Juan Suarez ABCA 3 LITFILI - Finals: Short story Filipino youth can relate to #2 titled “No Class”
“So, what’s it smell like there?” I asked. Val looked around, obviously sniffing the air around her. “Smells like cheese.” answered Val. I smirked. She continued, “And well, the floor’s wooden and they have mostly wooden furniture so it smells like…wood?” she said with a quizzical smile.
I looked at my laptop’s clock then at the live-streaming video call of Val. “Okay then, I gotta go to class. Have fun, eat well, and Valerie, I swear, if you try to have your picture taken with any random Swiss dudes just like those jewelry salesmen in Venice, I will go all the way there and shoot their heads off with a shotgun.” She rolled her eyes, “Ha-ha, sure you will. Ooh, do I smell breakfast? Bye-bye.” With a quick teasing wave at the webcam, she ended the call.
I closed the lid of my laptop and sighed. The sigh wasn’t because the video call with my cousin just ended or that I had to sit through another tedious economics class. It was because I was getting all those warm feelings you get when nostalgia creeps up from the back of your mind. I had asked Val about what it smelled like in Switzerland because I wanted to remember my visit there. Ever since I was a child, scent has been a good memory indicator for me. Switzerland had a scent like cold, high-end marble, the woods, and clean, natural water; Australia, like sunbaked pavement, ocean sand, and mute citrus; Canada, like cold woods, a pack of smoked salmon, and a hint of Febreeze; etc.
I was also a tiny bit envious that Val was spending her summer at her friend’s house in Geneva, Switzerland. Geneva! Switzerland! Ha!--One of the richest countries in Europe and one of the four seats of the United Nations, lowest crime rate in the world too. While I was stuck in the same turtle-paced developing country I’d been in for most of my life. Well, it is on a top list too; most corrupt countries in Southeast Asia—one could make an intelligent guess on corruption’s horrible effects on the nation’s poverty and pollution. If I wasn’t serious about getting a real college diploma quickly, I would have gone with her. I was taking summer classes to speed up my transition through college—there’s always an advantage with finishing anything early, you have more time to do whatever you want after.
My thinking was stalling me again. I stuffed the laptop into my bag and rushed to the front of my house and hopped into the backseat of a sedan. The family driver shut the door and started the fifteen-minute drive to my school, as usual.
I was too tense to take a micro-nap in the car so I just looked out the window. Tree, lamppost, tree, lamppost, fallen tree, broken lamppost; there had been a typhoon recently. A typhoon in early summer, yeah we get that here. Weather’s been “more irregular than usual” for some time now; must be related to global warming.
As the car followed a curve, the afternoon sun nestled itself into my point of view. The glare was too much so I shifted to face the opposite window. This side had rolling hills as eye candy, but not to me. All they had were palm trees, patches of farmland, and the occasional shanty; things I had been seeing all too often. They weren’t sugar coated like the snowy peaks of the great mountains of the Swiss Alps or British Columbia.
I remembered one road trip in Canada; it was in three parts; a long drive in the mainland, a car and passenger ferry, then another long drive in a small, rather well-developed island. All to see a large group of gardens, “Butchart”, I remember it was called. It was nice and all but during the garden tour I was mentally beating myself up over sleeping during the road trip. I should have been watching the cars I didn’t get to see every day pass by with scenery I didn’t get to see every day either as their backdrop. I slept not because I was sleepy, but because during the whole trip I had no choice but to sit beside a local girl, the daughter of our gracious Canadian hosts; they owned the minivan my family was using, the house we were staying in, and toured us around their country while paying for, well, mostly everything. Their daughter’s name escapes me but I’ll never forget her dark brown hair…her piercing hazel eyes…the light spray of freckles across her perfect nose...the feint floral smell that would wisp around her. I found her remarkably intriguing.
I sighed softly. I was younger then, less intelligent--stupid, if you will--. Every time she leaned towards me and tried to start a conversation, I’d get little panic attacks and would end the conversation quickly by giving short, blunt answers. My boyish shyness, stemmed from being shielded too much from the real world by my protective family and one-sided education, ultimately forced me to tilt my car seat backwards, put my baseball cap over my face, cross my arms, and feign sleeping. The smooth feel of the roads and “shampooey” scent of my hair--which stuck to my cap— eventually lulled me to sleep.
Someone nudged my arm. “(Sir, we’re nearing your school.)” my driver announced in the local tongue. I had dozed off. My driver regularly wakes me up when nearing a destination because he knows that waking me up at the destination would result in me frantically putting on my socks, shoes, I.D., and whatever-else, usually making me forget something in the car and messing up its interior, which he keeps spiffy clean.
We had reached my school. He opened the car door; I jumped out and started brisk walking towards my classroom. “(Did you forget anything?)” he asked. I checked my belongings. “(Nothing. Thank you.)” I shouted in reply.
