When Cocoy Became Kikay (PUBLISHED)

Chapter 1

It requires more courage to suffer than to die. —Napoleon Bonaparte

The sky was overcast, but the air that swirled around us was warm and heavy. The smell of freshly mown grass mixed with that of freshly dug earth. It smelled of rain—and death. People, dressed mostly in muted hues, stood silently, watching and waiting.

The silence was broken by the sound of multiple rifle reports. The gunshots hammered reality into place for me.

He was gone. The colonel was gone.

I concentrated on holding back my tears and standing at attention as my father s coffin was lowered into the gaping pit in the ground.

Goodbye, .

Gone was the man who insisted things be done . There would be no more reminders on correct posture and complaints about performance. No more lectures on eating a square meal. No more trips to the shooting range or outdoor camping . No more war stories before bedtime.

The gun salute seemed to go on and on.

Full military honors. I hope you're happy, sir.

You'd think I'd have prepared myself for this by now. Col. Miguel fondest wish was to die in the line of duty (as his elder brother and grandfather had) and to be given full military honors at his funeral. Well, he had gotten half his wish at least. Wherever he was right now (and I so hoped the climate was temperate), I that a part of him was irked that it had been a heart attack—and not a bullet—that had taken his life.

Beside me, Lucy dabbed her eyes. When I called to tell her what had happened, she promptly took the earliest available flight back home. I didn't know her very well, other than fleeting visits, the occasional postcard, and gifts in the mail. But she had been a real comfort—organizing the funeral, contacting friends and relatives, and generally talking to everyone.

At least I was able to grieve in silence and envelop myself in numbness.

He was a good person. He was a good soldier. All morning people had repeated those words (or versions thereof) to me. However, Col. Miguel Suarez was way more than that. He had been my hero, my idol, the person I most wanted to please.

He had been a good father. He was never openly demonstrative, but he had been caring nonetheless. He was a man of honor and principle . . . the sort of person who made you want to be the best you could be. He had always been my guiding star.

And now that he was gone, I felt lost . . . adrift and thrown off course. What do I do now, sir?

I blinked. Okay, enough already. I'm not usually so emo, but I guess death has that effect on people. I just hoped this feeling of melancholy wasn't permanent.

A hand clamped on my shoulder, startling me. "You okay, Cocoy?" Paulo asked.

I gave him a curt nod. Someone on my other side nudged me. I looked around to see Dags shifting from foot to foot. "It's okay to cry, dude. We won't judge."

I shook my head, my ponytail swaying. "You know I hardly ever cry," I reminded him. Mastering my emotions had been part of my father's training. There was a time and a place for everything, he used to say. Tears were best kept private.

Dags shrugged. "Well if you suddenly decide you want to, this is the best time to do it."

"I can cry for you, Coy." Behind Dags, Joel suddenly erupted into loud, noisy (and obviously fake) sobs.

I hit him. Hard. "Shut up, Joel!" Sure enough, more than a couple of people, including Lucy, who had been shaking the hand of Olazo, were now staring at us.

"He . . . he was really close to my father," I hastily explained before I dragged Joel away.

Joel giggled. "Made you forget to be sad for a minute, didn't I?" he proudly asked.

I hit him again. "You want me to thank you?" I asked incredulously.

"No." Joel rubbed the back of his head where I had hit him. "We just don't like seeing you sad."

I smiled tremulously. That almost made me tear up. "Then . . . thanks."

These guys. My mother had died when I was four, and I was an only child. But these guys were the closest I had to brothers.

"Cocoy?"

The hairs on the back of my neck rose, and my heartbeat accelerated even before I turned around to acknowledge the speaker. Some little part of my mind was telling me that it was wrong to feel this . . . kilig at my father's funeral. But I swear, at that very moment, the sun peeked out from behind the clouds and birds started twittering merrily.

"Hey, guys." Jaime nodded at Paulo, Dags, and Joel.

"Uy, pare." Paulo nodded. Then he looked past Jaime and grimaced. "Oh no! Mama is waving us over." Sure enough, Mrs. Sy was trying to discreetly call their attention as her husband carried in trays of pastries. Paulo's parents had kindly offered to cater the event today. He nudged Joel and Dags and reminded them, "Hoy, we promised we'd help distribute merienda."

"See you later, Coy!" Joel winked at me. As the three of them walked off, they greeted Jaime's parents, who had just walked over to talk to me.

"Hija, we are very sorry for your loss." I took the hand that Jaime's father was offering. Colonel Arguelles's firm handshake reminded me so much of my father that I almost lost it.

"Thank you, sir."

"If you need anything—anything at all, you can come to us," Colonel Arguelles said. Beside him, his wife smiled and nodded.

I smiled and thanked him again. After a few more minutes, he and his wife left to talk to Lucy. Jaime hung back. He cut a handsome figure in his pressed chinos and white shirt. And at that moment he was staring at me. Intently.

"I've been watching you, Cocoy."

"You . . . you have?" Hope—truly inappropriate in the current circumstances—slowly blossomed in my chest.

"Yeah. You've been so brave so far. Your father would have been proud." He cocked his head to the side, and his brown eyes were warm with concern as he smiled. "But how are you doing . . . really?"

I tried not to notice how broad his shoulders were or how the sun brought out reddish highlights in his hair.

"I'm . . . I'm holding up fine." I hoped to god my expression was neutral.

"I know what you mean. We try to prepare ourselves, but it still hits us hard when death comes."

I nodded. Jaime did understand. After all, his father and mine had been comrades at arms. And although we all knew that death was inevitable, we all wished that it would come later rather than sooner.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm here for you, alright?"

I'm not a swooning kind of girl, but I think I came close to it just then. I tried my best to control my giddiness and smiled shyly at Jaime. "Thank you. That really means a lot to me."

"Don't worry about it." He smiled and chucked me under my chin. "Our fathers were almost brothers, and that makes us family of sorts. And I've always thought of you as my little sister."

Ouch.

"Oh. Uh, I still . . . appreciate it," I managed to say.

He glanced up and saw his mother waving to him. He turned to leave. "See you at school, okay?"

And suddenly, as I stood watching him go, the direction I had been searching for in the past few days beckoned.

Jaime.