Projected Image of Confession…

“Can we talk?”

They find this request alarming, and she felt something bad approaching. She takes a look at her friend, asking whether she could be excused and adhere to his bemusing request.

Before she could get any reply from her friend, he interjects again.

“You too, if you may. This concerns you too.”

Both their eyes reveal some sort of confusion that they cannot comprehend just yet. The fear of the approaching unknown entity begins to engulf them. They steal another glance at one another, and follows him out to the fields, where he is walking towards without turning back.

If only he could spare them the suspense, they would have enjoyed the day. It is sunny. Occasionally shades appear across the fields as the swift eastern wind blows the clouds westward. Birds are chipping around; a group of 3 little kids, probably not older than seven, running after one another, presumably playing hide-and-seek.

Why this queer feeling, she thinks. The playing children seems to remind her of something, something precious, but she couldn’t remember exactly what. Then she realises, he has stopped several feet in front of her, under the withered Willow tree. A few new shoots is growing out from one of the branches.

His expressions indicates that he is struggling for words too. Except that he appears to be torn apart for some reason, reasons that is still vague to them. She looks to her friend; they know something is amiss.

“We need to talk.”

Silence.

“I need to know something. About us.”

There is no answer. But instantly he could see that any colour that is on their faces begins to fade. How should I proceed from here, he thinks. But he is mercifully interrupted.

“It was in the past. Why mention it again?”

“I need to know for sure.”

“Can’t you just let go?” She retorts swiftly, then turns herself around, deciding not to face him.

“You have not let go, as far as I can tell.”

“I have.”

“No you don’t. You knew instantly and instinctively what’s this all about. And you,” turning to his right to face her friend, “you know what’s this about too.”

Silence.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

If there were any moment that she wished to be invisible, this is the moment. She could not muster a word, then buries her face among her hands. She starts to cry.

“Can’t you see that it’s eating her up too?” Her friend speaks for the first time, trying to defend her, so fragile and delicate. She stands between him and her, as if trying to shield her friend from this aggressive, seemingly hurtful proceeding.

“So has it been easier for me? You, you know it all. But you did not defend me.”

Immediately her face shows it all. A blend of twisted agony and guilt appears on her face.

He feels enlightened, surprisingly. After all these years, bearing a shame, a shame that is not his. Bearing the mark of an offender, an act committed in the name of friendship and love, paying for a crime wrongly pronounced onto him. But this is still far from over.

He is happy, some part of him, knowing that his instincts are true. For a certain period of time he began to doubt his own judgement, and blames himself for what has happened. Now he knows, the mistake is not his.

But he feels disappointed too. That the truth is not totally owned up to him. That her friend did not defend him, though knowing what really happened. That she, she herself never admitted her mistakes.

Then it appears to him that one of the children is crying loudly. He does not know why. They might have been fighting over some feeble things. A child throws a punch at the other. As the punch landed perfectly onto the child’s cheek, he falls backwards. How ironic, he thinks, this is just child’s play.

But it takes a lot of courage to do what he intends to do. He wants revenge, but knows that vengeance is not his. He knows he must forgive, but God, he thinks, I didn’t expect it to be this hard. He can no longer hold his tears back; it flows like a gentle stream downwards his face. He makes no effort to wipe them as the wind gently dries his skin.

He turns around and takes a piercing look at them. She is hugging her arms, while her friend is holding her hands across her mouth. Neither says anything. At that moment, nothing matters anymore. It is, finally over. He walks past them in the middle, as how he once walked into them. The overdue bond has been broken. There is nothing left between them. He stops just about a earshot away, saying “I forgive you, both. And I’m sorry too”, he walks away after uttering these words silently.

As he walks away, she drops herself onto her knees, sobbing loudly. The only words audible among her cries are “sorry, sorry.” As for her friend, she is staring blankly onto the horizon. At one point she turns and look at him, thinking that she caught him saying something, though unsure of it.

The children have stopped playing their game. One is walking out of sight, one hand caressing his injured cheek,  visions of him gradually obscured by the thick hedge. The other two are standing rigidly, as they observe their friend walks away.