Still With You

This story is inspired by the following song of Eric Benet, Still With You.

LAME. This is very different from how I conceptualized it. Yes, its tragic AGAIN. I tried to do something better, but this is all I've got.

“Aren’t you going to take him to his Dad?” Uncle Rye asked Aunt Andy.

“You know they’re busy. Give the couple some time alone. I can hold Kyle if you’re already tired.”  She neared him and he refused to hand me over.

“I’m fine. Sorry if I complained.” He smiled.

Aunt Andy and Uncle Rye have been close friends ever since childhood. I know because I heard my Mum and Dad talk about them one evening when we were at home. My Dad and Uncle Rye are brothers. The best there is.

I’m Kyle. Seven months of age.

Why I remember such details this early in my life is a big mystery.

Aunt Andy sat on the couch and placed me on her lap. I really love it when she does this. Her lap is one of my favorite places in the world. Next to my Mum’s.

I played with the edge of her scarf that lay within my reach. I don’t know the exact color yet, because I don’t know the name. All I know is that I saw this color somewhere. Ah. Yes. It has the same color with the big thing up above that shines every morning, when Mum takes me outside for a walk.

Aunt Andy and Uncle Rye were talking seriously now. I was so engrossed with the soft and fragrant scarf I was playing with. I stare at him while he was talking, and he would flash a warm smile my way every now and then.

“Don’t you have a dinner meeting this evening?” Aunt Andy asked him.

“Yeah, but—“

“Then you should go. We can always spend time after that. It’s Saturday tomorrow. You can drop by our house after that. Mom and Dad wouldn’t mind.” She smiled at Uncle Rye.

“I just wanted to take you out, that’s all.” He smiled shyly.

“I know.” She teased.

Then, out of the blue, Uncle Rye hiccupped. Aunt Andy nudged his arm and teased, “You always get the hiccups when you miss me.”

Before I knew it, I giggled. They looked so good together that even my immature comprehension can tell. They stared at me, shocked at the gesture. If only I could tell them that I could understand them very well. But I know that I can’t do that. Not yet.

It was as if the days were in a hurry. I was now turning a year old. Mum and Dad were in such a fuss for the event.

Of course they were so many people in the house again. There were co-babies in carriages being pushed by their Mums, there were toddlers here and there, screaming their lungs out. I wanted to push them and tell them to keep quiet but I can’t do it. Aside from Aunt Andy was holding me (and I was enjoying it) I can’t speak yet. As much as I want to, but my mouth wouldn’t. I could only babble, but in my mind there was a complete sentence waiting to be uttered.

Candles in my birthday cake were lit and blown (by Mum and Dad), the people ate their share, and talked the whole afternoon. Uncle Rye played with me almost all afternoon. We really looked very alike. Now I know how I’d look like when I reached 23.

I don’t know how long it has been since I’ve seen Aunt Andy and Uncle Rye in our house. Enjoying the milestones in my development (I can say Mum and Dad now and a word or two) I almost forgotten that their last visit with us was on my first birthday.

After dinner one night, the phone rang. Dad got it, and I overheard Uncle Rye’s name. They talked for several minutes as Mum and I were ‘reading’ a book. She was reading to me a story called The Tale of Three Brothers. To be honest, the story was a bit weird, but I absolutely loved it.

Dad hung up and he had a big smile on his face.

“What happened? How are they?” Mum asked him as he sat on the couch. Mum and I were seated on the soft mat on the floor.

“It’s official.” His grin grew wider.

“What? What is?” Mum had a confused look on her face that I’ve never seen before. She seemed certain and confident always.

“Andy and Rye.” Dad said happily.

“Really?” Mum was so happy she hugged me and repeated the news cheerfully in my face.

Aunt Andy and Uncle Rye rarely visited us now. But Dad always told me that Uncle Rye was always with us, since I resemble him more and more with each passing day. I was now entering pre-school, and my excitement was almost tangible.

They sent us presents almost every two weeks since they were traveling more often now. They landed on stable jobs with generous pay and they used this to avail of various affordable travel packages.

As Mum arranged my room one day, she added another photo to my bedside table. One was our recent family picture (which proved that I really looked like Uncle Rye) and one was Aunt Andy and Uncle Rye’s during their trip to Rome.

School really fancied me. I got to know God better now, and a whole lot of things.

Then one day, in the wee hours of dawn, tragedy struck our family.

Dad drove swiftly to the hospital and Mum held me protectively the whole time. Dad looked like he was about to breakdown any minute.

We ran inside the moment we arrived. I didn’t exactly know who was sick, but the mystery was not for long.

We reached the room and saw Aunt Andy sobbing quietly on a bench by the door.

She looked up at us with a sad, tear-stricken face and it was just the confirmation Dad needed.

Uncle Rye met an accident on his way to Aunt Andy’s house. They were supposed to prepare for their visit with us this lunch to celebrate my…5th birthday.

Dad remained composed as he arranged the necessary papers with the hospital administration that day. Mum was close behind him, offering him all the support he needed. I was left with Aunt Andy the whole afternoon.

We were seated at the hospital reception area. Aunt Andy was still quiet and she was still sniffing once in a while. I looked at her with a concerned expression. She hadn’t talked to me ever since we came.

“Aunt Andy.” I tried to break the invisible wall.

She sniffed.

Sensing that she doesn’t want to look at me because of my resemblance to Uncle Rye, I got Dad’s iPod inside my pocket and placed an earphone in my left ear. I neared her and sat beside her. Still respecting her grief, I showed her the free earphone and when I saw her nod, I obliged and placed the earphone on her right ear. Up to this time, she didn’t look my way.

I ran down the songs in my Dad’s iPod. But suddenly without my hand pressing the play button, a song played.

The song was familiar. Then Aunt Andy suddenly started to cry again.

In between her sniffs, she managed to sing along.

“We always say if one of us

Somehow went away

We'd light a candle and say a prayer

Know that love still remains”

Then she sobbed quietly again, her face buried in her handkerchief.

The chorus started, and I recognized the song. Uncle Rye always played this song when he puts me to sleep.

Aunt Andy wiped her tears slowly, and sang the last line of the chorus.

“You will know I’m still with you.”

I hugged her from where I sat. She wrapped her arm around me now, still unable to look at me.

“I don’t know what exactly to say Aunt Andy.” I fought back the tears.

“You don’t have to say anything Kyle. Just stay with me.” She finally talked to me.

I was silent again. The song ended, and a piano instrumental followed.

“Kyle.” She said, still not looking.

“Yes?” I looked at her.

“I miss him.” She confessed.

A tear rolled down my cheek.

“I know he misses you too Aunt Andy.” I answered as assuring as I could manage.

Then, like my Uncle Rye, I hiccupped as soon as I finished the sentence.

MVJLO 11.20.10