Chapter 3 [The Siren]
“Could you pass me that wire?”
I picked up the wire and handed it to Jaime’s outstretched hand, not bothering to look up from my book.
He was fixing his guitar. Again. Sometimes I wonder how the boy could forget that playing a 6-string instrument at lightning speed never ends well for the guitar. Or the player’s face judging by the new scab on his cheek.
He was not a very bright one when it came to common sense. He often used any organ but his brain to make decisions. But that is what made him unique.
No, not that bullshit Unique that enrolled him in this school. That was his inhuman ability to move at incredible speeds. No, what made him Jaime was his extreme ability to love. I suppose that’s why I was sitting on his bed, reading a book while he fixed his broken guitar.
Pam and I like to joke that his name was really J’aime, ‘I love’ in French, because of how much he did everything out of love. He eats out of love for food, he plays his songs out of love for music. And somewhere in that big heart of his, he’s my friend out of love for me, a fact that took me far too long to come to terms with.
I was 12 years old the first time I met Jaime. I was freshly coated in pre-teen awkwardness and oversized hoodies, starting to find out how cruel kids could be. He wore baggy pants and a t-shirt far too big for him — hand-me-downs from his siblings before him. Yet he didn’t seem to mind it, cheerfully humming as he walked home.
His family had just moved into the apartment next to ours. How a 6-person family moved into a 3 room apartment with barely any squabbles blew my mind. The only raucous that came out of that household was boisterous laughter (much to my father’s annoyance).
I never spoke to him until AIU, but because of the architecture of our apartment building his room was a wall apart from mine. I would listen to him hum and sing, slowly strumming chords as he learnt how to play the guitar. And for the next 3 years I would listen to his voice change, getting slightly deeper with puberty’s touch, songs becoming more soulful. But he never sang a sad tune, only happy and peaceful words melted from his mouth.
It was the highlight of my day, to come home from the monstrosity of school and be able to relax and find peace in his melodies.
And one fine day a man appeared at both our doors inviting us to a different school, one that could teach us the ways of the Unique and let us experience a world of people just like us. Just like me.
Except it was the same. The same teenage cruelty that I could never escape from, the same scholastic nightmare of grades and expectations.
But at least Jaime seemed to be thriving. I still had not said a word to him, but I stole glances at him every now and then just to see how he was doing. I often caught myself listening out for his caramel voice, hoping to hear that faint strumming.
Then Pam came along and I had a companion, one that was suddenly gushing about this amazing boy she met. He had dark brown hair and eyes to match, skin of chocolate and a voice of honey who sang songs to her at twilight.
We said hello and nice to meet you, and ‘hey didn’t we used to be neighbours?’
I simply nodded, but in my head I replied: you were the boy with the velvet voice who calmed my ever raging thoughts. You were my anchor at a time when everything started to change. You were more to me than you know.
We became good friends and I saw for myself the elephant sized heart he had. It did not matter who you were, Jaime always had a hand to lend you. He thanked every teacher and staff for everything they did, he sang happy tunes for souls who needed them and smiled at everyone to simply spread joy. He was an angel with lightning speed that everyone adored.
Then the magic faded and Pam was crying in my arms at how they decided to just be friends. That night was quiet, crickets and birds silent with her melancholy. The only thing that you could hear in the quiet corridors was the faint strumming from room 106.
With Pam fast asleep I crept to the door, wanting to give my now other best friend some comfort, only to hear the strangest sound of Jaime’s sweet melodic voice singing a song of gloom.
My heart had become hardened after the things that I experienced, but the sorrow that emanated from those six strings made me bawl. Not a few tears shed or a small little sob, but a full-on ugly, snotty bawl as I sat outside his door, alone in the darkness, hearing an angel sing his sad tune.
I eventually told him about my stalkerish listening and he just chuckled and said “so I have a fan, ey?” in his usual joking tone. Little did he know how right he was.