before Ican contradict her, she continues. “At least you don’t think I’m boring.”
“Who thinks you’re boring?” I ask, incredulous. Bon is a lot of things, but boring is never one of them. She’s an explosion of all the good things in life.
“John.” She chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. A part of me wants to march back to the restaurant and talk to him. The other part wants to march back to the restaurant and plant a solid one on his nose.
“I overheard him tell Tom that I was boring and that he thought I’d be more interesting.” She shrugs. “It sucks because I don’t even care about his opinion. But it’s like I’m reminded of all the times in my life that I attempted to open my heart, and it shattered before I could even put myself out there, you know?
“I’m so tired of it all,” she sighs, looking down at her hands. “It’s either I’m too much, or I’m not enough. It’s exhausting. Most of the time, I try to be what everyone needs. I try to be fun and happy for everyone. And when I do, I’m labeled as too much. But now that I can’t be fun, I’m labeled as boring. I’m just so tired of never fitting just right.”
I look at Bon, now fidgeting with her charm bracelet. The glow of the streetlight highlights her face at a perfect angle. Her lashes are long and curled, her nose red from the crying she’s trying to hide. And now that she’s crying, her mascara is smudged under her eyes. But despite all that, she looks beautiful.
“Bon,” I start. I’ve never seen her so distraught. “It’s easy to get lost in what other people think about you. Especially if they’re someone you want to impress. But don’t get so caught up that you forget there are people who see you, all of you, and still like and accept you.”
“If you’re talking about my friends, they haven’t seen me like this. I don’t usually show this much vulnerability.” She shakes her head.
“I’m talking about me,” I say, my heart pounding in my chest. “But even my opinion shouldn’t be as important as your own, Bon. You have to go easy on yourself. You don’t always have to be the ray of sunshine for everyone. You can let other people shine for you when you can’t do it.”
“That’s easy for you to say, you’ve mastered the art of not caring about anyone else’s opinions.”
“That’s not true, I care about yours.” She looks up at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
We spend a few moments in silence before Bon starts again. “My parents have always convinced me that the reason they stayed together is because of my resilience. That I made them happy and that if it weren’t for me, they couldn’t have made it work.” Bon fidgets with her hands. “I guess I’m just scared,” she admits. “Scared to show people who I really am–flaws and all. Scared that I might not find the perfect balance of who I should be. I’m scared that if I’m not happy or fun or all that, people will find a reason to leave. That maybe it’s the only reason they stay. The reason you all tolerate me.”
“Tolerate you?” I ask, shocked. “Bon, I don’t tolerate you. I cherish every single moment with you.” I take her hand in mine. “I don’t know about everyone else, but when you’re not in the room, I look for you. When I pass by your street, I ask about you. When you’re not with me, I think about you.
