The front door of the 11/7 bangs open, making Dave stop before he crashes into it. Two boys around my age appear. Both of them wear the same white polo and khaki pants, but one has a jacket wrapped around the waist while the other one wears a sweater.
"What school are you planning to go to?" the one in the sweater asks.
The one with the jacket looks at him. "Huh? It's too early for that."
"I'm just curious. Me, I'll be going to UTS."
"A well-known school like that must be expensive."
"Of course, but I'll join their varsity team for the scholarship."
"For me, I kind of wanted to study overseas."
The one in a sweater jolts his hand. The soda can almost fall, but he catches it with the other.
"What?! Overseas? As in abroad?" he exclaims.
"Yes. Is it really that shocking to you?"
"Of course it is. You're the last person I expect to study there. Thought you're gonna say 'It's too much work.' But where are you planning to study?"
"Vex city."
"Vex City?"
"Yeah. I wanna be a Sken."
"That's impossible."
The one in a sweater looks around. His eyes dart at me, but he returns his gaze to his friend at once.
"There's not even a single Sken in our country," he adds.
"Yeah, yeah."
The two of them walk away. On the other hand, Dave remains frozen in front of the door.
"Matt."
"Heh." I dash forward.
"W-wait!"
I extend my hand to grab the handle. Suddenly, a security guard barricades himself in front of me while staring with a glare.
Crap. I should be careful if I don't want to be banned. This is the nearest to the school.
I give him a smile.
"Good afternoon, kuya."
Entering, I turn around to the corner and peek at the counter. There's no line.
Looking behind, knitted brows and a stupid smile are all written on Dave's face. His shoulders are heaving. Droplets of sweat trail on his neck. I guess I won.
"I arrived first," I say.
"You don't need to rub it on my face. Here." he extends his hands toward me. What's on his palm is a brown leather jacket.
"What's this for?"
"We made a bet, aren't we?"
I shrug. "If you say so."
"What's that for? Are you just joking earlier?"
"Not really. But giving me your wallet is a new thing."
My fingers slide just fine on the wallet, but its surface is harder than I expected. On the lower part of the hem, a pointed star appears to be embroidered.
Dave raises his brows. "What?"
"Monteblank. I see."
"Papa gave that to me as a birthday present."
"This is really expensive you know so you shouldn't give it to others just like this."
"Come on. I'm sure you have experience with these things."
"Not really. I'm not into luxurious items. I don't know why, but I don't feel the need for it."
"Says the one whose father is a CEO of a big company."
Opening the bifold front a bunch of credit cards and IDs. Different colors of banknotes wave their presence at me, but the violet one is really noticeable. I give him his wallet.
"You're up?"
"Hmm? I took this." I wave the banknote in the air.
"That's only a hundred."
"This should be enough. Besides, I think you really should save money."
"What are you, my dad?"
He puts his hand on the back of his head and smiles. "Geez. It's been really a long time huh."
I walk to the shelf in the corner. On my left are bags of Poritos, Fay's, Ketos, Spangles, Muffles, and other imported stuff. But on the lower rack, a yellow bag is placed in the middle row. There's a salted variant of Platos? I've got to take this.
"It has been," I say.
"What?"
"I said, it has been a long time."
"Eh? That topic already died down a long time ago... Maybe some things didn't really change then."
"Maybe?"
I walk toward the counter. The cashier stares at me. His eyes are droopy, and his shirt is clinging to his body making him look like a hanger.
I hand him my purchase.
"Is that all?" Dave asks.
"Yeah. I don't need anything, and those imported chips don't suit my taste anyway."
"56.45 pesos." the cashier says.
"Here."
The banknote is now in his hand, but he's staring like there's nothing in front of him.
Is he ok?
Gazing back at Dave, I mouth him my words. 'This isn't play money, right? Tell me that this is real.'
Dave grimaces. 'What do you mean? Of course not. I wouldn't do such a thing.'
I thought so too. I return to the cashier.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
But he doesn't respond. He's still gazing at the blank space.
"If you can't comprehend how much my change is, it's 44.55 pesos. Please give me two 20 banknotes. Thank you."
He places the chips inside the paper bag in an instant. Beneath the counter, he crouches, and standing up again, he hands my change. I receive two 20 pesos together with some coins. It's exactly what I said.
"Thank you," I say.
Then, I put the paper bag inside my backpack. Dave and I leave the store.
The vehicles run here and there while the people around are casually talking to each other. But Dave, he's being silent. Hmm... this is not his usual aura.
"Hey, do you want something?" I ask. "There's something weird when you're all silent like this."
"Oh come on Matt. Give me a break."
