Starting All Over Again (Fiction)

2004-11-25T21:26:00.000-08:00

Pens--one blue, one black, and one red. Notebook--all fillers blank. Lucky jacket--folded for minimum space consumption. Special Forces backpack--back in service after three years. Uniform--paid for during enrollment and freshly laundered. Put it on--it fits. Clean underwear, black socks. Blue jeans--fold up the bottoms to to cover just the top part of a pair of black combat boots. Garrison belt--still fits! Personal effects--into the pockets. School I.D.--attach it to the chain around your neck so that it nestles alongside the dogtags hanging there.

Hoist up the backpack--weight is distributed well enough. Adjust it later. Go downstairs, say goodbye to Mom, and out the door. Give the the dog a goodbye pat, out the gate, hit the streets. Walking in the sunlight, a bit bright. Put on the Ray-Ban Aviators that Dad used to own. Wait for a jeepney. Board it, pay the fare, settle back and shut your eyes. Not sleeping--just shutting everything else out for a while.Three years past. Where did all the time go? Going back to the past or moving forward to the future? Something to think about. There's your stop. Tell the driver politely to let you down.

Walking again, towards the school. Gray, dirty white, red the shade of dried blood. Ugly in the morning sunlight. Nearing the gate. A whole horde of freshmen, always easy to tell. They're not dressed in uniform. When they huddle together like that, they look like the gnus, antelopes, and wildebeestes in the savannah all bunched together at a watering hole while lions and hyenas are prowling the area.Walk to the gate--hey! The guards all recognize you! They remember you from high school. You walk in with a little swagger now and head for your first class of the day. You go up the stairs, feel the old rhythm of your legs pistoning up and down as you climb the stairs. It feels good.

The classroom is at the end of the corridor on the third floor. Others in uniform pass you by. You reach the classroom and look inside. Freshmen. Nothing but freshmen. All of a sudden, you feel so old. The people inside the room are strangers and they all look so young. Some of them take a cursory glance at you and return to chatting with each other. You pick a seat somewhere in the middle, near the window. The hands on your watch read five minutes to seven-thirty. You look at the others in the room. So young. They all are. How you're going to get along with them is something you wonder about but only briefly. From what you know, it's either you will or you won't. The bell rings and the professor enters the room. The first day begins.

Leave the house ahead of Mama and go to the street corner to wait for a jeepney. Hopefully, there'll be one that isn't full. But then, you woke up early so that's not going to be so hard. It's at the LRT where you might be delayed. There are guys watching you pass by; you can see them from the corner of your eye. You can hear them whispering to each other about how you look. You smile a little at this. The aerobics have been working then; your body is responding to the diet and the exercise. Good. Your blouse and your jeans hug your figure, showing it off to its advantage. Granted, your butt should be smaller but a lot of guys actually like full, round butts. Your boobs are just the right size to attract attention but not big enough to elicit vulgar comments. You board the jeepney waiting at the corner, feeling good about yourself and about the day. You pay your fare and settle into your seat. The morining is going well so far.

This will be your third college since you left high school. Not that you look that old--after all, you graduated high school at sixteen. You were that much smarter than everyone else in your class. You didn't know what you wanted to take up because you wanted something challenging. So you tried Business first, with Accounting thrown into it. That didn't hold your attention so you moved on to Architecture. You were actually starting to enjoy yourself there--it appealed to your mathematical brain and to your artistic sensibilities--but then your Papa told you that there wasn't that much of a demand for female architects. Right or wrong, you agreed with your Papa and so, now, here you are about to begin your third college course. Maybe it will be as enjoyable as Architecture.

You reach your stop and get off. The sun is shining brightly, so you put on those Oakley shades that Papa sent you from the States. They look good on you; Papa knows what his little girl--his only girl!--likes. There it is--your new school. It's not so bad looking. There's a huge crowd of people milling around the place. Oh, well. It's always like that on the first day of classes. As you walk towards the front gate, you notice some guys looking at you out of the corner of your eye. Hidden behind your shades, they don't think you can tell that they're ogling you. Let them; there are a few cute ones anyway. You walk in and head for your classroom, mildly curious as to what the day will bring you.