TBBM I. JAMES

Story Review.

Book Review.

Movie Review.

Formal Theme.

Informal Theme.

Consonant blends.

I'd been exposed to these things ever since I was very young. How could I help it? My mother taught the mother tongue in Martini National High School... or, if you were rich, Martini High. Money, could turn the simplest and most bland of things to something fancy, after all. Money, we didn't necessarily lacked, but just had about enough of. And me? Money, I needed the so much of.

I was reading the weekly written output of one of her students.

My mother had the tendency to go old-nerd. She said that since the section barely finished her required written outputs traditionally, she thought of a topic that would "move" everybody to write. Something out-of-the-box. Something revolutionary.

L-O-V-E, she wrote.

"Why on Earth would you make them write about something measly as this? Can't you come up with anything better?" I murmured, while she fine-combed my hair. I was the epitome of bad hair days so I knew it was hard labour for her. I was sitting on a rocking chair so she often pulled my hair back.

"Why? Do you know any better?" she honked back.

My mouth was ready to spill a brigade of answers---but then, somebody who could stop the time came by.

James.

Jamess.

Jamesss.

James Sanchez was the angelic-faced sacristan at our chapel in De La Salle University. De La Salle, in affluent terms. DLSU in the intramurals. He was a shiftee. He once took a pre-med course; now, Psychology. He had rich parents: hence, the capability to take time finding one's self and change majors as he pleased.

A part of me wished I had that luxury of time to figure things out for myself. But I didn't. Life, felt like a chase for me.

I and James were classmates last year. He arrived late that day---well, just in time, if you considered a very average person who was me... delivering speech to the practical exam.

Tall.

Courteous.

A bit lanky for my taste but with basketball biceps.

He looked smart and, uh...

and uhm...

best of all---

it'd make you swoon when he smiled at you.

I swear to our Saint, it would.

I always found myself gasping for air whenever he smiled very closely.

And due to that smile, speechless as I was, I failed the exam. I guess not having said a thing was far better than having said a barge of nonsense that day. But I rued that grade. I prepared, you see? I was definitely prepared for that test. But how could you prepare for a smile like that?

I remembered that bittersweet moment all the time. It was a Tuesday. I was there. I remember it all too well, like Taylor Swift said.

That day, I decided, I was gonna love him for the rest of eternity. Funny as it was, I hadn't really decided on allot of other tings in my life. But if there was one thing sure---it was James.

"Heeey! I asked you a question!" my mother's deafening voice roared, waking me up from my romantic retrospection.

"Y-yes?" I stuttered.

"Good Heavens, my child is salivating again at the sight of James," she made sure her comment went loud enough for him to hear.

My mother owned a food tent which she would open for a few hours after her daily shift. She always told me that whatever I ended up doing in life, I should never desert my passion; and to her, that was serving street food.

But now, to a more important happening... maybe even more important than my mother's passions in life---James. He took a seat in front of us. I looked away and tried to go at the back to fix my face---if I could, but-

"Hi, Jap-jap!" he winked at me, calling me by the pet name he gave me.

"Hi, Jim-jim!" I called back after thirty seconds. Yes, I counted to that extent.

Dear Saint, I hope I didn't blush.

#FingersCrossed.

"Jim-jim," he smiled that smile again. "I feel at home when you call me that."

I paused, trying to swallow down a giggle.

"Oh, come on..." but a giggle or so escaped me. He looked even manlier, sweating in his Jersey. "You say it, like I'm your wife."

"Shall I start calling you wifey, then?"

My mother dropped the lid just as we were warming up.

"James, my son… have you eaten?" my mother looked at me, disgusted.

"No. Not yet, mom..." he replied, touching the back of his head. "I'll have your bestseller."

Mom.

He called her, "Mom."

They said one must step back every now and then to catch a glimpse of the whole picture. So, did I. And on, as I watched my mother and James got along, it felt as if we were going to have a peaceful future. I had foresight of my golden years unfolding right before my very eyes. It was beautiful.

"I've rice cakes," my mother offered. "Would you like rice cakes? Or, iced corn. I have sweet potatoes---fried. And I also have Jopet with a birthmark on the bum. Which do you prefer?"

Wait. What!?

"Mooooom!" I thundered.

Dear Saint,

Do you think James gets embarrassed when he's reminded of my flaws? Do you think he'd eventually abandon my side, too? Why did God make him so flawlessly? I mean, I should be flawless, too.