The Sun, The Moon, and Their Stars

03 : Laughter

Benjamin

I lean my back on one of the pillars along the corridor while I wait for my friends. We usually gather around on this spot right after the last period in the morning. And I see Jay close by.

I've been friends with Joseph, aka Jay, since Grade Four that he's almost like a brother to me. He's actually a year older than us and was even Jessy's classmate in Grade Two. But he got sick that year and had to stop. Then he returned a year later to repeat that grade with us. He lives two blocks away from the school, so we spend the majority of our one-and-a-half-hour lunch breaks in their house.

He looks a bit worried, so I ask him what's the matter.

He scratches the back of his head. "We're doing dances this year for PE," he says with a frown.

"And?"

"And it's difficult," he adds, dropping his hand.

"Only because you're a robot," Daryl says from behind him, coming to the scene from out of nowhere.

It's kind of true. Jay is the tallest among the four of us, and he's also thin as bones. Some guys even call him 'skelly,' and it doesn't help that he's rigid.

Steve finally joins us. He's wiping his glasses with the ends of his uniform while walking.

"Right about time, Cap," I say to him.

And then we go down the stairs and pass through the walkways until we reach the gate and out of the school.

Steve, Daryl, and I make our way inside the eatery next to Jay's house. We eat lunch here most of the time. Then we crash into our friend's living room next door.

Their house is one of those old Spanish-era houses with the original structure still intact. The interior of their first floor is, of course, renovated to fit their family's photography studio, and their living quarters are right above. It's old and can get creepy at times, but it feels cozy more often than not.

Jay's grandmother greets us from the top of the stairs. She could've fixed our lunches every day since we started hanging around in their house, and we would've taken advantage of the offer, but we didn't want to trouble them, so we eat using our allowances at the establishment next door. The food there is not as good as back home, but it's cheap, so we settle.

"How's your sister, Benjie?" she asks.

"She's fine," I answer in monotone.

We're regulars in this house, and the family treats us like their own that sometimes we forget proper manners.

"That's good to hear," she says with her sweet motherly smile.

I force a smile back, just because. It's barely even a month. And I don't tell anyone how weird I feel around our house now that it's just me on the second floor.

Jay is already on a chair searching for a channel to watch on their TV. Steve sits on the other chair. Daryl and I take the couch. These are our usual spots.

*

Jay's parents died in a car accident when he was three-years-old, and his older sister was seven. Their grandparents and aunt took care of them from then on. In one Family Day affair when we're in Grade Six, I found him hiding in the restroom, crying 'cause he got jealous everyone had parents, and he had none around. I think that's about the time when we became close.

He also knows how to take pictures and is—by default—the resident photographer of our grade and the senior photojournalist for the school paper. He's the one among the four of us with a stretch of patience for reading thick books and long stories. Whereas Steve, nerd extraordinaire, leads our conversations about comic books and their movie adaptations, and I take care of sports stuff, we rely on Jay for anything Lord of the Rings-related. Daryl either educates us on music or spices up our times with humor and casual talk.