THE VOW Part 3 of 3 by Nelz Agustin
"The Vow" is part of an original unpublished novel I wrote called STARS. You can read it at < http://www.nelz.org/stars/ >. To read my other writings, please visit www.nelz.org. For comments or other pertinent information, please e-mail me at isaw@nelz.org. Your input and feedback are very much appreciated. Thanks for your time! -- Nelz
The months flew fast, and before we knew it, we were on the verge of graduation. There was an intense sort of panic in the air as the seniors struggled to finish their papers before finals week. Allen Ginsberg's HOWL-although a magnificent piece of beat poetry-was very difficult to critique. Paul provided his own insights, but he'd rather pull me off somewhere and make love. Our lustful activities were no longer confined to the library. We did it under the school bleachers when the rest of the soccer varsity team had already gone home. We did it in the shower room, and sometimes we'd even lock the boy's toilet and do it there. He seemed tireless. He could come three or four times, and my jaws were already sore. At one point, he asked me if I could take his cock in my ass. I was not sure, but I was also powerless to refuse him. He got intense when he started ploughing me. It was painful at first, but seeing his strong, hard body pumping me got me over the edge. I've never been
so hedonistic in my life!
We submitted our paper to Ms Calderon at the end of the grading period. She had heartily approved what we wrote, but when we received our final grades before graduation, we were shocked. I got the highest mark in English, but Paul barely passed. We went together to Ms Calderon's office to demand an explanation.
"Your paper, Mr Morales and Mr de Vera," she began, fixing her steely gaze on us, "is very exceptional and insightful. The way you critiqued Ginsberg's Howl is something that a college student had never even thought to tackle."
We waited as she paused, hardly breathing. She looked at Paul first, then to me, then back to him.
"Though it is only fair that both of you should share the same grade," she continued, her voice dry as parchment, "I really do not think that Mr Morales had any hand in writing the paper."
"But Ms Calderon!" I protested before Paul could speak. "It was Paul who provided me his insights about Ginsberg's poetry! You remember what he did last year!"
"Mr de Vera," Ms Calderon snapped. "I know how you write."
"But-" Paul's face was pale.
"You, Mr de Vera, can leave," she said dismissively. "Mr Morales, you'd have to prove to me you can also write as well as you think! I am giving you until Friday to hand over an essay on Ginsberg. Then perhaps," she paused, raising an eyebrow at me, "we shall reconsider your final grade."
Her tone was definite and final, and we had no choice but to shuffle our way out of her office. Paul's face looked clouded. I tried holding him, but he moved away from me.
"Hey come on!" I said, reaching for him again. "It's not my fault! I didn't expect her to give us this!"
Paul shot me a wounded look.
"Don't look at me like that," I retorted. "Look, I can even help you with that essay!"
Paul just looked at me before turning his back and walking away.
"I'd like to be alone for a while," he said.
"Paul!"
But he kept walking, not looking back, leaving me standing in the middle of the quadrangle.
The following week, senior class rehearsed their graduation rites in our church. While everyone was chattering excitedly, Paul just sat beside me, looking sullen.
"Did you submit your essay?" I asked him softly.
Paul just shook his head.
"Why not?"
"I don't write, remember?" he snapped.
I fell quiet. I felt that he was not as boisterous as before. He barely talked to me, keeping mostly to himself, as if he had withdrawn from me. I tried talking to him, but he just shot me that wounded look. I gave up trying. I felt uneasy, however. He had this look in his eyes that he'd be liable to pull an outrageous stunt.
The valedictorian, salutatorian and the honorable mentions were announced before graduation night. It came as no surprise that I got a medal in English. I also learned that Paul just barely passed his subjects. I suddenly realized that he needed English to pull everything up, but of course, Ms Calderon had not been cooperative. He took to sulking during our rehearsals, refusing to sing the mass songs. The feeling of unease was prickling my back. I was anxious at what he might do during graduation night.
The rehearsals went fine, until we were all prepared to march one evening in April for our high school graduation. We were in our barongs, and everyone looked neat and tidy. Mother was with me, looking proud. I saw that Paul was alone-it appeared that his parents did not come with him. He was just sitting pensively in one of the back pews. I wanted to approach him, but something inside told me not to. It was like walking on eggshells around a seemingly silent and crouching tiger.
Verdi's AIDA filled the air, signalling the start of the graduation rites, and everyone lined up in the dying afternoon sun to march in all their pompous glory inside the church. While there was an electirfying excitement in the air as proud parents watched their kids in the graduation march, I felt my feeling of unease heightened as ever. Even as we took our seats for the High Mass to begin, I felt my whole body perched on anxiety-as if expecting something out of the ordinary to suddenly happen. Not that Paul was capable of doing the most unexpected things.
