The Sun, The Moon, and Their Stars

02 : Wisdom

Kimberly

I put the necktie around and under the collar of my blouse. I check how it falls on both sides. One must be longer by a length I've been accustomed to for the past three years. They're good, so I place the wider end on top of the other and make two rotations over. Then I insert the pointy end inside the triangle of the loop, tighten it up, and adjust.  

I part my hair. The partition aligns with the tip of my left eyebrow. I comb my hair. Right side first, and left side next. Then I arrange my bangs, so they fall gracefully on the side of my forehead. And with my fingers, I push forward the ends of the layers on my shoulders.

I step away from the closet and get my glasses from the table. My alarm clock says it's six-fifteen. I lift my backpack from the plastic chair and place it on the edge of my bed. I face the mirror once more and put a few dabs of balm on my lips. I shut the closet door, throw the lip balm inside the pocket of my bag, zip it, wear the strap on my right shoulder, and head for the door.

In the full-length mirror between mine and my parents' room, I examine my appearance. I see the few strands of white contrasting my ultra-black hair, but I've always had them, so it's perfectly normal. My blouse still fits right. My necktie is not askew and the same green checkered pattern as my skirt, which is of rule-abiding length: three inches below the knees. My socks are clean and white, and my black shoes are freshly polished. I'm certainly ready for school.  

I walk over to the living room where my mother placed the money on the center table. I grab my allowance and put it in the pocket of my skirt.

"I'm going to school!"

I hear a faint voice coming from the kitchen. I wait for my mother to come out, but the wall clock above the front door says it's six-twenty. I push the screen door and walk out instead. I see my father in the garage, cleaning the pick-up truck, as I close the gate.

I've memorized this morning routine since I was a kid. I walk out of the house and down the street, passing six houses to my right. Then I turn left and walk along other rows of houses before I reach the corner of the highway.

I stop in front of the white horizontal lines on the asphalt. I look left and right. I cross the road when it's safe and stand at the concrete waiting shed for loading and unloading jeepney commuters.

I hop into the first jeep that stops. There are only a few people inside, and the driver is playing Air Supply songs on the makeshift stereo in front.

I live in a municipality next to the provincial capital. While our town is sparse and sleepy, the capital is a small city breathing faintly of life. That's where my parents decided years ago to send my brother and me to school.

It typically takes about twenty minutes to get to the city proper. And from the stop in front of the new Shopping Mall, I have to ride another jeep for about five minutes to reach the school. Call time is at seven a.m. on Mondays and seven-fifteen for the rest of the week.

This is the first day of my last year of high school. It's supposed to be yesterday, but I decided to stay home instead. This is the third time that I ditch the first day of school. In Grade Eight, it's because my mother enrolled me late. In Grade Nine, I had nothing new to wear. As it is customary to be in civilian clothes on the first day of the school year, students who came in their uniforms almost always get ridiculed. This time, though, my mother settled the finances early on, and my cousin, Cherry, took me shopping last summer, so those excuses no longer apply. Except I woke up yesterday and thought it's useless to spend one full day in a classroom 'getting to know' people I've known since time immemorial.