FROM WHERE he was sitting, he looked out over the expanse of the
school grounds, carefully taking in the serene atmosphere created
by the morning sun, soft rays dancing upon the lush greenery that
seemed to herald the coming of the new season. His eyes lit up, reflecting
a certain innocence that characterizes the joys of our youth. He looked
upwards and stared at the limitless ocean of blue, interspersed with
white clouds, and wondered how it would feel to fall towards the sky.
Falling towards infinity, towards endless possibilities. Falling,
floating, flying unhindered and free.
He closed his eyes for a while and took a deep breath. It was a
small classroom, though not small enough to trigger his claustrophobia.
Around him, several groups of boys were hanging around, talking, laughing,
cramming or hitting each other; quite the normal scene at mornings
before class. His eyes strayed towards the largest, loudest group,
and he stared for a while at the chestnut-haired mestizo who seemed
to be their leader. His wide, flat tongue came out and slowly, moistened
the lower part of his mouth. He wiped the excess saliva with his thumb
and continued staring. The chestnut-haired student, feeling watched,
looked around, saw him, and smiled. He smiled back, his white teeth
peeking out of the small gap between his lips. Then, feeling a bit
silly, he looked away.
He was actually writing a love letter. He was almost through, but
he got stuck at the most integral part. Looking over the unfinished
work, he observed the thin, long characters of his script-style, clear
lines, soft curves, slight slant, and it reminded him of a woman's
hand. He fished out his pen and proceeded to write, his palm carefully
keeping the paper in place, dark-blue ink seemingly bleeding into
the clear white surface of the letter. He wanted to finish it today.
The bell rang. He folded the letter in three parts, his fingers
tracing the edge of the paper, and he felt its silky smooth surface.
He placed it between the covers of his notebook and waited. The chestnut-haired
student sat beside him, elbows resting at the edge of his desk. He
almost smiled, but looked away, out the window, just in time. He did
not want anyone to see him. His heart jumped two beats.
The teacher divided the class into pairs. He was paired with the
chestnut-haired boy. The latter smiled, looked at him intently, and
then asked him what to do. The intense stare of the second boy unnerved
him. He mumbled incomprehensibly, avoiding the other's gaze. The chestnut-haired
boy moved closer, gracefully extending one arm, and touched him on
the shoulder. He felt a sudden surge of light energy, under his spine,
to the back of his neck, towards his brain, goose bumps on its trail.
He felt a sudden lightheadedness. The second boy leaned over, repeated
himself, and asked him what to do. He mumbled Incomprehensibly still,
staring at the floor. The mestizo then used his other arm and touched
him on the knee. The sudden spark of electricity elicited by the touch
shook him out of his daze. He mumbled louder and stared at the blackboard.
The second boy, seemingly amused, leaned over, whispered, as if sharing
a secret, and asked him to repeat himself. He looked down, towards
his notes and mumbled louder, repeating the tasks. The chestnut-haired
boy, using his forefinger, then poked him, affectionately, on his
cheek and repeated the question. The other arm never left the knee,
and slightly, very slightly, it slid further inwards, towards the
inner thigh, unnoticeable to everyone, almost, except to him. His
knees shook a little. The other boy smiled, amused. Then, abruptly,
as if giving up, the second boy withdrew his hands and decided just
to draw cartoons. Never looking up from his desk, he finished the
group work by himself.
The bell rang. The second boy looked at him for a while, smiled,
said thanks and then left for recess. He did a few more final changes
then submitted their work. He was about to leave when a sudden rush
of courage took over him. He stood for a while, debating as to what
to do. Then, knowing that if he did not do it today, he will never,
ever do it, he took out the unfinished letter, signed it and left
it at the slightly open bag beside him. Then he left.
***
It was his last class. He glanced discreetly at the boy beside him.
No reaction, nothing, the whole day. It was as if nothing even happened.
He looked at the bag. The letter was not there. His excitement had
been slowly turning into frustration and extreme embarrassment. He
exchanged honesty, no, the baring of his soul, for mere apathy. He
felt drops of sweat forming at the back of his neck. His cheeks flushed.
His nose flared. A sudden irrational anger took hold of him. His heart
beat faster. In his mind, he slowly formed a plan as to how to get
his revenge.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the class. He quickly stood
up, and ran towards the door. He stopped at the hallway. His seatmate,
hoisting his school bag over his shoulder, chatted with a few classmates,
then proceeded to walk out of class. As the latter was about to pass
by him, he stuck out his foot, effectively tripping the boy. The boy
fell, his chestnut hair, arms, legs, flailing in the air, his face
smashing against the smooth concrete hallway, dislodging a tooth.
The boy quickly covered his mouth, as blood started to spill. Chaos
ensued. The teacher ran, the students laughed, and without a reaction,
a glance, anything, the perpetrator turned around and walked away.
---------------
Von Cuerpo is a creative writing student in UP Diliman. He talks with
himself on his spare time.
