Close Your Eyes, Count to Ten

What did those Angry Stares Mean?

The year was 2009, and I met the girl of my dreams.

               I was sixteen, and it was the first day of classes, in this high school in some corner of Cavite named St. Francis High School. Upon arriving early in the morning, I settled on the last seat, beside the window which gives a view of the outside, and I was pissed off. Yesterday, I had to go to the barber’s to cut my neck-length hair after a summer’s worth of growing it long and straight, due to the electric walls of rules and regulations imposed by the school I’m going in. According to our student’s handbook, our school follows etiquette not of the fashion industry, but that of the business industry, whatever the hell that means. As if my long hair hinders my learning. My old classmates laughed at me, seeing me all clean-cut and shaved, when just weeks ago I had boasted pictures of my long-hair complete with a “gunshot wound” hairstyle, posted on my f*******: account.

               While waiting for the teacher to arrive, I took my Mp3 player from my bag and sank on my seat, ignoring my classmates, and hardly cared about the new ones that came in. You could say I’m the least popular guy in school, but who cares? Who needs popularity? Will it bring food on my plate? Will it buy me a cigarette or a glass of beer perhaps? No. Don’t get me wrong though: I am not unsociable, I just tend to mingle less with others and tend to focus on myself, because at the end of the day, I make my choices alone, I sleep alone, and I dream alone.

               I was in a trance listening to Alesana’s On Frail Wings of Vanity and Wax album when Erika (I didn’t know her name at the time of course) entered the room. Immediately, the music in my ears grew dim, and slowly my surroundings faded to a blur, and all that was clear was her. She wasn’t wearing her uniform yet (it was the first day of classes after all, so for new students the uniform wasn’t yet mandatory). Instead, she was wearing a black shirt matched with skinny jeans and low-cut sneakers. My old classmates eyed her as she walked down the aisle and sat on the empty desk right in front of me.

               Alesana’s melody seemed to impose something in my ears: Take everything away from me silent angel. Leave nothing to remind me of this time now lost…[1] With my earphones still on my ears, I stared at her back. For a while, I wanted to feel her hair sliding through my palms. It was a crazy feeling. But of course, the rational side of my brain placed a megaphone over my ears, saying: “Rick, you hardly know her yet! It’s the first day of classes, for God’s sake!”

               That notion has always troubled me. Why is it that we need to get to know a person carefully before we are allowed to love them? Can’t we feel love in the instance that we feel it? Say you are riding a jeep and suddenly this mysterious-looking yet utterly attractive girl (attractive for some reason—could be looks, or actions, or mannerisms) rides and sits with you, and from your chest, there’s this weird aching, something that you’ve never felt before. Because of the lack of words to describe that feeling, you just conclude that it’s love. You have fallen for this girl you hardly know, whom you just met for the first time. Can’t it be like that? I mean, love is not a fruit we wait to ripen, and overripe fruits tend to be infested by worms and fall down from the tree and decay on the ground.

               To be honest, I’ve always seen myself as a fruit that fell from somewhere and is now left rotting on the ground.

               I may be saying that to justify the strange sensation that jolted me upon seeing Erika for the first time. Or maybe it was because what sparked in my mind was the fact that she was wearing a very Emo sense of clothing, something that I rarely see in this school (due to conservative students and their conservative parents), and the reason why my old classmates eyed her was because they rarely saw anyone inside the school wear something like that except me, and a few others (my other classmates who shares the same music taste as I, as well as my skateboarding friends) one of which was my good friend Wendell, who I saw was eyeing Erika as well.

               A few minutes later, the teacher arrived. It was Mr. Flour, an old teacher. He is gay, and the reason my classmates and I call him Mr. Flour is the fact that he puts too much powder on his face for some reason we can’t comprehend. He introduced himself to the new students, told a bit about his life, and then reviewed us all about the school rules and regulations. After that, he asked us to introduce ourselves. My old classmates protested that they no longer need to introduce themselves, since most of us already know each other, and it will just consume a lot of time compared to just letting the 3 new students go in front of the class and tell something about themselves (everybody wants to get dismissed early!).