The High Mass went without a hitch, and then the graduation rites began. After much waiting and more droll speeches from the class valedictorian and salutatorian, we were asked to stand up by class sections and the names of the graduates were rattled off. The valedictorian was immensely honored-his medals were clanking on his thin frame like heavy trinkets. The salutatorian was also bemedalled. Then the honorable mentions and the other subject achievement medalists were called to receive their honor. When my name was called to receive the English medal, I stood up and ambled off to receive my award. There was a scant applause. I saw Mother nearby, beaming at me. I didn't know what to feel: I knew I'm supposed to feel proud, yet I felt so empty-as if my heart wasn't in this.
Perhaps I was I so lost in musing over my feelings that I barely anticipated the heat of the next moment.
As the principal was handing me my medal, Paul suddenly stood up and started shouting at me:
"Martin de Vera does not deserve that medal!"
It went deathly still inside the church, all heads turned to him. I stared at him, my mouth hung open, unable to believe he had sprung his moment of anarchism at my moment of honor.
"Martin de Vera is a faggot!"
I felt my heart stop.
"Martin de Vera sucked my cock for our English term paper!"
There were gasps from the crowd. I felt as if cold water was thrown over me. I glanced at Mother. She was pale; her hand was on her mouth. Farther among the teachers, I saw Ms Calderon, her face expressionless but her lips were drawn very tight.
I turned to Paul, glaring at him, but unable to speak. He glared back at me. I couldn't understand why he looked so angry.
"Martin de Vera is a faggot!" he repeated. "He sucked my cock! He wanted me to fuck him!"
There was a ripple of murmur in the crowd, and then it became a droning buzz. The principal looked at Paul, then at me. I couldn't meet his eyes. Mother's face was in her hands.
"Martin de Vera is a faggot!" Paul cried.
I felt myself trembling, like something wanting to burst out from me. I grabbed my English medal from the principal, and then sprinted down the church aisle. I felt the eyes of the whole congregation on me, shame burning behind my ears. I ran out of the church, still hearing Paul's cries ringing above the buzzing din:
"Martin de Vera is a faggot!"
I didn't stop running. I didn't know where to go-just anywhere but back inside the church. I didn't know where my feet took me, I didn't even know where I was headed. My eyes were blurred with tears, everything a haze.
I found myself running across the football field. It was quiet and still, and a night breeze cooled the tears on my face. I kept running until I slumped down at the goalpost at the end of the field. I brought my knees against my chest, and I cried. I still clutched my medal on my hand. I still felt my ears burning, and I have this inexplicable need to hide myself where no one could see or find me. My barong was rumpled, my sleeve wet with tears. I didn't know if I could face my classmates, my teachers. I didn't know if I could face Mother. It was just so unbelievable that Paul could do that to me!
Paul, my best friend, my lover. I couldn't understand why. His angry face was still fresh in my mind, shouting at me, humiliating me in front of the whole graduating class. I bit my lip, breathing deeply, trying desperately to staunch the fresh flow of tears.
There's just too many grief over the past year, and I really had no wish to cry again. Not now, not ever. I looked up at the clear night sky, the myriad of stars strewn across the heavens winking and glittering. Each resting high above its astral perches, alone and yet blazing in their quiet beauty. I wanted to be like one of the stars. I wanted to be untouchable, and unafraid. I wanted to be where no one else can ever reach me. Not even Paul.
I have no wish to cry again.
I suddenly wished my Father was here-my protector and guardian-to hold me and to comfort me; to tell me that everything's going to be alright. But he's not here right now, but how I missed his warm embrace and his fuzzy chin snuggling against my neck. His memory still haunted me, but I was not afraid of him anymore. I knew that he'd always be watching over me, like the stars above. And knowing that, I felt more resolute to go on my life despite the pain of humiliation.
I sniffed and wiped my face. I stood up, facing the stars twinkling in the clear night sky.
"I swear I will never come back here again.
"I swear I will never see or talk to Paul Morales ever again.
"I swear I will not cry again.
"Not now, not ever!"
The stars in their multitudes and constellations seemed to smile and wink at me, witnessing and hearing my vows. I bit my lip grimly, breathing deeply the soft smell of grass, the knot inside me feeling a bit looser. I started walking across the football field, feeling the night breeze rumple my hair.
I slowly made my way back to the church to find Mother.
I never really did look back afterwards. I passed the entrance examinations at the University of the Philippines, and when the schoolyear started in June, I was already buckling down to work. The pain was still fresh, and I did all I can to forget by burying myself in books. It was a totally new environment for me here-there was so much freedom! Though no one knew me, it was quite easy to make friends. It was like starting anew.
Mother never said anything about that graduation night. She just kept quiet, and just told me she was proud of me, even prouder when I entered U.P.
As for my vow to the stars, I intend to keep that promise until my last breath.
Not now, not ever.
End of Part 3
Copyright (C) 2002, 2003 by Nelz Agustin. www.nelz.org