"Also, you didn't buy anything. Remember, you're the one who wanted to go there in the first place."
"We have stocks at home."
Could it be?
"Is it bothering you again?"
He gazes downward.
So it is?
"You don't have to feel that. I'm not angry nor holding grudge against you. It's your life so you can do what you want, and besides, your parents are the ones who made the decision... You don't have a choice so don't be down. It doesn't suit you."
He shoots an open-eyed look. "You read me like an open book."
"I've known you since Grade 1, and you're that friendly type who bugs the silent wallflower type like me. From then up to now, you haven't changed at all."
"You're just miserable without company."
"I'm fine being alone, but I don't mind you bugging me every now and then. Not at all."
"I'm bugging you?"
"Not so much." I wave my hand. "So let's go to our house and bug me more."
"You still don't sugarcoat your words, huh. Fine."
We arrive at the pick-up point. A pack of passengers has filled the queue for the jeep, and we decide to take the tricycle.
"Never," I say.
Others rush toward the tricycle, but I grab Dave's arm so that other passengers won't take his seat instead. Inside, Dave and I are sitting skin-to-skin.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"It's fine. I understand the reason you need to transfer schools. It would be foolish if you insist to stay here when you can't even support yourself."
"I know. I know. But, you became more hurt when I left."
"Yeah. I already accepted that we're not going to be together so I'm really surprised when you showed up at school."
"Well, I'm the one who should be surprised." he glances. "I'm an SBC member, and yet, you weren't aware I'm studying there! We're always at any activities and we're always assisting clubs. But you know what? I think I shouldn't be surprised at all. Let me guess, your attention's at your drawings again, right?" he smirks.
"I can't help it. Art keeps me alive."
The scenery outside changes for a while until we reach our destination.
Dave gazes outside.
"Am I forgetting things or this is a new house?" he asks.
"It's new. And a lot smaller than our former house."
A bitter smile forms on his face.
"I didn't even know that my best friend changed houses. I really don't know how to make it with you."
I suddenly feel chills trailing on my spine. Ugh.
"Stop acting so cheesy. W-we're only friends, remember that. I won't cross the line."
I open the gate. "And we really need to change house because father and mother came to divorce. Father took me in his custody while mother insisted that she takes over the old house."
"I... I didn't know. I'm sorry for being too nosy."
"It's ok. 4 years have passed already."
No one greets us inside. The corner where a familiar car is supposed to be parked is empty, and so is the space beside it. Anne must be at work. Or maybe she's shopping.
"We don't have a garden here because he's not very fond of flowers, unlike mother. There are only, like, 3 bonsais over there and a cover of bermudagrass."
"I see."
I open the door.
"Wow. It's really different from your former house." his eyes are showing a certain shine. "I don't know why, but I already feel at ease."
"Probably because of the modern design? The former looks very classic and traditional."
"Are you sure it's fine?"
"Yeah. There's no one here except for us, we don't have any helpers. And don't worry about anyone getting angry. Mother's not here anymore, alright?"
He nods.
He roams his head around the living room as if scanning every detail of things.
"Let's go. I'll show you my room."
"Fine by me."
The Peru shade of the wooden ornaments shines against the Parchment paint of the steps.
"Careful. The floor's slippery." I say.
"It's very polished. Is this marble?"
"No. It's actually travertine. But yeah, it's polished."
"Travertine?"
"You know, made of limestones... But I won't explain it further. I'll start to sound some kind of geek to you."
From the corner of my eye, I notice a colorful piece of garment on the floor. I lean closer.
"Aren't you an art geek though? Look at yourself right now. You're observing the pattern of that floor mat."
I raise my head. "It's just that it's not familiar to me. Anne must've replaced it earlier."
"Anne? I thought you don't have any helpers here?"
"Anne is my father's current partner, so she's technically my stepmom." saying this, I open the door of my room. "Come in."
A smile immediately appears on his features.
"This is your room? It fits so well with the rest of the house, and it also gives a different vibe from the one before."
"What are you expecting? That old wooden furniture? Half tester bed and velvet red carpet?"
The smile he has becomes blinding. I peer my eyes to see properly. But I guess I should be happy that he's feeling better now.
I gesture to him to sit on my bed, but he walks to me instead. Then, he sits on the floor.
"Do you want to sit here? It's pretty comfortable," he says, inviting me.
"Ok."
Falling in an Indian sit, I scoot closer. On the other hand, he brings his knees to his chest and hugs them tightly. He rests his face atop.
"So what are we going to do now?" I ask.
"I don't know. Maybe we can play your console or something?"
"We left all of my video games at the old house."
He looks to the right.
