Madali namang pakiusapan si Owen. I waited for him to finish and we went together where Rico was. The latter muttered him a gratitude before the three of us parted our ways. The hawkish eyes seemed to be waiting for me when our gazes met. Owen's are the one avoiding my interrogating look. However, my mind was occupied with something else. Dala ko iyon hanggang makauwi.
“Kumain ka nga! Nakikitira ka na nga lang dito,” my Mom hissed.
Bakit ba hindi ko naisip noon na may posibilidad na kaklase ko nga iyong tumutugon sa mga pinagsusulat ko? Why did I even conclude that he was from the first section? Dahil ba sinuway ako? O dahil ba narinig ko ang boses ng kung sino sa tuwing binabasa ko ang mga sulat niyon?
“Ah, Florence!” hagikhik ni Ate Marley. “Si Freesia 'yan, anak mo. Oo.”
Why was Owen standing there earlier? Why was he holding a crumpled paper? Bakit iyong ballpen na nahulog ay kakulay sa ginagamit dati ni Ikong?
“Talaga? Bakit nakakainis ang pagmumukha?”
Si Owen ba?
“Uy, grabe ka naman. Nag-guapa ngarud.”
Bakit parang . . . hindi ko matanggap?
Pero kung siya nga?
“Kasi naman. Nakapammimid pay. Ammo na nga adda mangmangan. Mangirurumen!”
Napasulyap ako kay mama. I removed my palm under my chin, gladly following what she wants whenever she is eating. I still don't get why that gesture became a superstition.
“Ate, akyat na po ako. Mamaya na lang po kakain,” paalam ko.
Sanay naman na ako sa mga ganoong patutsada ni Mama. I know, if she was not in that state, she would not even dare utter those words. Hindi lang talaga ako maka-focus sa pagkain. Masyado akong distracted. It is one of my toxic traits, I know. I can't do two things at the same time. I surely have to let the other one go.
Bukod pa roon, I live in the present. And at this very moment, suspecting and doubting Owen as Ikong is the one residing in my mind. And I choose to live by it rather than eating my mouthwatering lunch.
Kinabukasan, maaga akong pumasok. Parang nagulat pa si Rico noong nakita ko siya sa entrance. He smiled. I did, too, but only a little. Inalis ko rin agad ang tingin sa kaniya.
Wala pang tao sa classroom nang nakarating ako. Kinapa ko agad ang ilalim ng desk ko ngunit walang laman. I took out a piece of paper and decided to write something again. I hope he replies back.
‘Uy, never heard from you again. Still there?’
I left it under the desk. Ilang sandali pa, unti-unti nang pumapasok ang mga kaklase ko. My eyes remain alert on Owen. However, he did not glance on my side.
Hinintay ko ang uwian. Lumabas na ako pero hindi muna bumaba sa building namin.
“Bakla, tara sa library? Review us” tawag ni Michael.
“Mukha ba akong nagpupunta roon?”
He rolled his eyes. “Che! Bumagsak ka sana sa exam.”
“Manifesting ikaw rin.” Ipinagdaop ko ang mga palad na parang nagdarasal.
“Gaga!”
“Pakopya na lang!” habol ko.
I hide at the back of the wall beside the glass window. I can clearly see my seat inside from here. Huhulihin ko siya. Akala ba niya hindi ko malaman?
Shuta siya. Kung ano-ano pang mga pinagsasabi ko room dati. I had written many rants about Miss Reyes, Rico, my mother, and some petty things like not having a trustworthy best friend and what would it feel like to have one. It became my safe space because apparently, I am more comfortable to talk about those with someone unknown. Now that I have a hunch who Ikong is, I felt like my comfort has been ruined. Like a personal space that has been offended.
BINABASA MO ANG
The Seat We Sit On (HFS #1)
Teen FictionFreesia Mandeville has a habit of writing and doodling anywhere in Collins High School. May it be on the walls, chairs, and even on the comfort room's newly painted doors; even on the seat she's sitting on in their classroom as a silent rebellion ag...
