I'm Friends with Mr. Breezy

Off the Ground

Why is it, that even when no one’s around to keep me bound, I remain feeling trapped? This moment of me alone in my bed was supposed to be my escape. Escape from the nagging voice of Mom, from the fear of failing in front of someone, and from the pressures of school that kept me suffocated. I really don’t get it. There’s always this recurring sensation creeping behind my back as if a spider made its way into my blouse. But no matter, because the moment the notifications ring from this email, I think I’ll be getting out of this island.

To be honest, I’m actually an hour late from class since I’ve kept my butt here, frozen in front of my laptop. One click after another, I tapped the refresh button so that I won’t miss an update. Any minute now and I can get a response from the company saying that my screenplay has been approved by an editor. But time continued to pass while I’m being flooded with messages from Mom. The usual “Ms. Rubbles told me you weren’t in school!” or “You better measure up or I’ll…” plus any empty threat that she could think of doing but fails to do so because of her endless work at the emergency room. There’s not a lot of nurses working around in provinces like these.

Another 15 minutes pass, and I’m starting to get tired from waiting. Maybe they’d have a ton of emails to be reviewed. A post online did say that production companies have less interaction with online submissions compared to mails. Must be an issue with spam messages. It’s okay though, I already prepared a hard copy of my draft, ready to be mailed, just in case my online submission turns out like, well like this. Sure, I can drop this off near the Hudson bridge, but that’d mean I have to get to school. As mundane as it sounds, I guess I’ll go. I’m in my uniform now anyway, been wearing it just in case I am motivated enough to get through a class.

I rolled right out of my bed and flattened my blouse. It’s a little wrinkled but it will do. What’s missing is a tie. There are only three places I’d thrown it to. One is on the window. None. Inside my cabinet. Not there, though I think I’ve left a cookie. Then maybe on my desk. Still missing. Where’s the goddamn tie? I pushed my hands down the pockets of my skirt. One of them is full, with a ribbon-like fabric. Of course.

I picked up my bag, with the phone that went in it, and grabbed the envelope encasing my draft. Before I left, I caught a glimpse of mine in the mirror and thought that this whole school thing doesn’t suit me anymore.

                                                                                        ~o~

After I locked our door, good old Mr. Reyes was out of his house, cleaning his bike. He doesn’t ride it anymore. He’s 50 I believe, but having an old, polished bicycle may still count as his pride. People from Amihan didn’t really have any other vehicles for transportation. There isn’t a train or a bus or even cars that go around here. The locals just take their bikes, or if you’re privileged enough, a tricycle, to make trips around the island.

“Morning Mr. Reyes!” I yelled, he gave me a nod. The town isn’t very fond of loudness, but they tolerate it at the very least. He murmured, “Late as usual…” while wiping his bicycle bell, totally pretending to be unaware that I just heard him say.

On the very first tricycle I saw passing by, I waved my hand then rode when it stopped. If there’s one thing I liked about living here with my Mom, it’s the chilly air that passes from the mountain top. Amihan has a mountain named Kalinga in the middle of it. It’s very green and floral, like the ones you see in Travel brochures. At night, when the sky is heavy with clouds, you can spot the peak drowned upon by moonlight. They say that spirits live there, and though it may not be true, I can’t wait to hear a spirit’s story one day. It’d be good for my writing profile.

Really, what I like about Amihan is that sometimes, it makes me forget that I’m attached to this world. For a minute or so, this island could make me dream of where I want to be, which seems ironic since I didn’t wish to be here. I just want the company to accept my work and bring me to a city where I could finally start living my life. Just writing books and screenplays, finally giving me the platform to express myself and do what I want.

It’s a long way to my school, half an hour or so, and after my detachment, I’m finally grounded by my school. No one’s in the schoolyard. Surprising. At least I made it before recess. I unhurriedly walked to the classroom and arrived at an ongoing discussion about rocks or something. Geology class, I would’ve indulged myself if the dirt talks or something. Unapologetically, I sat down as my teacher, Mrs. Dickens, gave me a glance but then continued to speak, like I was just a part of the wind that came in. Can’t blame her, she must’ve been pretty used to seeing me walk in during the middle of her class.

