Always Around

PART 1: PICKUP POINT - Chapter One

Roxanne

“Pa! I’m going! Your meds are on the fridge, and your lunch box is on the table. DO NOT leave them this time," I shouted to my father as I picked up my bag and ran past our kitchen through the hurricane that is our twelve dogs. If this was any other day, I would sit on the floor and let myself be consumed by my babies' fluffy storm, but today I must resist. It is the first day of senior high.Papa placed down his DIY dumbbells made of concrete, short rebars, and large milk cans. Wiping off his sweat from exercising all morning, he met me by the gates of our home. Early in the morning and his stench is already good enough for the rest of the day. 

Foul, sun-bathed, garlic-y, two-week-old fish odor aside, my father is pretty normal. Hair that has awkward white strands sticking out. A mustache that tries hard to make him look older than he is. Aging yet defined facial features that hint at the history of a vibrant young man who had gone through the crappiest situations but is now trying to bounce back by overworking for the sake of his kids. 

"You smell," I said to him as I went for a hug goodbye. He gave a low chuckle as he planted a kiss on the top of my head. "I know, Bunso (youngest kid). Enjoy your first day as a senior. You'll be great." 

"Oh no, you're clingy. You're driving two days in a row again? Have you told Kuya (older brother)?" I sighed as I hugged him a bit longer than usual. 

"Sorry, Bunso. My karilyebo (a co-worker who takes over when he’s not at his job) is off his shift again. I want to take his hours." 

"Are your travel pillow and blanket still clean? There's another set in the closet. Just don't forget to text when you're coming home. Kuya needs his headcount before planning meals, you know that." 

"I'll call him. I have his class schedule. Though I cannot understand why our college boy had to take the earliest morning classes."

"His first class ends at 8 AM. I'm betting my allowance he'll call you before you could remember to call him."

With a small nod, he replied, "Most likely".

"Love you!" I said as I rushed through the gates and on my way to school.

He chuckled today. I love today. 

While walking, I pulled out my second-hand Nokia 3300 phone and started typing a text to Kuya saying...

YOU NEED TO TEXT OR CALL PAPA SOON. UPCOMING DOUBLE SHIFT. PROBABLY WILL TELL YOU HE'S PROUD OF YOU. PANGET MO (You ugly).

Sent. That will probably annoy him and make his day at the same time.

Papa is a stiff, usually. He hugs, yes, but he never usually uses his words to express how he feels emotionally. Nevertheless, we have never felt like we lack fatherly love. My older brother and I love him deeply; we adore him and trust him with our lives. He is in no exaggeration all the family we have, and we're thankful for everything he is. 

And was. 

You see, we grew up knowing two versions of our dad - the workaholic, stoic, muscle-fit version he is now, and the lively, outgoing, fluffy version he was back then. Both of them we love equally, but for completely different reasons. 

His transformation began when our mother left home. That day, she took with her my father's taxi-our only livelihood, our family savings, most of her pictures, and my dad's passion for life. His heart. His extra energy to play with his children till dark after a day's work. His hearty laugh and confident stature that glorify his round, jiggly gut (like Santa, but less hairy, less creepy, and more law-abiding). Now he drives a taxi he leases for twenty-four hours each time, usually every other day. When he's not working, he's catching up on sleep. When he's not asleep, he's working out. If he's not working out, he's probably bothering his kids to go out and shop for cheap trinkets we do not need.

My brother and I have grown to love both Papa v1 and Papa v2. But v1.5, the transition? We loved the person, but not the experience. For a while, he was in and out of jobs. He didn't have the drive to keep working, too depressed to think of anything more than the love he lost. The grief took over his days, nights. He cried until he's dry and then cried some more. He needed intervention from a professional, which thankfully he got eventually.

During that time, Kuya and I, a ten-year-old and a nine-year-old had to take charge. I sold anime drawings and candy-adorned biscuits to my classmates for coins! We were in an over-populated public school, so there were a lot of potential customers. The drawings I did on the spot, while my classmates watched during break times. The biscuits I made every night using snack items I bought using my daily allowances. Kuya tried to submit an original comic idea through a family friend who said she knew a legit publisher. We borrowed art materials from our next-door neighbor, who for some reason sent their puppy, Goldy, to play with us each time they saw us doing projects. 

Our small efforts worked for a small while. We didn't need to ask Papa for school money, but of course, things never work out for a couple of kids with limited money and almost zero adult supervision. 

