Matched Up With My Tomboy Childhood Friend

Prelude

---

(Note from the writer)

Please point out the wrong grammar or spellings, as well as contradictions in the story such as wrong characters in play or events. This will help me make the story better for future readers. You can mention it in the comments. Thank you.

[Third-person narratives starts at (-*) and ends in (*-)

---

Everyone has their definition of a great childhood. Having great parents is a good enough reason to call it. They nurture you into the best person you can be to achieve your dreams. As well as having good friends that make you laugh until you choke on your own saliva, your stomach squeezing in pain, feeling like your intestines are gonna get punctured; an easy-going childhood for those who just want to live it to the fullest, driving on the coastal roads, seeing the sun setting on the horizon as many times as they can; or perhaps just a simple memory of someone that was like a shooting star that happened to just visit, then disappear in a millisecond. It sounds cliche, I know, but that's the best I could describe it or the best I could describe her.

The “her” I'm referring to? She's this girl showing off her wedding dress on Acebook.*Sigh* She looks good in it. Putting my arms on the handrail and resting my chin on them, I look at the waves below, crashing against the hull of this cruise ship. Then I remember the past like it was yesterday. We really have gone through a lot. We have changed each other for the better over the past years. All of those hardship, pain, happiness, regret, and romance led us to this moment.

I'm not sure if I was seven when I met her. But anyway, she's a Japanese girl living on the other side of the road of this unpopular subdivision. I'm older than her for about a year but not as lively and shiny as she is. Just like I describe her: a shooting star. Fast, shiny, pretty, and agile. I simply couldn't keep up with her. Me—Kevin Carmona, has never seen someone so bright as her.

The way we met is a bit embarrassing on my part. I was in the backyard, playing with the hose, pretending it's laser like I see from the cartoons and movies. I was buck-naked and my little peepee is exposed to the world if there are no hollow block walls around the backyard.

So there I was: innocently shooting water under the high noon when something thuds on the ground behind me. I turned around and saw this girl with short hair with bangs, wearing a white baseball cap, her skin was white as the milk in the morning, she wore a t-shirt, shorts, and red slippers. Her eyes are what we call, “Chinita”—Asian eyes. And this is when I developed a fetish for it. Her aura was so daring and because it was, I felt like she's looking down on me. Well, she was looking down, literally.

I panicked to cover my peepee because she's a girl. And girls aren't supposed to see it so casually (depends on the circumstance).

She goes, “Chiisai!” and laughs so hard while I retreat, covering it with my hands. “Kawaisou,” she finally says with that unforgettable smug on her face.

Later, I knew what she meant. She was saying, “It's small! It's a pity.” But that was when I was but a child! I haven't had my growth spurt yet. If she saw me in my present self, she would be impressed—no doubt.

Oh, wait... that sounded so wrong!

Forget that! Anyways, I was very confused and scared at that time because I don't know how she got over that very high wall then landed without a scratch. I tried once and landed with a bruised knee. This girl is not normal—I thought and I was right. I was scared and embarrassed at the same time when I run back inside and yelled for my parents.

I told them that there's a girl in the backyard. My mother went to the backyard with my baby sister in her arms. My father left, leaving our fried rice burning in the pan. I dressed in my clothes all by myself and I was proud because I can do it by myself. I listen to them from the inside of the house and they have a hard time asking the girl who are her parents. She couldn't understand English although my parents are very fluent in it. Later, someone rang our doorbell.

My father answered it and what I saw was a Japanese couple. I was right thinking that they're her parents. They call her to come with them and the name they called her was Elizabeth—a peculiar name for a pure Japanese. I noticed it when I was older. They introduced themselves as the Tokunaga family. After they left with an apology (but my parents say that it's okay), Dad's fried rice was completely burnt.

Knowing this, the Tokunaga family shared with us their rice from Japan because they know that we Filipinos eat rice for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You name it, rice is always there lurking in every corner of Filipino cuisines. No matter where you are, it's not that you will find it. Instead, it's the rice that's gonna find you.

The rice that they gave us was so fine that it changed my standards for rice. They even gave us riceballs that taste a little salty and have fish fillings inside them. They were spectacular and the first time I tasted them. My parents invited them for dinner because, why not? It was Sunday and my father's day off from a tiring work of a Math teacher. My mother was a teacher too but stopped to watch over me and my sister.

