Category: Prose
Theme: Christmas, Wishes, Childhood Friends (perhaps, into something more)
Synopsis: The misfortunes that come with being a teenager, believer of myths, and in love with your childhood best friend, as told on a December night. (And the joy that comes with it).
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There is a certain myth that says if you make a wish on the first snowfall, it will come true.
See, there's no problem with the saying, well, except for the fact that Gio lives in a tropical country, where snow doesn't seem to exist.
Still, she knows that wishes can come in different shapes and forms; they can be found on a stray eyelash sitting atop her nose bridge, threatening to fall off if she decides to move even the slightest; they can be acquired through nine Simbang Gabi masses held during the busy hours of the night or the calm, quiet sunrise; they can be endowed by closing your eyes and wishing on a dandelion. But Gio's favorite—out of all the sayings, amongst many superstitions—is that wishes can come true during the first snowfall.
Gio has yet to experience snow, but that's what makes her want to believe in it. There's no sense to it all; so unimaginable, so childish and improbable, that Gio thinks: maybe, just this once, the universe will find the time to listen to me.
Except the universe doesn't listen. Instead, it finds the time to send her the human embodiment of her nightmares and dreams—a mix of both; a manic pixie dream girl in all her glory, in flesh and bones. Wren, who leaves little excerpts of poems she writes out of the blue and sticks them on the fridge. Wren, who always bleeds the brightest color. Wren, who, despite being made out of kindness and warmth, has very cold hands. Wren, who ironically, feels like a wish come true.
For as long as she can remember, it had always been Wren and Gio, Gio and Wren.
A leadership camp during sixth grade that sucked: it had been Wren. A school trip to Manila in seventh grade that, also, sucked (albeit, lesser because they were seated together): it had been Wren. An academic contest in eighth grade where Gio had joined just because Wren got anxious before competitions; Wren won in English and Gio lost in Mathematics.
The year when Gio has nowhere to go because she's been kicked out of her home for something she can't quite control, Gio found solace in Wren's embrace; underneath her blanket and her old, barely working glow-in-the-dark stars plastered on the ceiling. The year when Wren have to fly abroad for six months where they found each other in delayed letters and postcards. The year when Wren experiences her first relationship and heartbreak—except, it hasn't only been the two of them this one time.
But the rest? All Wren and Gio, just them. An immutable law. An absolute truth.
And maybe that's why Gio allows herself to get dragged outside, even in the unforgiving December cold, cheeks plastered in shades of red and hands buried in her pockets. She lets Wren guide her to a rusty swing set. She remembers seeing it as a deep green just three months ago. Wren's favorite color.
"Okay, now close your eyes," Gio's currently fully seated on the swing. She can feel Wren in front of her, always aware of her presence even in the smallest of things.
She listens and closes her eyes.
The sound of the grass rustling beneath them and the swing's handles creaking above them create music, but nothing beats hearing Wren attempting to hold back her laughter. It's like Gio can see her even in the pitch-black darkness of her eyelids like she's imprinted her existence so greatly—under her eyelashes, the cupid of her lips, anywhere, everywhere. Then, it falls.
"Keep your eyes closed!" Wren exclaims. She's behind Gio now, towering over her, the Tupperware filled with small crumpled pieces of paper slowly tilting as they fall onto Gio's head. "Now, make a wish!"
Ah, Gio gets it now. And make a wish, she does.
When it comes to the wish-making process, Gio believes she can be a little more level-headed, a little more reasonable. This may have been the ideal time to wish for higher grades on her examinations next month, or perhaps for Research group partners who could assist her better. But every time the small pieces of paper, the fake snow, come in contact with her skin, it leaves tingles all over her body and Gio's mind just whispers Wren, Wren, Wren on repeat.
Impossible, impossible.
Gio wishes for the impossible; for her taste buds to finally accept vegetables because she won't live past thirty if she keeps eating junk food; for aliens to be real and accidentally bring her to outer space, just so she can finally witness which star makes up her's and Wren's souls; for Wren to find her way back to Gio once they graduate and get into different colleges—because what would be of Gio without Wren?
Wren and Gio, Gio and Wren.
"Merry Christmas," Wren says, incredibly…soft and fragile like they were the only two people left in the world. Gio slowly opens her eyes and meets the mess of paper in front of her and Wren sitting on the swing beside hers. "What did you wish for?"
A pause. Hesitance.
Gio wants to say a thousand things. She decides to compress it into just one:
"You."
Under the swing set that is as old as them, Gio discovers that even an infinite number of myths can ever amount to the person that always makes her wishes come true.
No, it’s not impossible.
Published by: Heather Pasicolan
Time published: 12:31 pm
Date published: December 13, 2021
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