I had to quit my small business after my sixth-grade teacher told me I needed parental guidance to conduct it. 

Kuya never saw the family friend again after he gave her his final comic draft. 

We resorted to borrowing money from classmates, teachers, and neighbors. Sometimes they gave us food, liters of water, and candies. Sometimes candles for when the electricity bill wasn't paid off. We divided housework, did homework together, and took care of our father when he couldn't take care of himself. When things got better, we adopted stray dogs, which seemed to cheer up my dad since he had company when we're at school.

Explains the many, many dogs we now have at home.

Our childhood was perfection before that fateful day, and I sometimes wonder how our mother is after she went away. Did she change too? Did she cry over the most mundane things that reminded her of us? Was she in pain, even for just a while? I know we were, but since Kuya and I didn't know how to pinpoint and address these complex emotions yet, we turned to clear tasks that needed to be done. Papa grieved for three people, and that changed him completely. 

Our dad taught us the value of time and unapologetic familial love when we were toddlers. We will always remember that. And then he taught us what complete loss is, although he never quite recovered after. Now he is teaching us practical love, setting our circumstances aside for the sake of the people we love. I wonder when self-love will be up. We could've used some of that ages ago.

I jerked a bit as I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. A text. Kuya.

I'LL BRING HOME PANCIT PALABOK TONIGHT. PANGET KA RIN (You ugly too).

Nice. Our favorite food. Seemed like he got an over-two-sentence text from Papa.

This is shaping up to be a great day so far! I do not care much for school, but I hope nothing awful will ruin today for me.

"Rox!" I hear a voice yell from the other side of the road. "Roxy! Wait up!"

A lean young man with short, wavy hair, thin eyes, and pristine complexion kept shouting to me as he waited for traffic to clear up. "YOU. STAY. RIGHT. THERE." he said, as he tried to signal an incoming sedan to stop for a while so he could cross. "Pedestrian lane's that way, Drew!" I shouted back, a bit perplexed that he chose to jaywalk when there's a pedestrian lane just ten steps away.  

Drew and I have been friends since my second year. We were seat neighbors and just like me, he wasn't in with the cliques that formed seemingly instantly the moment students started populating the homeroom. We realized we both like music - soul, alternative rock, funk, country, in that order. Ever since then, we have tried to steer clear of school drama by isolating ourselves in our founded performing arts club, with only five active members. We also formed a self-study club, which is just a group of people who occupy a free room to read or review for exams since the library had more cobwebs and termites than useful books. 

When he finally got to my side, he remarked "Thank heavens!", while breathing heavily and pressing down his forehead as if to push back a building headache. "Dude you just crossed the street, how are you that exhausted?" I asked, also wondering why he's walking to school when his parents have a private car ready to drive him anywhere, anytime. "And why are you jaywalking, you dumbo?" I added.

"Sorry, it's just... it's my first time walking to school! Well, I didn't exactly walk all the way here. My house is farther than yours, and yours is a 30-minute walk away," Drew said in machine-gun speed. Early morning and he is already a mess, still trying to catch his breath.

"I'm aware, Drew. Why are you walking then? Where did Pat drop you off?" I asked while pulling out his face towel from his backpack, always rolled into a cylinder and placed in the side pocket of the bag that's supposed to be for bottled drinks. 

"I was dropped off near your place! But your dad, Tito Kael's working out at your porch, and I think you were feeding your dogs, so I decided not to intrude. Then I walked here. I knew you would catch me, I walk slow." He took his face towel from me and wiped his face full of sweat before tucking it to his back. 

"You know you could have just come in, the dogs would've wanted a visit from their favorite chew toy," I informed him as I looked at my watch and continued to walk.

Drew's face contorted for a bit as he tried to keep up, that familiar grimace whenever he tried to imagine an uncomfortable situation. He then pouted his lips, squinted his eyes, and said in a comically high-pitched voice, "I'm not sure I'm wearing the right outfit to be mauled today."

I never had school friends, or any friends for that matter, before Drew. Just teachers and classmates who either pitied me or bullied me for the following reasons:

1) Shameless selling of subpar drawings and biscuits on campus.

2) Not eating anything to buy materials and ingredients for said subpar goods.

3) Gossips about my family drama.

4) My outburst in fourth grade. I kicked a classmate after he made fun of my family drama.