“Hey, here’s what you missed from the first period,” Ray whispered to my ear. He’s this year’s seatmate and he’s supposed to be at the top range of the class. I’m not sure why but, he always gives me notes every time I was late, which means all the time. Maybe he thinks I don’t want to go to class because I’m dumb or something.

I nodded without looking and accepted the notebook full of scribbles. Ray then tapped the desk softly, then went back to listening.

I was beginning to settle down and daydream about any other stories I could write at the time-being when I felt a strand of my hair being pulled back. It wasn’t painful, yet annoying, extremely annoying. I looked back and to no surprise, Bronwyn was messing with my hair again.

“I told you to use the conditioner I told you about.” She said pouting, her eyes judging. I pulled my hair back and instinctively, I started finger-combing. I hate feeling like this.

Her chair screeched slightly. “See? She doesn’t even know how to listen. No wonder why she’s-“ I heard, before her other friend stopped her or something. I wasn’t even looking, but I have done this a million times, and I just want to leave.

                                                                                         ~o~                                    

“Well, school’s a dud,” I told myself as I exit the building. I had to spend like what, 9 hours in a room listening to a class worth of relatively nothing, given my field of interest.

“Done for the day” I sighed, but now, I get to do what I want. I rushed the sidewalks and passed 2 blocks. On the whole part of the island, there are only two mailboxes- three if you count the post office itself at the other end of the town. This is where my future will really start.

I’ve done the screenplay, put it in an envelope, and bought the right stamps. I checked the address once more just to make sure there isn’t a letter or a digit that would sabotage my dream. After the details were of my checking, I handed the envelope down the chute, only, it didn’t fall right in, partly because, my hand wasn’t letting go. What’s wrong now? Why am I holding it more tightly? I want this for myself right- and I’m sure of that. Then why is my hand not letting go?

I breathed deeply and retrieved the envelope. For some reason, I began walking away. Doubts entered my mind, and I heard my mom nagging over me again. “You have no future in writing a book.” She said. “You better work hard at school because you’re the only hope for your future. We can’t afford to lose time. We can’t afford you fail.” She told me, and I listened.

I made my way to the Hudson bridge, this empty part of town that was supposed to lead to another village that ended up abandoned after a bad storm years ago. Apart from my room, this is the only other place that is quiet, for me at least.

To be honest, this wasn’t the first time I tried this. Sure, back then I’ve had no idea how mailing works and so there were no stamps or anything, but what happened was similar to what I did just now. My work was inches away from making it inside the box, but I just took it away, and then the next thing I knew, I found myself here. I was way younger, and an old fellow found me sitting near the railings. He warned me that a little girl such as myself shouldn’t go near dangerous places like these because I could get lost and my parents would get very sad. And from that day on, I ended up taking my me-time here. I guess I like seeing the ground far away from my feet.

Back then, I could fit under the railings, but now that I’m in senior high, the only way I could fall into the river, a hundred meters away from this bridge, is if I jumped over the railings, which is, why on earth would I do that?

I leaned my arms above the cemented blocks and let the wind pass me. I raised the envelope and tore the tape that was securing it. I pulled my bound screenplay and began to read it. I knew the words but every time I started, it was magical. Like I was another reader that bumped into the story for the first time. I love what I wrote, I always do, but is it enough? What if it’s only good for me, and other people don’t like my taste in words? But another part of me assures that people will love it, but that same part of me is also scared that it will be too good. What if I made it into the cut, then I will have to confront my mother about having to leave this place and leave the school, doing what I think I want but has a higher risk of failing. She’ll never let me go, she grew up in a practical family surrounded by practical people with a measure for success.

Honestly, I don’t know what to do. Let the wind take me I guess. And by some odd chance, the wind did took the job for me. In a second, it rushed in the opposite direction, pulling the screenplay away from my grip. Before I knew it, the envelope was falling from my hands, and before I realized it, I was falling into the river.

I couldn’t process anything, it was quick. I felt the air pushing under me as I fell and tried to reach for the envelope. At that moment, I thought that the sight of paper drenching in water was my last, but there was this other thing that met my eyes. A strange orb glowing with streaks of red and blue, floating in mid-air. I was speeding down, then stopped- gently. The envelope made it to my arms while I was being carried by the wind.