In Motion

Chapter 5: Slow Show by The National (2007)

Music in Gab's car happened on only three occasions.

Gab would pick me up, Red Hot Chili Peppers blasting from the speakers, after a spat with Tita Ruth and Tito Dom, who were still trying to convince the gay away. Or at least sweep it under the finely threaded family rug.

Andi would plug in her iPod to introduce us to some weepy rock album. I knew that Gab and I mentally bookmarked the ones that we had liked. I had been overplaying Boxer by The National in my room for a month.

And then there were rare instances: Gab and I fighting. That afternoon drive, we weren't listening to anything in particular, just a random Top 40 station to fill the car. Thankfully Andi had late-night training so she wasn't there to witness all that.

Gab parked in front of my house. I was about to open the door when he blurted, "Hey." I didn't realize my shoulders had been tense. I let it slump and settled back in my seat.

"I'm sorry, thatwastoomuch." The words tumbled out of his mouth, like he wanted the conversation to be over. We didn't do apologies. We just glossed over small irritations.

"S'all good," I replied. But what was I so upset about anyway? What was irritating with Gab hitting on Martin?

We were taught about those in high school: rhetorical questions.

"He's a freshman," I explained, looking at Gab to see if my reason stood.

His face crumpled into a grimace with an audible "Oof." I snorted, letting myself relax.

"How come we looked like sea slugs in freshman year?" he asked, the tension easing.

"You still look like one now," I pointed out.

He swatted me on the chest with the back of his monstrous hand. My breath hitched at the force of his slap. He looked worried for a split second, before I showered his arm with punches. He was shielding himself and cackling.

He drove away and I stood outside our gate, looking at his car. He honked twice before speeding off. I raised a hand to let him know we were okay.

I plopped down on my computer chair. There was nothing left to do but start on my Management Science homework. I had been making progress for a good two hours when my student mail pinged a notification.

"From Perez, Martin Christopher" the pop-up read. "Subject: Contact Details". My trembly hand clicked on it and it redirected me to his email.

Hey, Kyle.

Thanks again for agreeing to be my partner. It was also nice meeting your friend Gab. My number is 0916 5186727. My Y!M ID is martinchrisperez.

Reach out if you want to begin working on our paper. Thanks!

Sincerely,

Martin

He sent me an email. An email! When I was a freshman, I just got added to group chats and was told what to do. Also, our first paper wasn't due until August.

But why mention Gab even?

I switched to my Y!M window, adding him as a contact. After a few seconds, my invitation got accepted and a pop-up appeared: "Martin Christopher Perez is now online."

I hovered on his profile. His picture looked like an ID photo from school. He was in the red Anselm polo shirt. His hair was short and gelled to the side. Cleanly shaven, he was smiling with those deep dimples showing.