The Littlest Things

Space

I sat outside the rest room and waited for him to change his clothes. We just finished painting a mural for a small-town school with some of our friends, and before heading out to dinner, he decided to put on another shirt. The sweltering sun made him sweat, he said.

“Uhhh, Kath?” he called from the other side of the door, his voice hesitant. “Yes?” I asked back, already wondering what was wrong. That’s the thing about being with one person almost every waking day: you know what he wants, or what he needs, or what he’s thinking of even before he says a word. So I stood up and approached the white, narrow door to better hear what he wanted to say.

“I think...I need help,” he said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. “Pwedeng pumasok ka?"

“Huh? Bakit?”

“Shirt ko.”

Realization then hit me. He was wearing his favourite shirt, and his paint-covered hands made it impossible for him to take it off without getting it stained. I paused for a few seconds, thinking of other ways he could pull the shirt off without my help but I came up with nothing. I exhaled and felt my nerves creeping in all of a sudden. “Girlfriend duties,” I thought and knew I had to do it. So I looked to my left and right, making sure that people were busy with their own worlds and tried the knob. It wasn’t locked.

I slipped inside and came face to face with my boyfriend. God, the rest room was so cramped. It was like a very narrow fitting room, and it provided just enough space for two people. I looked away immediately, feeling my cheeks growing hot and turning red. I was pretending to be busy looking around the small space when I heard the lock click.

“Bat mo ni-lock?” I asked, aghast. He smirked at my reaction, and said “Ang OA mo,” but the smirk felt unnatural. He was nervous, too.

“Baka kasi may pumasok bigla, kung ano pa ang isipin.”

“Okay,” I agreed with a small voice and I knew for sure that I was dreading what would happen next. Or was I...thrilled?

I looked at him straight in the eye and he looked back, and I sensed he was having second thoughts. But he spoke, anyway.

“Bal, can you take my shirt off?”

He managed to make it sound like a kid pleading his mom, and I knew for certain that he was trying to make it less awkward for the two of us. He even raised two hands covered with paint to convince me. “Sure,” I heard myself say, but the voice was distant and my thoughts were running amok. “Pa’no ba...” I pretended to study his shirt, and if it weren’t for his arms raising, I was almost sure I could make a dissertation from all that pretend-studying. I looked at him then looked back at the lining of his shirt and decided that there was just no way out of the situation. Or maybe at the back of my mind, I knew I didn’t want a way out.

We both fell silent, our slightly unsteady breathing served as tongues which put words to our awkwardness. Then, I reached for his shirt. My hands were shaking and I was too determined not to make him notice that I tugged hard at it. He flinched a bit; I said sorry. I tried to be gentler, and by doing so, I failed to hide my shaking hands. I hoped to God I wasn’t embarrassing myself in front of him from being too nervous about the whole ordeal. Letting out a sigh, I slowly pulled his shirt over his head, trying to be extra careful not to stain it with paint from his enclosed hands. Little by little, I exposed his skin, but I decided not to focus on it. In fact, I became too busy with his shirt that I almost forgot that I was undressing my boyfriend. But three seconds later, after I successfully took off the damn thing from his body, I came face to face with his bare chest. “Hello,” it said.

I looked up and saw his face inches away from mine. He was looking at me, and I couldn’t read his expression, but I knew the undressing stirred things inside him that I would not dare explore further. “Tapos na,” I croaked to break the silence.

“Alam ko,” he said and I watched him swallow the tension floating at the tiniest of spaces between us, getting lost at the movement of his Adam’s apple. Once again, I became acutely aware of the cramped room and the heat emanating from his body and mine, the faintest of echoes, the smell of him, the proximity, the wild beating of hearts.

“Paano yung ipampapalit mo?” My voice came out as a whisper

“Ako na dun. Okay lang naman madumihan yun,” he whispered, too.

“Okay.” Eager to escape the situation, I began turning towards the door but he held my wrist.

“Wait,” he said hoarsely. “Payakap muna.”

And then he pulled me in without waiting for an answer, catching me off-guard, snaking his right arm around my waist, locking his left arm around my shoulders, holding me tight, pressing, and I felt dizzy and at ease, both at the same time, and I don’t know what, I don’t how, I just felt the need to be held and to surrender, and I closed my eyes, thinking of him, thinking of us, thinking of heat and warmth for these are two different things, and he has both, and it was good, and it was great, and it was wrong, or it was not, and my thoughts were full of commas, and period ceased to exist, and I just wanted us to remain like this forever, hugging, not caring, hearts drumming against our chests, so I hugged him back, running my hands along his bare back, and time stood still in that smallest of spaces.

After a while, he let go, and I let go, and words failed us for a moment. I decided to speak first. “I’ll wait for you outside.” I was breathless and it was obvious. He simply nodded, still speechless.

I turned towards the door and slipped out, praying that no one noticed, forgetting that my wrist and my shirt had smudges of paint and that they just told the world of our secret.