               I didn’t join the racket, for I just spaced-out by myself staring at the window beside me and stared out to the street, and while occasionally glancing at Erika, who wasn’t even looking at the teacher but on the ceiling. Probably she was sick of what was happening as well.

               Despite my classmates’ protests, Mr. Flour still won. Everybody would be introducing themselves. I gave an angry sigh. And right there, for the first time ever, I saw Erika looked at me. But the look in her eyes sliced me: her eyebrows were together, the irritation spelled across her face. What the hell did I do? Was she pissed off with my exasperated sigh?

               We, the old students, would introduce ourselves first, before the new students do. This was a fun moment to watch, because here, I know that my old classmates would try their best to project a good image to everyone, make an early “good” impression, or just that word alone: IMPRESS. It pisses me off just how pretentious they all could be! What a f*****g bunch of phonies!

               Some of my old classmates are like this (with minimal exaggerations, of course):

               “Good morning to each and every one. My name is blah blah blah. I like reading books like The Da Vinci Code, which is so really deep and I’m like a very critical reader, I can analyze many historical data…”

               “Hi, my name is jsfhehwifgakljgkdgh and I’m so like kikay and very fun to be with and we can be very good friends and we can go to SM Molino together to watch very nakakakilig movies and have Baby Z Zagus basta it’s your treat…”

               “Hi, my name is asadsasfas…I’m simple, yet I’m just saying this because deep down I am so malandi and if you have a boyfriend, be careful.”

               “Hi, my name is fewiewjgvndfdneu. You can call me Long for short, or Short for long. I am a funny guy, and I am so popular, I can play 3 instruments (Guitar, Drums and Bass), I am a dancer, I am good in drawing, and I’m part of the school varsity. I have had 3,000 girlfriends both in text and in person, and on sss. I’m the coolest guy in the world so PRAISE ME!”

               While I was just:

               “Hi. I’m Rick.” And then I returned to my seat.

               I didn’t know why but I never really wanted the attention of anyone. Even during recitation: I won’t say a word even though I know the answer to the teacher’s question, unless I was the one being asked. My classmates would have their hands up like necks of giraffes, as if the recitation was a competition.

               Since I was the last to introduce, it was now the turn of the new students. The new students were two shy dudes and this Emo girl.

               It was her who introduced herself first. “Hi, good morning. My name is Erika Torres. I transferred here from Arellano High School in Manila.”

               “Why did you transfer, Erika?” Mr. Flour asked.

               “We have to move here in because of my dad’s work.”

               “What is your dad’s work, Erika?” Mr. Flour asked.

               I saw Erika clench a fist, as if trying to suppress some sort of irritation she’s feeling. “He’s a civil engineer.”

               “Okay class, clap your hands for Erika.”

               As she returned to her seat, I was staring at her. Interest was a waterfall falling over my head. Before settling down, however, our eyes met for a few seconds and I noticed that she was raising an eyebrow at me! I was left hanging about what it meant. She sat, her back facing me, and never looked at me again until it was time for recess.

               Wendell and I went to the canteen to buy a Pepsi and some chips. We settled on the vacant tables inside the canteen.

               “Saw the Emo girl?” Wendell asked.

               “You bet,” was reply.

               “She’s kinda pretty, no?”

               I nibbled on some chips. “She is. But I don’t think I’d like her attitude.”

               “What do you mean?”

               I told him about the way she looked at me earlier.

               “The hell, man. You judged her attitude with the way she looked at you?” Wendell sipped from her plastic bag of Pepsi. “Look, you don’t know her yet. None of us do.”

               It was then that Erika entered the canteen. She was with some of the noisy girls in our class, but judging by her look, it seemed she didn’t really want to be with them. The other students at the canteen eyed this black eye-candy walking towards the counter.

               “I wonder if she’s in a band…” I heard Wendell say.

               “Or she’s just fashion oriented. I doubt she’d even do good at class.”

               Wendell was just smiling. “You do like her, don’t you?”

               “What, no!” I exclaimed. It was then that I jumped from my seat in the exact time that Erika was passing on our way, so what happened was that my seat blocked her passage and nearly hit her.