5) The rest of my sixth-grade year, when I went through the first wave of puberty without parental guidance. I was called Red Blob Roxy because I wasn't prepared for my first period. BOxanne because... Body Odor, I guess? Kids are silly. Oh, and Tiptop Shirt, when my chest started growing. I didn't have the money to buy bras then, so I had to wear multiple undershirts instead.

I despised my elementary years, and I was convinced I would finish school without a single friend. That would have been fine for me, but now that I have Drew, I am grateful. The comfort we find with each other is something comparable to that with siblings. He's family now. Papa and Kuya like him enough to let him visit whenever he wants.

"Where's your guitar?" he asked. "I thought you planned on hauling your things back to the club room after vacation?"

"My guitar broke. Its back cracked the last time I dropped it," I answered. Poor baby Green, he would've been the coolest guitar in the club after the paint job I did through summer.

"Your electric piano?"

"Three keys are stuck."

"Your... recorder?"

"My dogs thought it was for their teething."

"Your harmonica?"

"I... haven't learned to play it yet."

"Come on man, that would've been the easiest instrument to bring. Our room would've been like one of those jail scenes in old-school Hollywood films," Drew said, holding a scowl on his face as he pulled out something from his back pocket. He held it to me, brandishing it like an auctioneer would a priced antique.

"It's a voice recorder! I was looking forward to trying it out today, and you didn't bring any instruments! It was my older sister's but I bugged her until she gave it to me since it was just lying around her room," Drew explained smiling, his small eyes sparkling in excitement. 

"Maybe we can try tomorrow? Bring two of your guitars, you can't trust me to bring any of my instruments soon. I'll ask Papa to take a look at my guitar when he's free," I stated. I wonder when that will be. 

We continued our walk in silence. He handed me one of his earbuds as he played Sir Duke from his phone. Stevie, always a good way to start the day. In return, I handed him a piece of choco-mint candy from my sweets pouch. It's sort of a habit of mine to always have sweets in my person, a conversation starter since I'm not always good with people.

Drew took off his earbud and looked at me with intrigue, maybe with a bit of worry. "Are you ready for school? You're going in as a club president and Corps Commander for the Citizenship Advancement Training, but you don't need to take care of everyone and everything, do you understand? You need to tell me as soon as you feel discomfort, alright? You WILL tell me, okay?" His concern is coming from a good place, but as soon as I heard it I felt somehow limited, a tad less competent.

"Want to take my place as Performing Arts president? You're more than welcome, and I bet you'll do better than me," I answered jokingly. I wanted to relieve us from the sudden tension this conversation is bringing, but Drew responded by furrowing his brows, pursing his lips, and looking on the ground. It seemed he was actually considering doing it and instantly I felt guilt.

"It was a joke, Drew, I'm sorry. Don't worry, I'll tell you when I feel overwhelmed. As long as you promise to do the same," I told him while looking him straight in the eyes. 

"I do, Rox. You know that. And you know my tells, I can't hide anything from you," he said, sounding a bit annoyed as he pulled out his phone to replay Sir Duke. "We need to respect Mister Wonder, now shut up and appreciate the song."

Silent again, we continued to walk. Ever slightly more confident to face the day.

Gladwell

I ran from the kitchen to my bedroom as I heard my alarm clock wake the whole neighborhood from my bedside table. 6:30 AM, time to prepare for school. I just finished eating breakfast and washing the dishes so, perfect timing. As I headed to my closet to bring out my uniform, I realized I have to check for my phone notifications. I turn it off at night to make sure there is nothing to disrupt my ten-to-six sleep schedule. 

One missed call from Mom.

One text from her as well.

LEFT WHEN YOU WERE ASLEEP TO AVOID TRAFFIC. CASH IN YOUR NEW WALLET ON THE COFFEE TABLE. MONEY IS ALSO IN YOUR BANK ACCOUNT. CALL YOUR COUSIN NEXT DOOR, HE'S PAID TO TAKE CARE OF YOU. THE NEXT VISIT WILL BE NEXT MONTH. LOVE YOU.

Oh, man. I kind of hoped the next will be six months away, at least. 

I put on my clothes making sure the collar is straight, combed my hair, packed my bag, and grabbed my book off the shelf. I pocketed my devices and looked at the new wallet my mother bought. I don't care much for branded items, so I opened it to see if it has exactly eleven card slots, one photo slot, two dividers for the cash pocket, one zipped coin pocket, and one hidden slot. It does not. I took out a couple of bills from it and placed them inside my old one. Why replace something when it still does its job, right?

