Drive-Thru

When I Think of Ervin

When I think of Ervin, I see him as a small child. He was about four when he started playing with his sister's dolls instead of his cars. It was also four when his father had thrown his sister's dolls in the trash bin. All of it. They both cried, and they thought that would be the end of it. The small Ervin started thinking, what was wrong in playing dolls?

When I think of Ervin, I see him playing with other girls with paper dolls. He hid it carefully, under his sister's closet, just to keep it away from his parents. And if ever they found out, he could point out that it was his sister's. He enjoyed dressing them up with different dresses, pants, and shirts. He remembered one line from TV -- It's your dream. Maybe it was one of his. But by the end of the day, he would find these paper dolls gone.

When I think of Ervin, I see him chatting with his friends. They were boys, and somewhat he formed a group inside the classroom. He picked the biggest, most intimidating, and coolest among all. And they followed him like he was Jesus. They shared lunches, played most games... it was the kind of story that he would share on dinners and he would see his father smile. Just that smile made him believe that he was doing the right thing. But something felt wrong. Like he was wearing the wrong clothes all the time. But at that time, it was the right thing to do, in his belief.

When I think of Ervin, I see his dark past. He was in the corner of the school, near the plant yard and trees. The faucet for cleaning was at the side, along with the mops, brooms, and other cleaning materials. A boy, about the age of nine, was lying on the asphalt, his clothes wet. In front of the boy was Ervin, holding the end of the hose on his right hand, his thumb closing the end. Beside Ervin were his friends, each holding the boy's belongings. They were screaming the words, Bakla! Puta! Mahina ka pala eh! The boy's tears were mixed with dirty water. And when someone saw them, they hurriedly ran away, throwing away the boy's bag, and everything aside. Ervin thought it was the right thing, because his father said: Gays are weak. You are not one.

When I think of Ervin, I see his twelve-year-old self. Now in high school, he exuded the intimidating vibe. He was growing taller and taller, his shoulders getting broad, his face being more refined. While the girls internally scream whenever he's around, and boys like to play basketball with him, gays never interacted with the guy. They must've heard the rumors. Ervin shrugged them off. He was the center of attention in the classroom. And yet... he wasn't happy. The sinking feeling never left him. He wasn't playing Ervin, but the one they wanted to be him.

When I think of Ervin, I see him stealing glances on Mike, one of his friends. They were playing basketball, and the guy sat beside him. It was the usual conversation--girls, basketball, computer games. But when their biceps touched, it was an unusual feeling. He bumped on the guy on basketball all the time. Why was it different this time?

When I think of Ervin, he was now in his third year in high school. He recently dumped another girl because he was bored. Nothing could ever catch his attention. Well, maybe except one. He looked forward towards the end of classes where he could just hang out at Mike's house. He sat beside him while he was watching videos. They drank together, they slept beside each other. And he was happy. No girl could ever provide him that feeling. His father never suspected a thing, because he knew the two boys were doing nothing. Both right and wrong, in different contexts, in different situations.

When I think of Ervin, I could remember that one night when he was drunk. He stayed in Mike's place, as usual, and immediately crashed the bed. He could make his way on his bedroom even with his eyes closed. The room was illuminated from the street light coming from the window. Ervin almost slipped on the pile of shirts on the floor. He was still stinking of brandy. His polo half-opened and the white shirt under it soaking wet of sweat. Another body lay beside him. Mike. His head was spinning that time and could not comprehend well what was happening. But one thing for sure. Their hands met each other. Ervin looked beside on the breathing face beside him. Mike was sleeping—or not—but his grip could not get any tighter. He pulled the thought aside and went to sleep.