5:00 pm, Friday.
The bell rang like a thousand shrilling cicadas.
"Alright, folks let's call it a day," said Mr. Amparo while adjusting his binoculars.
Everyone was on their feet hurrying towards the door and the air was filled with excitement for the weekend.
"Don't forget your homework on the poems of Emily Dickinson, it's due on Monday, and the Prelim exams will be Friday next week." His reminder failed to receive a warm response. The guys scoffed and the girls rolled their eyes.
Few chairs clattered and the girls chattered about their plans for the weekend which did not include answering homework and studying.
I stuffed my English 101 book inside my sling bag and prepared to leave.
"Nice work on your review of Frank McCourt's Angela's Ashes, Florante" said Mr. Amparo while clearing the board.
He was referring to the "Survey of Contemporary Novel," homework that I submitted.
"Thanks," said I, uninterestingly.
"You got me reading that damn book and my wife asking me what the hell am I crying for. Impressive as always."
"Thanks..."
"You're not a chatty fella aren't you?" He continued.
"Guess so..."
"Well, you have a happy weekend son. I gotta go home and finish that book"
"Try not to cry, sir..."
"I'll try harder..." he laughed.
There's an uncanny silence in the hallway as I headed towards my locker. I heard Mr. Amparo shut the door and the chains clinked faintly from the distance. I probed for my locker keys in my pocket and opened it.
I saw a black and white portrait of myself laid on top of my Geometry book.
Larry...
He must've found a way to slip it inside. I looked around expecting him to be smiling at me in the corner. But there's no sign of him anywhere.
I held the photo on my hand and stared at it. It does not look like me. It's a different person from the regular Florante before Larry. His presence has changed me to a different kind of person.
It's a profile shot and I look calm on a black and white canvass. It's skillfully executed nonetheless. An honest representation of what I felt that very moment I was in Larry's room--both within and without.
I flipped the photo and read the notes he'd written in beautiful cursive strokes.
"The nights are longer and the days are shorter without you Florante..."
-Larry
I shut my locker harder than the usual and pressed my head against its cold-metal surface. I closed my eyes and ran my fingers at the back of my head, where Larry's hands had been 3 weeks ago.