Alyssa and I were the only ones who seemed to be absent on the huddling horde on the court. I would've been there, squirming my way towards the center, towards the sun, if my body allowed to. And Alyssa would've been there if I was there. Alas, I could only say my hurrahs quietly and passively. I could feel my breathing spiking just a little bit off of normal and I instinctively found my index and middle fingers atop a familiar spot on my wrist. My heart beat was normal--or was considered normal for someone like me--but I still tried to breathe deeper. Alyssa noticed.
"You OK?" she whispered. Most of the cheering had slowly evaporated as the commentators began wrapping up the program. I nodded in between inhales and exhales. "You sure?" she asked. "You want to head home?" I shook my head furiously. "No," I said excruciatingly as I tried to keep the air inside my lungs before exhaling it slowly. "I'm doing this." Alyssa's look burned the side of my face, but I refused to look at her. When she finally looked away, I felt the breath escape my lips.
It was my idea to attend the event. With my condition, I was advised to avoid these camaraderie-, excitement-, boisterous-cheering-filled programs that could be heart-stopping--literally. But for four years, I have lived under the radar. I doubt if someone would even remember me, even the people I shared classes with had probably forgotten me already. I wondered how would I pop in their conversations. ("Ah, I think it was Jacob who topped that AnaPhysio exam." "Jacob, who?") I was good at class, but not good enough to stand out and I liked it that way. The instructors noticed, of course, so I explained my condition to them, but it felt like making excuses. They nodded their head and prodded a little, asked things about it, about my triggers, about how I handled it; and then one of us would respectfully squeeze themselves out of the sad, miserable conversation that was my life. We'd meet again in class and the instructors would find themselves lingering a look longer at me, remembering the talk we had, and perhaps pity me secretly. Well, I endured that for three years and six months.
My last semester started out OK with me living my usual passive life. Until a random kid in school gave me a leaflet, asking the students to support our basketball team who would play against last year's defending champion in the district tournament. Listed on the paper were the members of our team with Ian Elizarde as the newly minted team captain. His name was typed with a larger font so it stood out on the busy, almost chaotic 8.5” by 13” flyer. But I knew even if his was written in the most obscure way, I would still see it and would still feel my heart skipping a beat more than the usual.
Right on the cue, the hosts called Ian's name to award him the MVP award. He rightfully deserved that. He sprinted towards the stage, wearing a powder blue shirt with our school logo embossed on it. He still had his favorite dark green towel on his neck and his hair was still dripping with sweat or the water from the shower or both. He shook the hand of the Sports Committee President of the district and bowed to receive the medal. The red ribbon flared against his blue shirt and his bronze skin and fittingly, the golden circle fell on our logo. He raised both hands and the crowd roared. His teammates whooped below the stage and he whooped along. His wide grin had not left his face. For a microsecond I felt his look on me and my heart did another somersault. I knew I just imagined that, but still. It was exhausting to fell in love with a guy.
I knew Ian ever since we were kids because we live close to each other. In between our houses was an empty lot that was transformed to a half-court. It was Ian's dad who built a makeshift ring on the far side of the lot and drew the lines on the cement. Ian and I had played with each other on summer vacations when our own friends mingled together, carrying us with them. Our all-boys group usually played basketball and Ian had already showed his natural prowess, then. He imitated tricks and movements from his favorite NBA and PBA players and through practice--and to our own expense--had mastered it all. Despite his skill, he never boasted. Well, he did gloat most of the time. But when he wasn't, he taught the kids how to play better basketball, including myself. I could still feel the warmth of his sweaty hands on my waist when he corrected my stance. But that was the only summer we spent together. I didn't know what happened. Maybe we became part of a different circle of friends or maybe it's because I realized that I would never master basketball and was forbidden from doing anything physical ever since my diagnosis was made when I was thirteen. I would see Ian occasionally and there would always be a spark of recognition in his eyes and his lips would awkwardly smile a bit if I stare a little too long.
I couldn't tell when exactly it began, but I felt something different with Ian. At such a young age I brushed it away. One time, I remembered, one of the boys on our group saw me looking dreamily at Ian and exclaimed "Ian! Jacob's got a crush on you!" for everyone to hear. I was embarrassed and instinctively denied it. Ian found it ridiculous. "Jacob and I are bros! Right, Jacob?" to which he placed his whole drenched, sunburnt arm on my shoulders. The teasing only worsened because I blushed when he did that.
"Jacob?" Alyssa called. I broke out from my trance and saw the people walking in front of me. Some were taking pictures on stage with Ian, but most were already on their way to the double-doors. "Yeah?" "We're leaving." "Wait," I stood a too quick. I felt blood rush to my brain and I was pushed down to my seat again. "We can't leave yet." I winced. "Jacob." I looked at Alyssa. She was being her usual matriarchal self. She had always saw me as one of his younger brothers. It was endearing, but at times, annoying. "What?" "You can't possibly do that here." He waved at the spectacle below. There were still a huddle around Ian. Girls after girls hugged him and took pictures with him. One rather bold girl stole a kiss on the cheek. I felt my face burn. I could commend Ian though for his smile didn’t wane. He looked at my direction and I turned my head away. Alyssa audibly sighed.