               I saw her eyes. They were black yet seemed to be engulfed with flames. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she exclaimed.

               My lips were tied with silence.

***

Is it possible for a person to hate another person upon meeting for the first time? These are the thoughts that ran to my head as I walked home from school. It was the first time that Erika’s appearance became photographic to me, unlike other girls I met in the past. Most likely it was because of the fact there was some sort of tension between the two of us. Just what it was, I had no idea.

               When the bell rang twice, I saw Erika immediately picked up her bag, and went out of the school at once, not even talking to anyone or asking anyone if they could hang-out for a while.

               I decided to hang-out for a while at Town & Country, a subdivision adjacent to ours. It was a fairly new subdivision, which was why the security wasn’t yet tight, and there were only a few houses, with vacant lots scattered throughout wide, empty streets glittered with tall, wild grass. Here, I could smoke freely, and do things that I wanted without my next-door neighbors nosing around and telling my Mom about my vices.

               The particular spot in Town & Country where I hang out is the bridge that connects Phase 4 and Phase 5. Below the bridge, a shallow and polluted creek flows like blood from a shallow wound. The water seemed thick with bacteria and whatever other creature lurked in there. The breeze blowing at the bridge is cool because it’s not hindered by any infrastructure, and despite the smell that reeks from the creek (especially on rainy days!), the bridge provides a majestic view of the sunset. I bought four sticks of Marlboro Lights from the nearby sari-sari store, as well as bottle of Fruit Soda before heading to the bridge and sitting atop the ledge. I opened my bag and took out my Mp3 player, and listened to Typecast. I was in the middle of a very emotional song when suddenly, I felt that there was someone behind me.

               I turned my head and saw that it was Erika.

               So peaceful and silent, I see an angel / Sleeping the night away…[2]

               I took my earphones off,  but didn’t say anything.

               “Um, hi,” she said. She was smiling.

               I pretended that I couldn’t remember her name. “Um, you’re…”

               “Erika. We’re classmates. I remember you. You’re the guy with the shortest introduction.” She was laughing! It surprised me that she was cheerful. “Rick, right?”

               I just nodded.

               “See, even now you wouldn’t talk?” she said. “Do you mind if I join you?”

               “It’s okay. But I smoke, and—” I was going to tell her that I was smoking and she might get irritated by the stinging fumes but she interrupted me.

               “Oh, great! Can I have one?” she interjected. I wasn’t saying yes but she already took a stick. I handed to her my plastic lighter and she lit up, exhaling a straight stream of smoke from her lips.

               “I saw you from that shed over there,” she pointed towards the end of the bridge. The shed she was talking about was a waiting shed for passengers waiting for tricycles that would take them to the gate of the subdivision. “What’re you listening to?”

               “Typecast.”

               “Oh, damn! Really? May I?” she was pointing on the pair of earphones dangling from my white polo. I handed to her the left earphone, and we sat together at the ledge listening to Typecast while smoking a cigarette.

               Erika related to me that she was just strolling aimlessly around looking for a place to hang-out because she was new to our subdivision. She stumbled upon the narrow path that connects our subdivision to Town & Country, and she simply found the place full of peace and quiet.

               Meanwhile, Steve Badiola was singing: "Words are not important / smiles are all I need from you / …[3]"

               “I love this song!” she said.

               “Why wouldn’t you?” I said.

               She gave me an irritated look, the exact same look she gave me during class.

               “You’re f*****g weird, aren’t you?”

               I smiled. “Thank you. You’re not the first person to say that.”

               “People say I’m weird too, but I don’t care,” she replied. “In a world full of shitty similarities where everyone wants to be the same, then I’m better off weird.”

               I pondered on what she said. I thought of how I’ve always felt different, but for some reason it didn’t matter.

               She looked at me. “Do I make sense?”

               More sense than I have made in my life, I thought to myself.

[1] “This Conversation’s Over" by Alesana, taken from their first full-length album “On Frail Wings of Vanity and Wax”.

[2] “An Angel” by Typecast, from their album Every Moss and Cobweb

[3] “The Infatuation is always there” by Typecast, from the album The Infatuation is Always There