"Ah. I have an idea!" he springs from his position. "I'll just help you prepare for the field trip since I'm here. Then, then, we'll sit beside each other tomorrow."
Oh my. He's turning to a child again. "Ok. If you say so."
I get my bag beside me.
My hand lands on the cold surface floor. Huh? There's nothing beside me. My bag is not here.
I stand from my position. I look at my study table, I look behind the shelf, and I look the bed. But it's nowhere to be found.
"Hey, have you seen my bag?"
"No."
"Where's it?"
"I don't remember seeing it with you."
"But I brought it with me." yeah, I placed the paper bag in there.
Hmm...
Maybe I left it downstairs?
"Dave, I'll just go find it. I'll also fetch us something to eat. Do you want something in particular?"
"Nothing."
"Oh. While you're waiting, you can poke on anything you like. Just... don't touch the PC okay?"
"Sure. I don't want to see something R-18, anyway. Hehehe."
I run outside the room. Suddenly, I hear a sound.
Thud... thud...
From the top of the staircase, a bright hue that seems to be from downstairs illuminates. I can hear my heartbeat ringing inside my throat. Did somebody trespass on the house? I brave the steps as my eyes are glued to my feet.
Through the banisters, I can see a wide figure near the couch. Wait, what?
"F-father, you're home..."
Father looks at me. His straightforward eyes are vacant. He raises his hand, and my sketchbook is there.
"What's this?" he asks.
My heart beats faster. Crap. I had left my bag there.
"T-that's my sketchbook for art class. For M.A.P.E.H."
"Ah. So that's why it doesn't have your name on the front?" he's narrowed his eyes.
I avert mine to the floor. Not again. Not this situation again.
"Don't dare to lie to me. All of the drawings here, so far, have your initials, I.M. Cruz. Now, tell me this isn't yours."
"I'm sorry, father."
"Where did you get this? Don't tell me you're wasting your allowance just for this nonsense."
"N-no. That's my old sketch—"
"And this," he waves the pencil set in the air, "you abuse your wallet just for this thing! Don't you know I'm working very hard for you to be a proper man in the future, and yet, your time is invested in all of this nonsense?" shouting, he slams the materials to the ground.
The tin cases of the graphite and watercolor turn open, and the pieces inside break free to the ground.
Father scowls. "I'm such a fool for thinking that I had disposed of all of your garbage when you still have your stash. Unfortunately, this has to go down too."
He grips the sketchbook in both of his hands. In a passing beat, the sharp rustling of the papers is the only sound I can hear. My heart seems to stop beating. I messed up again.
"Uncle, please stop!"
That voice.
Behind me, Dave stands. He walks toward father.
Father directs his finger at him. "Who are you?" then, he gazes at me. "You're letting whoever people you find on the street to enter our house? Just how shallow have you become, Isaiah?"
"Father... he's Dave. My childhood friend."
He widens his eyes. Shortly, his expression becomes rigid.
He shakes his head. "I don't know who you are, but this is a private matter. Don't dare to intervene."
"But uncle, I mean sir, I think you're being harsh on Matt. Though I don't really understand the whole story, I think he's just doing his interest. There's nothing wrong with that."
"Are you hearing yourself?" a nerve pops on Father's forehead. "Of course! There are many wrong things about it, but above all, I can't let my son have such a low profile trying to live his art. He has a messed up mindset and it's my role to correct it."
Dave levels his head. "I'm very sorry but the one who has a messed up mindset here is you, sir!"
W-what the?
"What did you say?"
Father trembles, and in a moment, his figure appears charging toward Dave.
I feel my body move on its own. The next thing I know is a numbing sensation in my arm.
Knitted eyebrows, clenched fist, and gritting teeth. All are visible on father's face.
I lower my head. "I'm very sorry, Father. Your son has a really messed up mindset," I say. "I'm responsible for all of my actions so please, don't involve other people in this. I'll do everything you want, so if you would."
"But—" Dave objects.
"Just go home. I don't want to cause you and your parents trouble. We'll meet tomorrow. And don't worry, I'll show up," I say, lowering the tone of my voice.
"No, I can't—"
I thrust him out and close the door immediately.
Returning to the living room, I see Father, making his enraged expression again.
"Clean the mess you've made. I don't want to see any more of that, and if I ever see it, I'll stop supporting you in every way I can."
"Yes father. I understand."
He grabs the coat that he had settled on the rattan chair and leaves from the obvious scene of misconduct.
I check the art supplies. The graphite pencils aren't broken and either is the watercolor. For the sketchbook, only 4 leaves are intact. My heart feels heavy.
I know that this day will come, eventually.
Why did I force it in the first place?