FIRST LOVE (Third of a Series)

My friendship with E. grew deeper with each passing day. Although our togetherness would peak every summer and lie low during the long rainy (school) season, the bond remained constant and the anticipation of summer kept us going.

I had my first “date” in one of our summers together. It was a concert by the then famous “Air Supply”. I vividly remember the way he held my hand when the song “Every Woman in the World” was being sung. My heart beat so wildly I almost thought it would jump out of my chest!

E. was the only boy in a brood of three, and the youngest. He lives in the same neighborhood where I live, a typical close community where everybody knows everybody. He is closest to his Ate Zeny, a pretty mestiza who got married to a wealthy businessman. It was his Ate who supported his studies, and who gave him generous allowance (including the money for the concert tickets which he bought from a scalper roaming around Folk Arts Theatre). I remember tagging along E. to visit his Ate in her video cum gift shop somewhere in Malate. I was awestruck seeing her Ate (who looked like a beauty queen), and wondered why she looked strikingly different from E.

One summer afternoon when I was thirteen, E. went to our house (just the front gate) and requested that we talk. I thought it was just one of those petty tete-a-tetes, until he started to break down. That day, he confirmed that he was an adopted child. Actually, there have been unceasing talks in our neighborhood about his person and origin, but everything was just plain speculation. On this particular day, he confronted his father, and bluntly demanded the truth. Truth he got, but was unable to confront.

The following days became unbearable for him. The thought of him suddenly losing his identity was just too much. He would confide his heartaches and angst to me, and all I could do was to empathize. However, no amount of encouragement and inspiring words could soothe his scarred spirits. Perhaps the way I consoled him was not the kind of comfort he needed at that time.

E. turned to his peers for support. The company he kept helped him forget his troubles momentarily, but unwittingly led him to his destruction. He turned to alcohol, smoking, and worst, drugs, to numb his spirits. There was a time he went to our house (just the front gate) when he was high on drugs. I remember seeing his bloodshot eyes begging for understanding and acceptance, and all I could do was silently weep….. How can a young girl of thirteen handle such a situation?

(To be continued…)