Maybe I should consider having my cousin drive me to school? He would make a welcome companion, at least for a few minutes before class starts. I do not like my family for the most part, but my cousin is alright considering he takes care of my basic needs because he's my friend. Not because my parents are paying him. I know this because the money he receives, we just spend on gadgets or food. He is a decade older than me, but he can't seem to get a steady job as a fashion designer. Not that he needs to work to get by. He's in the same living setup as I am. 

We were sent here to a small family-owned compound when we started high school while our parents stayed in the province, near their jobs. As they explained, our family has always sent their kids to this house as a way to let them learn independence and responsibility on their own. I wonder if they still think of this as a good idea now that two of my cousins are knocked up, and one more is secretly wasting his tuition fee on sketchy business prospects. 

I walked over to my cousin's door only to hear his stereo blare out gunshots and explosions. He's playing video games and must've been up all night. I kept my request to myself and decided to walk to school. It's a ways away, but I still have time. 

It's not often I get to walk this time of day, and I have to say it feels great to see people out and about. I passed a bakery with customers lining up to buy freshly baked pandesal, a park with spirited senior citizens trying to follow their Zumba instructor's moves, a mother swatting a cat hissing at her daughter, and lovers kissing between food stalls hoping no one sees them. Wow, they should get a room. 

As I reached the more peaceful part of the area, I tried to slow down and enjoy the fresh air. My mistake was that one should not slow down in the middle of the road.

"Hey, kid!" I heard a person shout. My mind froze for a second, wondering if I have done something wrong that I am not aware of. I looked around, and then I saw it. A car in the middle of the road. I was blocking its way and the driver was waiting patiently for me to cross. Immediately I bowed to apologize and ran as fast as I could to the sidewalk. The car slowed down past me as the driver shouted, "You enjoy your day, son! Just be careful!"

What a nice lady, although I couldn't help but blush a bit in embarrassment. It took me a while to notice her voice is not the same as the one that shook me out of my trance. I looked around, and then I heard footsteps approach me from my side.

"Good morning! I see you are interested in the concept of snap judgment," the voice stated as I turned around to find a crouching figure pointing to the book I am holding between my right armpit.

"Uhh, good morning po. Yes, I am. I am studying it," I replied. "Thank you for calling out to me back there, uh... I don't know your name, I'm sorry. My mind was... elsewhere," I continued, lowering my eyes. 

"Oh, don't you mind that. I once fell off my bicycle while appreciating the view here. And the streets in this part of town are not as busy, so this might be the third best place to drift off. The first is at home, second is anywhere without the possibility of being run over. My name is Rye. Professor Rye. From the looks of your uniform, I can tell we're heading in the same direction." 

Professor Rye laughed as I stood there silent for a while. "Thank you, again, Professor. You, uh, recognized Blink?"

"Oh yes, it is quite a read. I appreciated how the author presented both the good and bad sides of instant decisions. It would make for an interesting class discussion if only I could get my students to read it." Professor Rye said as we started to walk towards the road to school. I was taken aback but felt a slight sense of content. No one has taken interest in my readings in quite a while.

"I'm reading this because I acknowledge that rapid cognition opens a different set of choices from prolonged decision-making. I'm trying to make a story around the concept," I explained. I found myself astounded by how I was suddenly rambling on about my closeted hobby of writing to an old teacher I just met. I expected the aged educator to respond with something to the effect of "Oh that's nice" and we'll proceed walking in awkward dead air until we part ways at the school gates. But then...

"Oh, how wonderful! A story-teller! How exactly do you intend to use snap judgment? Will it be concerning your characters' actions or the readers' interpretation of the story?"

"You know, I have not decided on that yet. But I've recently thought about taking a reader's tendency to create their understanding of a story as they go along and then turning that understanding on its head in the end. So it's like I'm using their snap judgment against them," I expounded. 

The exhilaration that comes with talking about your passion... does not visit me often. I mean, I'm alone most of the time. Who would listen? The existence of this person, although I only knew of it now, is a sign from the heavens that there might be a place for me to improve my writing without my family squawking over my shoulders all the time. "Do math! Do math! You will be an engineer! Do math!" I should try to get to know Prof though, can't be too careful.