When we grew apart, I put Ian inside a jar and kept it far at the back of my mind. Out of sight, out of mind, right? But sometimes his selfie would pop on my News Feed and I would feel fluttering in my tummy again. He looked so much better when he got older. His cute kid pictures turned to that of a young man with sunglasses and his arm around a timid girl. And that same young man became photos of himself doing jump shots, or wearing his school's emblem. I Liked most of his photos and display picture changes and I received some Likes from him, as well. The jar had a loose lid, I realized, and Ian's particles spread across my mind, making my chest tighter, my heart beat faster, and my breathing harder. Those were simply pictures, random online interactions. Imagine my shock when he posted that he was going to the same college as I. I commented "We're going to the same school!" to that post. He replied: "Cool! See you there!"
I didn't see him during our first year, but I was updated through his chronic social media postings. I found that we shared professors, but not the same classes. We visited the same places at the same time, but hadn't had the opportunity to say hi to each other. At one picture posted by his friend, I saw myself on the background. Far and blurry, but me, nonetheless. It made me happy because that was our first snap together. We shared an English class on our second year, but we barely talked with each other. He sat at the back with his noisy, testosterone-filled, jersey-wearing friends, while I placed myself comfortably at the middle with Alyssa. However, we did chat online. He began messaging me one night to ask if I was done with our essay assignment. I said I was. He shared that he hadn't even started his because his schedule for practice had consumed most of his free time. I couldn't remember if I offered or if he asked me, but I ended up doing his essay. No one knew, not even Alyssa or his friends; though they teased him of getting his assignment from the Internet. Throughout the semester, he would always message me if our instructor gave us writing homeworks. I appreciated it that he never told his friends that I was writing his papers. It would only contradict with my trying-not-to-stand-out rule. He became more friendly towards me after that. Even when the semester ended, he would now say hi to me when we meet in hallways, in classrooms, in commonplaces. Sometimes just a smile and a nod. Sometimes a hi with a what's up. Sometimes I would go to places where we've previously met, expecting him to be there, to give me a smile, a high-five, a how's life. The lid had flipped and the jar spilled all of its contents, soaking my whole system with Ian particles.
I shared a final glance at Ian and stood up. I risked my health to be here, to finally be seen, to finally be heard by him. Alyssa put her arm around me and said, "You'll have your chance." I sighed. "This is my last semester here. We will be graduating soon and we'll go our own ways again. And he will never know."
"Jacob." The voice came from behind of us. We were already outside the gymnasium when someone called my name. I heard it loud and clear because that's a voice I recognized. I looked back and sure enough, Ian was sprinting towards us. The huddle of girls walked away but still stole glances at him. Two of them were squealing at their cellphones
"Thanks for watching the game," he said. I nodded.
"Was it your first time watching?"
"No," I said. "I mean, yes. But I--no, I have watched games before yes."
"I knew your whole thing," Ian said nonchalantly. "Your Mom told my Mom and then my Mom told me. And now I’m telling you that I know." He laughed.
"What thing?" My lungs were vise-gripped and my heart was pounding loudly against my ribcage. I was embarrassed because he probably heard it.
"Your heart thing." He pointed to my chest.
"Oh," I exhaled, but I could still feel it starting.
"And Jacob, there's something I actually wanted to tell you." By this, he looked at Alyssa and I looked at her and she gave me the told-you-so look. She got the cue and told me that she would be waiting at the cafeteria. She squeezed my arm and walked away. People passing by were looking at us mostly because I was in a conversation with the previous game's MVP and I thought partly because we were blocking the way. But I couldn't really move and I knew if I even moved a little, I would fall apart.
"Well," he said, nonchalantly, his usual self. "I couldn't say it here." I noticed how we stood proportionately. I had always thought that he was a whole lot taller than me. When he was playing on the court, it seemed as he was, though. But right now, at his most vulnerable and at mine, we were equals.
I was trying to figure out why I loved this guy and what I liked most about him. I liked his laugh because it was always full of mirth, never condescending or offensive. I also liked his Cheshire Cat grin, ever so wide. I liked how brown he was and how his skin always seemed to glisten. I liked his hair that was always spiky. I liked how skilled his hands were and how deft they could be when given a ball. And his feet which already mastered the winning footworks. I liked that he was always nice. He had dropped his boasting self sometime between when we grew apart. I liked his amiability and his warmth. He really was my sun.
"OK," I managed to croak.
"I would like to say it over dinner. So, say, would you like to have dinner sometime?"
The Ian particles from the jar had infected my whole body. Suddenly, my brain felt like it's filled with cotton balls, so light, so fluffy. I found myself discreetly placing two fingers on my pulse and found that my heartbeats had been erratic, more than the usual. My heart was the gymnasium, with each cells rushing through it screaming, cheering, his name "Ian! Ian! Ian!" My limbs were cemented on that spot. I dared not move, lest I tear patches of skin off. My lungs were gasping for breath as the butterflies on my stomach fluttered upwards, making an opening on my diaphragm and perched on the tiny, tender branches. My eyes saw a tunnel with Ian as the light at the end. He was the only one I was seeing. I only saw him when I first met him and until then, he was the only one I wanted to see. I felt my face muscles pulling my lips to a smile as I blurrily watched Ian's grin turned upward into a look of worry. He was saying something, but somehow, the Ian particles had affected my hearing as well. The darkness grew, but he was the constant light. Of course, Ian, I thought. I would love to have dinner with you. But I don't remember if I have told him that before the darkness took over.
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