Liza (part 3)

Before Liza and I parted ways on our way home, there were some leftover questions in my heart and mind. Like when she said, "Chris, I wish it was just you." And when I probed about those lines of hers... She was like still water, and every little disturbance sent ripples that clouded its tranquility.

I decided not to push further and let us part ways. But there was a lingering trace in my thoughts and feelings. When it was time to sleep, I couldn't shut my eyes and catch some sleep. The only visitor was her memory. The kind where you shut your eyes tight to form her shape in your imagination.

I could almost smell her powder even if there was a stench around. Our closeness had a warm feeling and a scent that lulled me into fantasy. I don't remember anything annoying. I wouldn't be surprised if the rooster crowed or the sun rose before I got any sleep. My aunt would surely scold me again for not sweeping the yard, feeding the pigs, and washing the dishes from last night.

Monday, after a two-day rest, I'd see Liza again, but I felt something had changed. I quickly finished everything I started every morning. From lighting the wood stove, cooking rice, boiling eggs, or frying dried fish, reheating last night's leftovers, feeding the pigs, and cleaning their pen, to sweeping the dry leaves in the yard from the chico, avocado, star apple, papaya, duhat, and guava trees. Only after all that would I shower and have breakfast.

I walked a few minutes to the highway to catch a jeep. I'd pass by some neighbors' houses and cut through a field of rice and corn, or sometimes mung beans. This field was about four meters lower than the bumpy asphalt road, so during the rainy season, it filled up and served as a fishing ground for gourami, shrimp, tilapia, catfish, and sometimes even milkfish.

I had twenty-five pesos for my daily allowance. Five pesos for the fare to school, which was about a ten-kilometer trip. For the trip back, I saved another five pesos, sometimes hitching a ride on the jeep to save a few bucks.

The jeep would pass the cemetery, then the Pangasinan State University, Bayambang Campus, which was three times bigger than our Bayambang National High School. Each year level had 36 sections, except for the 4th year, which had only eighteen. In 1993, the dropout rate was high, and the graduation rate was low, even though public school was free. In this rural school, early pregnancies, ruined lives due to joining fraternities, or getting into drugs were common. Another barrier to education was that many students were children of poor farmers. Every cent mattered.

Once the jeep was full, it sped away. I thought we'd be delayed because it kept stopping at street corners to pick up passengers. The wind was cold against my face, messing up my brushed-up hair. I had curly hair, a bit dark-skinned, and not much of a mustache yet. My long sideburns had no beard to connect to. But somehow, I was cute during those teenage years.

I still remembered what happened with Liza last Friday; I hoped we'd talk and clarify things. I'd take advantage of our closeness. Around six past six, I'd be at our school. By 6:30, it was flag ceremony time. Only on Mondays though. You'd see in the school's wide quadrangle, the size of a football field, kids playing sipa, games of tag, and other stuff. Some would be playing basketball on the outdoor court, and others playing lawn tennis in the pelota court. With a school this big, we even had a Multipurpose Gymnasium, cafeteria, Little Baguio, and botanical garden. Imagine how much bigger the Pangasinan State University, Bayambang Campus was, being three times the size of BNHS!