Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and I'm certainly not making a dime off this, so please don't sue me.
Memory
Julia puts in writing what she never had a chance to say to Laguna.
Rinoa stood in the lobby of Caraway's Mansion. She still thought of him as Caraway, and felt a pang of guilt in her chest. He was dead. Her father was dead, and she could not remember the last time she called him Father. She had inherited the massive mansion, of course, and she didn't know what she would possibly do with it. She and Squall needed a place to live, but that just didn't feel right...too many memories. Or she could sell it..but that too didn't feel right. How could she sell it, get millions of gil (for it was an ancient, priceless building) and live happily ever after? She'd feel as if she stole her father's money. It was always his empty, oversized mansion. It was never her home.
Two days later, Rinoa found herself packing up things in her father's bedroom. To hell with it, she had ultimately decided, and now she was in the process of clearing furniture from the house. She gave her father chances in life to do the right thing. He never took them. And she eventually gave up. That was the story when he was alive. Now that he was dead, why would it be any different? How would keeping his house and his memories with her change anything? So she decided to sell the house.
Rinoa looked around what was once her father's, and mother's room. It didn't seem as empty as the rest of the house. Maybe that was because her father kept all her mother's things where they were before she died, on that fateful day. He didn't pack away her pictures, or the jewelry on her vanity. Yes, her mother could always make a room feel warm and inviting. "No matter how hard you hold on, it escapes you..." Those were the words that resounded in Rinoa's head at this moment. She never understood what was the riddle that Ultimecia coughed up before she died. And maybe she never would. But it suddenly came back to mind as her hand loomed over one of her mother's private boxes. Curiosity overcame her, and she opened it; though she didn't expect much as her mother did not keep many memories. Like she suspected, the contents of the box were scant. She was digging through them, when she came upon an old diary. Her mother's diary - she had never seen it before. It had a musty black cover, and was quite small. She opened it, and was startled to see only a few pages of it were used. And she read.
Hello, Laguna. I'm writing this as a means of release..well, a means of communication too.
I've taken up writing since you left, and I am just finishing the song I was telling you about. I'm thinking of calling it 'Eyes on Me'. I can't wait for you to come back, so you can judge it for yourself. The song is about you, after all.
Still no sign of you. Where are you? I can only imagine the things you have seen..I can see it in the eyes of the soldiers that come here. Many join the Army to make a quick dime, you included, but some get in over their heads..the unlucky ones, to whom war claws its way to. I hope that hasn't happened to you. I hope you've not seen the Esthar. You'll write of what you saw when you return here, I'm sure. I think it's wonderful, your writing. I would have encouraged you to stay and pursue this, and quit the Army, but I never had much of a chance. The thing is, you frequented the nightclub so often, it was more like you were a soldier stationed there rather than in the battlefield, so I assumed you'd return quickly. I'm starting to regret it.
November 11th, 1977How long has it been? The average time a soldier leaves is three months, but you've been gone five. What does that mean? I feel like if there is nothing I can do but wait. I wonder so many things. Are you happy? Are you the same? Are you still the predictable man I know? It's only been five months. But alot can change in that time.
December 14th, 1977'Eyes on Me' is finally finished. It took so long, but it is really here now and it is exactly how I wanted. My manager tells me it will be a definite hit...I'm not so sure. My experience in music stretches as far as the soldiers that I play for. What will the world think when they hear it, I wonder. However it turns out, I'll be fine.
December 23rd, 1977So many soldiers have died out there. I try not to think about it, but that is all I can do. There's really no way to shut it out. The last I heard is that the government has become so paranoid of the Sorceress, that they are even stationing troops as far as Winhill. I've never even heard of that place, why would the Sorceress attack a defenseless village?
January 1st, 1978Alas, some happy news. Soldiers are returning from their positions in Balamb, since the Esthar are withdrawing in that area. About one hundred are to return. Deling city is busier than ever. People are always rushing to the stores once new stocks arrive. Everything is in limited supply since the East trading route was cut off a month ago. Still, people are in good spirits. It isn't often we get good news about the war.
