Chapter One - The Beginning

Here, we meet Alex, the book's prtagonist. But as we intrude on his thoughts, is he really a protagonist?

 

It’s another school year and here I am again. The smell of the seven burnt Philip Morris cadavers on my ash tray mixed with the nauseating odor of the car air conditioning system made me want to puke. But no, I have nowhere to puke except for the school grounds. The nearest bathroom would be two buildings away. I can’t walk that far and it’s a waste of gasoline. Besides, if someone saw me puke, how would I look? To be successful, one should always look successful, that’s what my mother always said.

 

Now that I am in my third year, I don’t feel excited to go to class at all. It’s thirty minutes before my first class in N103 – Nursing Clients with Altered Health Patterns but I don’t care. My ID hangs from its strap on the rear view mirror and in bold letters, right below my picture, is my name: Alex D. Alacran.

 

My friends and those who think they’re my friends call me Lex. I have hated that nickname for such a long time. It’s so common. In a crowd, shout the name Lex and without a doubt, at least three out of fifty would look back. I guess giving nicknames is just something that alleged friends do for each other. I can’t complain if it means being able to maintain my connections with everyone.

 

The heat of the 8am sun has started to permeate through the closed but untainted windows of my car parked near the gate. It’s not a big brand; it’s only a Toyota that my mother has outgrown before she left for Singapore right around my first year in college to work as a nurse. But it’s not old enough to have its skin peeled off. The car I mean, not my mother.

 

I lowered the car window to my left and I was able to breathe. Deep breaths, I told myself. The outside air felt cool on my skin despite the sun. It will be a few more minutes before class, just enough so I could find enough strength to stand on my knees and walk to our college’s building.

 

Not much in this school of St. Benedict's College has changed. The same familiar faces walked into campus. For three years my enthusiasm for the month of June has gradually then suddenly disappeared. It feels like there is nothing worth looking forward to except for routine and a fixed schedule.

 

Deep breaths. Now and then, there would be a student who would walk by and peer into the inside of my Toyota. Not like there is much to see save for an ash tray, a corduroy interior and my brooding face. It's just that my current school has a reputation for giving the best education for the underprivileged. At least 50% of the students here are below the poverty line hence their amazement with students of their age who drive their own cars.

 

But there are a few exceptions of course. I, for example, am not on the verge of poverty. Far from it, actually. My mother has been working abroad for quite some time now and I am well provided for. My elder brother, who is five years older, works in the other city as a physical therapist. And I, am a nursing student. What can I say? Healthcare professions run like poison in our blood. My father who was having his residency in one of the better hospitals of this city used to say, “This country's backbone is agriculture. Without farmers and fishermen, our economy would fall into pieces. With that, it is up to us to ensure their health's security.”

 

That is one of the many pieces of bull I picked up from him a long time ago. I was in my first year of high school when I first heard him say that. He died two years later. Lung carcinoma. Oh daddy, it's very ironic how you would tell your patients how cancer does this and that whenever you do your rounds in the ward but you forgot to overlook that being a doctor, an observer and intervener, does not make you immortal. Daddy died and left behind the money that paid for our house and our college education.

 

I could have gone to a better school actually. But having passed the entrance exams here in St. Benedict's, my mother saw it as a blessing since most students have to literally pass through the needle's eye to even get a second look for admission. Plus, she said, “You have been spoiled all your life. Being with these people should give you an idea of just how much of the good life you have.”

 

Well here I am, ladies and gentlemen. For the past few years, I have learned no lesson greater than how to hate my school. Not only is there no freedom of expression since we are subsidized by the government and it feels like the entire school system holds us by our necks but I made very few friends.

 

And speaking of friends, the prettiest piece of a*s in school has just walked in. Marie Alba, my cohort, confidante and sidekick ever since our freshmen years. Not only did we both have a surname starting with the letter A but we are also of the same status in life with similar prejudices, vices and above all, a common underlying fiery hatred for the selected few students in St. Benedict's.

 

“Have you been here long? Were you waiting for me? Has my absence in your life during the summer make you realize just how important I am to you? ”, she walked dramatically up to me. I got down from the car and pecked her on the cheek after she offered it. Pecking. It's like a ritual we have developed through the years.

 

“Not so and no, I wasn't waiting for you. Don't think too highly of yourself Ms. Alba,” I replied, while we started walking toward our college building. We walked relaxed but with the air of confidence befitting a dictator. We didn't push anyone out of the way, of course. We're not that antisocial. But when Marie and I are together, it's like poetry or better yet, a dance requiring an audience and everyone is prompted to step aside. Sure, she may be a little exaggerated sometimes but this fiery personality of hers balanced my silence. Man and woman. Yin and Yang. Alex and Marie.

 

“Our registration forms said our first class would be in Room 303,” quipped Marie while rummaging her bag.

 

“Yeah, I know, I read it. I can read, I'm not retarded,” I was too busy walking the exhausting flight of stairs for me to notice what she was actually doing until the clatter of pens, the usual face compact and lip gloss and a thick notebook got my attention. She picked them up from the floor and I walked right ahead of her. She's a big girl who is able to take care of herself. Plus, if I was always there to pick up after her, she would not learn how to not be a total klutz.

 

“Hey, wait up,” she said. Of course, I am not unwilling to grant her this simple request. I stood outside the door of Room 303 so she could catch up. Despite the momentary lack of elegance a while ago, she still looked as radiant as ever. Her wavy hair bounced gently just below her shoulders, her milky skin untainted by the unforgiving sun, and words could not do justice as to how her tight white uniform hugs her curves. I could not bear to be indifferent to her forever. Not to Marie my muse.

 

I offered her my right arm and said, “Adjacent seats, as always?”

 

“As always,” said she. And with our lips smiling, we entered Room 303.