It was the first time I had watched you sleep. I stood there for what seemed to be an eternity, committing your every feature to memory. Fine, almost feminine bone structure. Light eyebrows and lashes. A nose you thought was too big for your face. Tiny moles here and there. A faint scar on your cheek: a pockmark, no doubt. Beautiful. A suspicious dampness blurred my vision.

A solitary tear fell on the cold glass of your coffin.

*

The cool, crisp night air seemed to seep into my skin. I was exhausted from the long bus ride home from my grandmother's house in Teacher's Village where I stayed on weekdays. It had been a long day. I couldn't wait for my head to hit the pillow so I could fall asleep at last.

You were waiting for me at the corner of my street. Your friends were there, as usual, just hanging out on a Friday night. Our eyes met as I drew nearer.

I shook my head no, but you mumbled a quick "Excuse me" to the others anyway and jogged up to me.

"You going home already?" you asked, checking your watch. It was a Casio, with black leather straps and a rectangular face.

I nodded. "You don't need to walk me home; I'm really tired."

"Are you sure?" There was concern in your voice. Somehow, within the last few weeks, you had morphed from Mr. Laid Back into The World's Biggest Worrywart. I liked the extra attention, but it wasn't always necessary.

"Charles, I only have to cross the street to get home, you know."

Behind you, your friends began to cough and wheeze. "Come on, say good night already!" someone - your best friend, Jerwin, maybe - said in mock impatience.

I smiled. "They're calling you. I'll see you Sunday. Now go."

*

When I woke up that Sunday, the house was empty. Not being a morning person, I was used to that. I rolled out of bed and dragged myself to the bathroom.

Half an hour later, I went outside and ran into an old friend from my theater group.

"Hi!" I said, giving her a little wave.

�Hey�� She grasped my hand. She stared at me strangely, as if she wasn�t sure who I was. �What happened? What happened to your papa?�

My stomach turned to ice. "My dad? He wasn't at home when I woke up. What happened to him?" My father had always had kidney problems. In my mind, I saw him crumpled in a heap on the ground.

The color drained from her face. Her voice sounded like it was coming from far away. "You mean you don't know?"

That was when the world around me seemed to start melting.

"What?"

I had whispered it, but it sounded deafening to me. The way a person's voice rings in her ears when the waters close over her. The way her thoughts echo in her mind just before she drowns.