"You might want to put that book in your bag, though, Gladwell. As a student of rapid cognition, I know you understand how people see this as a cliche. A prim and proper student carrying a psychology book is like a lure for insecure people who compare their intellect to others just by visually observing them." Rye smiled, although from the looks of it I think they knew this is not the impression I was hoping to get out of people. What was I hoping for? Someone to approve of my reading selection? Did Rye see through that?

I quietly took my bag from my back and unzipped it to place my book between my school binder and notebook. As I zipped it back up and slung it on my back, I heard Prof whistle to a dog rummaging a trash bag. I watched as it pulled its head out of the garbage and looked at us with its ears pointed up and tongue sticking out. From the inner pocket of their beige coat, Rye pulled out a paper bag containing one siopao. "Got this from Aling Mira, great breakfast options there." Carefully, they tore out a piece of the meat-filled bread and held it in the dog's direction. Slowly it attracted the dog away from the pile of trash to the snack that’s slowly being placed down a clean, safe, and isolated part of the sidewalk. The thin, almost hairless pup was wary at first, but it then rushed over to eat and ignored us completely. "Poor creature, if only someone could take care of it," Prof said, and I heard a twinge of sadness behind their small smile. 

We continued walking. I asked Rye about life. I heard about how this is their first day teaching on our campus after years of teaching biology at a university outside town. A loner, after their son left to be a server overseas. After sensing my slight vigilance, they said they have no criminal record. We laughed, knowing full well it had to be said and confirmed before I trust everything they say. I'll be looking into that with other teachers, just to be extra sure.

"Have you ever had a gravely wrong snap judgment about someone, Gladwell?", the professor asked.

"Uhm, yes. It was during my freshman year. I just moved here and I did not know anyone in my class, so I tried to be friends with as many of my classmates as possible. None stuck out as a permanent buddy so I tried to stay open, although I could slip into any group anytime I want." 

"One week in, and the only people I haven't talked to yet are the outliers. Not because I didn't wanna approach them. We had quite a large class, it’s not unusual to not be friends with everyone. Plus I was swamped by all the others who always had plans to hang out. One of them told me about one of the outliers. A girl, who apparently back-kicked a classmate in the gut in grade school. The kid she kicked, I heard, missed a week of school because of it. I have to tell you, this girl looked like she does not comb her hair, and she looked like she doesn't know what face powder is. Her desk was filled with candy wrappers folded like origami. She's so messy! So my instant impression was that she may well be capable of hurting someone since she looked like she doesn't care about... anything. I decided to leave her out of my list of people to get to know."

"But then, sophomore year. She was granted a full scholarship and given financial help for outstanding academic and extra-curricular performances. She received awards but instead of having a parent with her, she attended with her brother... who was just a year older than her. They weren't smiling or celebrating in any way. It was depressing to see. They just went up the stage, got the award, shook hands with the people who wanted to shake hands, then left. They refused photo ops, conversations with the higher-ups, any opportunity to rub their achievements in people's faces. But I got to see a moment when they were walking out of the hall. She was crying. And her brother was trying to give her his handkerchief."

"No one else saw it but I did. It led me to understand that maybe she did care, maybe she cared too much about something that pushed her to fight her classmate back then. Maybe she was struggling, trying to handle things her way, but that way wasn't clear yet. Maybe she was messy because she cared about everything but herself. These are all just assumptions, but so was my first snap judgment of her. Who am I to deny that maybe these assumptions are closer to her truth than the negative ones I formed just from hearing gossip?"

I took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. It's a bit cloudy. Maybe the rain will fall later? The rainy season just started, so it's not impossible. 

I could feel Professor Rye's eyes on me, and I sense that there will be some great wisdom to be imparted in a second.

"Who's to say she wasn't both your assumptions?" they started, immediately recapturing my attention. 

I waited...

Wait...

That's it?

"Uhh, yeah. Who's to say?" I decided to conclude.

"If you have the story written down in the next few days, maybe you can show me? You can always find me in the faculty room," Rye said, smiling brightly. 

"Sure! I'll drop by whenever!" I looked at my watch. 7:25 AM. I still have time!

"Professor! Thank you for your company today! But I'm sorry I forgot I had to stop by somewhere. I'll visit you in the faculty room soon! Thank you! Ingat po kayo! (Take care!)" I pushed the sentences out as fast as I could before bowing and waving as I ran off.

"You too! Don't be late!" Prof shouted back.