I was awkward the whole time because she's sitting on the other side of the table in front of me. She was so weird because she was staring at me that made me so uncomfortable. Then she kicked my leg for no reasonable reason. I let her do what she wanted just to be polite. Although, I remember it was painful that I thought about kicking back as retribution. Also her face—she was enjoying my pain. What an evil girl she was. But dad said that I must not hit a girl or I'll be branded as gay. So, I kept my manliness until she gave up. No one knew about it but us. Our parents talked about many things that I didn't know what they meant. It was a long dinner and I hoped to finish my dinner as soon as I can and leave that torture zone.

In my room, there isn't much anything to do but at least I'm away from her or so I thought. She followed me all the way there and started to jump up and down my bed. I stopped her but she punched my face. I cried because it was painful. Our parents came into my room and they asked what happened so I told them. Elizabeth reasoned in Japanese so I couldn't make out what she said. Her parents made her apologize but she looked to the side, her arms folded, and muttered in Japanese.

After a minute of her parents telling her to apologize, she said, “Gomen.” (sorry) with a scoff .

I was still a child so I thought just saying it means that she was sincere. She leaves my room, stomped her steps almost as if she could have left cracks on the floor.

The next day, I had to go to school. I was in grade one at that time. My parents enrolled me in a private school that's very near our home. It's a small and humble elementary school, so near that it's only thirty minutes of walking. I always arrived before school starts. I held pride in my punctuality that I wanted to be the only one on the school campus every day, waiting outside my empty classroom. But then... my pride was broken by this girl. She arrived before I did. In the garden, she ran over the plants, killing them. I asked her to stop but she pushed me away. I let her be and went to my room.

The door to the room was closed so I waited until my teacher unlocks it. I was an average student with no close friends in those days. When the class was over, I walked my way back home. And that was when she kicked my leg from behind. I tripped forward and my hands were wounded. I cried of course. I was a kid. She ran ahead of me, skipping in joy. My tears were clouding my vision at that time so I was surprised when I realized that she was showing her hand to me, wanted to help me stand up. She grabbed my arm and pulled me up because I was hesitant. Then she went on her merry way back home.

That was our very first interaction that made me get curious about her. She intentionally hurt me, then she helped me get back up. To me, it seemed like she was forcing herself to be someone she wasn't. Then, in the end, her true nature took over. Her true self is hidden from the naked eye. She might be the kindest person I will ever meet—I thought.

The next day was almost the same. She got into school before I could. I tried my best to hide from her but she spotted me. I ran away because I thought she would do something horrible to me again. But then she cornered me. She muttered in Japanese, her arms folded as she looked to the side.

She said, “I am sorry.” in a straight accent. Then she runs away. The afternoon came for us to go back home again. As you would expect, she walked too. She was behind me and she was getting closer. I ran again, expecting her to do something horrible to me. She caught up, of course, because she's faster than me. She pulled my bag so I couldn't get away.

“You don't have to run!” she yells out behind me. I thought she could only speak Japanese.

“You're gonna hurt me again!” I cried.

“You're such a loser! I'm not gonna hurt you!”

“What?” I asked, stopped struggling from her grip.

“We are neighbors, after all.”

So, that was that. We walked home together without talking much. Then she talked to me about her favorite anime. I was glad that I met someone who likes the shows I liked. Honestly, I like action anime but I love Ghibli movies the most. Princess Mononoke, Spirited Away, The Wind Rises, Howl's Moving Castle, My Neighbor Totoro, and others. She told me that her favorite one is Perfect Blue. I never watched this show because my mother said it was for adults. But she, this girl, Elizabeth Tokunaga, watched it! She told me that there was a scene that the female main character's oppai (bewbs) was exposed!

She said how much she loved her oppai with descriptions like, “Round and white like dumplings” and “Fresh from the steamer.” Then I confirmed, she's a tomboy. A lesbian, I presumed. But I was not quick in concluding that she was a lesbian because all I knew at that time was that to boys happen to like girls and want to be boys. I never knew that there is a difference between a lesbian and a tomboy. So, I considered her to be a tomboy and got used to it.

For a month, we spent time watching anime shows together and share toys in my home. The nickname she thought for herself is Eli because it sounds boyish and I agreed to call her that. She likes the toys I had and was disgusted at the girlish toys that my little sister had. But then, when she finally showed me her home, I was shocked. They were far richer than us! Shoot! They had a widescreen TV in the living room. The floor was so smooth and shiny. They had a chandelier on the ceiling above the dining table. The sofa and decorations, everything! They looked so luxurious!