Peeping into my economics classroom, I saw that only half the class was present and the teacher missing. I wiped the sweat off my brow, swung the doors wide open, marched over to my table, and took a seat. Ten minutes passed. “Hrm, waiting for the teacher to arrive again, as usual. What’s new? Maybe it’s not traffic this time, or her sickly son, maybe a giant angry walrus landed on her car.” I jokingly whispered to myself. I closed my eyes and escaped into my memories again.
Ah, airports. Shiny metal chairs occupied by different kinds of people, tiled or carpeted floors, free Wi-Fi and rows of restaurant stalls with exorbitant tourist prices, a Duty-Free, banners advertising tourist spots, ridiculously high ceilings, the sound of roller bags and announcements over the PA system repeated in multiple languages, the scent of burnt jet fuel, carpet, and deodorizers. Airports are one of the few places where I don’t mind waiting, where my mind is at peace. Maybe it’s because I know I’m going somewhere, I have a fixed destination. No doubts or second thoughts. Everything is planned, fixed, in its place.
A familiar, unwelcome, voice pulled me back into my classroom. “Hey buddy, the teacher’s not coming today. She announced it through text message.” It was he whom I named “Stinko” for obvious reasons. The guy always smelled like sweaty armpit. He was in summer class because he had failed a whole lot of classes and was trying to catch up by taking them during the summer. He was assigned as my seatmate, which did marvels for keeping me awake in class.
“(Is it true that class is cancelled?)” I asked another, more credible classmate. “(Yes.)” she replied. “(Thank you.)” I said. She turned away, trying to hide her blushing. I rolled my eyes.
“Cancelled class again, what a wonderful use of time and resources.” I thought sarcastically to myself. Standing up I gathered my belongings and whisked out the door. Stinko skulked out too, trying to follow me. “Hey buddy!” he shouted as I neared the exit. “I need to hitch with you; I’m giving flowers and a concert ticket to Madeline, maybe she’ll finally start appreciating everything I do for her!” As usual, I was disgusted by the guy’s requests. Madeline was way too underage for him both legally and obviously. She never responded to his advances but he couldn’t take a hint. Thinking quickly, I shouted back, “Dude, there’s a test tomorrow in calculus and I have to study so I’m going straight home. Sorry.” He shouted back some curse words, turned towards the elevator and pressed the down button while cussing loudly. Even though there really wasn’t a test in calculus the next day, Stinko wouldn’t remember me telling him there was one because he was oblivious to serious things. He would always brag about how he leeches money off his parents’ company. When I asked him about what he thinks would happen when his parents were gone and he would have to take the reins of the company he would stay silent.
It was a windy late afternoon and I was at the school exit waiting for my driver to show up. You could already see the moon even though the sky was still bright. I breathed deeply. Nothing. No scent. This country never had a characterizing scent for me. Maybe I was so used to it that I never really noticed it. Kind of like how one has a hard time smelling one’s own body odor.
There were a few people at the exit with me. The girl who blushed was there, taking self pictures and loudly talking to her friend about her newly bought expensive phone, detailing its features, exclaiming which celebrities endorsed it, and enumerating all the lunches in school she skipped to save money to buy the phone. I moved farther away from them to lessen the volume of their excited screeches. To my relief they finally hailed a cab and left.
My phone rang. It was outdated but it served its purpose. My driver was on the line telling me that he was near. He arrived after five minutes. I lazily got into the sedan and shut the door myself. “(News from your parents abroad.)” he said. “(The house has finally been built and they mailed several checks for the village dues, mine and the maids’ salaries, and your tuition again. They say you know what to do with the checks.)” “Cheap, decent education” I thought. “The only reason I’m still here.” “(Let’s go.)” I instructed the driver. I just wanted to go home and sleep. I had the rest of my life to look forward to.
Explanation:
Point of View: First Person
Themes: Awareness of others, Forward thinking, Practicality, Importance of knowledge, Take advantage of opportunities, Appreciating the small things, Impulse control, Value of Patience
Symbolisms: Protagonist – Upper-Middle class Filipinos, Sedan/Car – Life/Progress, Valerie – Temptation/Envy, "Grass is greener on the other side" belief, Driver – Knowledge of one's limits, Car door – Life/Choices, Memories – Optimism/Aspirations/Learning from mistakes/Appreciating the small things/ Inability to move on, Sun glare – Time/Deadlines, Economics class – State of nation, Economics teacher – Poor leadership/ Insufficient governance of nation, Stinko – Brash thinking/ Illogical decisions/ Lack of foresight/ Illusion of security, Blushing girl – Media’s effect on youth/Misled youth, Youth's lack of initiative, Moon – Uncertainty, Expensive Phone – Lack of impulse control/Lack of foresight/Pride over logic, Old Phone – Reliability/Practicality/Foresight/ Patience, Rolling of eyes - Selfishness, Presumptuous thinking, Refusal to help, Calculus bluff- People in power complicating things that were originally simple/ Covering tracks