Febuary 15th, 1978Adel is amassing her forces behind Esthar's gates, it seems. Allegedly, she is searching for a successor now, and is about to scour the lands for young girls. Likely, she'll devour everything in her path. If you're out there, be safe.
February 28th, 1978I still play at the pub. In war times, this is what I can give. I can give the soldiers a place of escape where they can forget, even just for a while. The pub seemed empty at first, when I felt you weren't coming back, but now it is again the place it once was. To me, at least. Is it because I like what I do, or because I've accepted that you're not coming back?
March 5th, 1978I have asked the military commander, Derron Caraway, about a certain Laguna Loire. He said he'd check on it for me: ...He tells me you'd been stationed at Centra, and how you never boarded the Galbadian ships when the issue to retreat was given. You're missing in action. Kiros and Ward did survive, however they quit the army months ago. I can't find them, obviously, they could be anywhere. If one day, I do see them, maybe I can find out the truth, and some closure. And bid you a proper farewell.
March 13th, 1978The Commander has been so kind to me. 'When I'm not singing, I look depressed', he says. He wants to help my situation, and he investigated further: He told me that it was a disaster of a mission and that your squad had apparently taken the wrong map. I assume you were the squad leader. If I can find any consolation in this, it is that this sounds exactly like you. You know, it's funny, but I haven't been around you that long yet I feel like I know you so well. I honestly can't say that about anyone else. Anyway, he says reports indicate that Kiros and Ward were pretty much unconscious after the mission and were unable to be of any help in locating the missing, yourself included.
March 15th, 1978The memory of that night hasn't faded. I still know the conversation. All your gestures, your reactions, the hotel room. I should forget by now. I can't figure out why I haven't, because it's been so long. Most of the good memories I have, they fade. No matter how hard you hold on, it escapes you..it's a general rule, I always say, when it comes to good things. But I guess, some memories are here to stay. It's raining outside, but only lightly, here in Deling City. It's like a delicate mist. They say such a rain is a mourning for the dead. Coincidental perhaps, that the rains come immediately after I heard some conclusive news about your mission. The old couple at the gateway, they would tell me that it's a sign. A chance to bid a proper farewell?
April 4th, 1978Laguna...this is the last letter I shall write. The song has been released, and my memory of you will always be treasured. But I must move on. Even though part of me doesn't want to. I wish the city wasn't so dark. I wish the war was over. I wish the world toiled less, maybe then it would make it easier to start over. And then again, I wish I actually believed myself. That anything would make a new life easier. Well, I've said my piece. And thank you for listening. I've got to go. Farewell.
The entries stopped there, and Rinoa rested the diary down and put her hand to her chest. This was certainly...a bit much to digest. She felt as if a presence was there with her, some power entwined with fate that was beyond her comprehension. This changed everything - her memories, her perceptions. The story of Julia and Laguna was so tragic... She took a deep breath. She would have never suspected that her mother loved anyone before her father, because she loved her father so completely. Julia's letters had accomplished a momentous feat - they kept a memory alive....a memory that should have died along time ago, one that was not meant to be seen by another's eyes. But it was here, and it was a beautiful memory; and it opened up a well of emotion in her. And it all suddenly seemed so clear. She couldn't sell the house. "Memories always escape..grab them and they slip through your fingers", she remembered her mother saying to her when she was a little girl. She couldn't sell the house. She had to hold on to her memories, good or bad. She knew it was what her mother would have wanted. What her father would have wanted.
"No matter how hard you hold on, it escapes you"...and finally, she understood. The mansion wasn't always empty. It was her home once. She loved her father once. She did have good memories here. How ironic, that she needed a memory to realize it. She found that she couldn't abandon the house because of bad memories; because of tragedy..or else she'd lose the good memories as well. In fact, she'd buried them so deeply, she'd almost forgotten they existed. They had almost disappeared.
She lifted her attention from the box, and with a newfound clarity, perused the room around her - the ornaments, the paintings, the curtains, the view of Deling City...that grand view that she and her mother could look at for hours at a time...the memories.
Her mother's memories survived. She could not destroy her own...and she would not sell her home. Rinoa took her mother's old diary, gently closed it, and put it back into the box, to be left untouched.