She reasoned that she let me inside her home that day because her parents were away. They bought food from the market. She took me inside her room and I was astounded by how many anime posters she had on her wall! Almost everything I watched, she had a poster of it. I didn't even watched some of those animes. Limited edition toys that came from Japan, littered across the floor. It hurt me not because I stepped on them, but I always wanted those collectibles. She has so many that losing one or two of them would mean nothing to her. She's rich so she could ask her parents to buy one. She's a hardcore otaku for sure! A cool otaku unlike me.

Then she went on to her plan to show me “the” anime, Perfect Blue. I refused but she teased me, saying I'm gay because I don't like undressed women. I was offended for sure and believed what she said. I watched the whole movie with her. It was horrifying for a seven-year-old! It was explicit, with psychological horror, and contained nudity! I went back home after that, believed that I was already tainted.

Another month passed and she gave me all of her toys and the posters she could gather. She said that they will return to Japan. I never knew the reason why her parents decided it. She told me that she will visit me if she could. I believed it because I thought Japan was just a mile away from this town. I grew up realizing that I might never see her again. I kept the toys and posters she gave me, watched the anime they come from, and always thought about how quickly she faded from my life. Even if it was only for two months, I grew fond of her.

I don't know Acebook in my elementary years so searching for her name there didn't cross my mind. In my high school years, I tried searching for her name but all I got were people I don't know. A lot of people have the same name and it was one out of many things that bothered me. A lot of things bothered me in my teenage life, like the lack of people who watch anime and normies who engage in relationships at such early age. I thought it was unnecessary and a waste of time because we're in school and we're here to study. I had one or two friends who watch anime and play video games. So, I'm basically a nerd. The ‘popular kids’ always tease and bully us like putting rocks inside our bags, ask answers for assignments without anything in return, and sometimes make fun of us so that they could get attention from others.

I haven't had a girlfriend nor danced with a girl. I had a crush and asked her out but I was rejected. I stopped trying to ask my other crushes because my classmates made fun of my failure. I then wondered about Eli. I wished I could meet her again and she could wash away the worries I had. But that never happened.

It was a rough junior high school life but I made it through without failing. Later in my senior high school life, this is where I questioned my role. How can I be useful for society? That years of junior high school taught me nothing but to distance myself from others so that they couldn't make fun of me. Gaming, drawing, and anime are all I had.

In senior high school, I don't know what happened, but there was no bullying anymore. Maybe the bullies didn't make it into this school because of the high standards. Or the bullies just matured. I met friends who happen to love anime too. They were popular unlike me but they are so nice and understand me. They accepted who I am and respected me. I regained a little confidence in myself because of that. I cultivated my drawing skills as my way to refine my role as the artist of the class. For all of the group projects that involve art, I lead them. They trusted me so I tried my best and the output is always the best. That's how I steadily transitioned to who I am in college.

I'm in my second-year college, Major in Science. It's not that I love this subject but it is the best bet because Science and Math teachers are high in demand—said my parents. And I have friends. They watch anime too. I feel that I'm not an odd one anymore because watching anime is the norm now. Anime is now mainstream. The result is that I've become less introverted and gained a few social skills. This is also where I felt my first hangover. Life became easier for me. But still... I couldn't find a girlfriend. All of the girls I tried to court, don't have an interest in me so they didn't give me a chance to know them. I am to blame because my standards are pretty high, to be honest. I hate it and try to lower it but I couldn't help it. I want a girl that watches anime, funny, pretty, and smart. But that is freakin' rare as hell! And too high! Somehow... I realized that I was looking for someone like Eli.

I lost hope in doing things by myself because I wanted to be the one who's responsible for finding a girl for myself. I asked my friends to match me up with someone, a girl they know to join us in the karaoke room. They are popular, after all, and have so many circles of friends. I was a bit suspicious of my friend's description of her, saying that we're a good match. In the karaoke room, I'm with them, taking turns singing. There are five of us boys and they have their girlfriends with them except me. So, I feel a little out of place, sitting on the sofa near the door. Nonetheless, it might change on this day.

“She's freakin' hot, dude, I tell ya,” repeats John—that giga-chad friend who always thinks about you. He squats in front of me to talk closer so I could hear. “I won't spoil her for you because I want you to be surprised by how pretty she is.”

Like us, he's wearing our uniform which is a simple white polo and black pants. His hair is slick and shiny, and his face is a lady-killing piece of art. He doesn't brag about it but his past exes are so hot! And right now, her girlfriend is ultra hot.

“It doesn't matter,” I say loud enough for him to hear. Someone is singing drunkenly, after all. “I will accept who she is. I'm done with my 20 years of no-girlfriend streak.”

We laugh together and that's when he looks to my left—which is the way to the door. Another friend of mine opens it for someone.

And there she is...