Knockout

I was cleaning up a bit and looking for stuff I can get rid of when I found an old notebook of mine.

It was sitting on top of some old shoeboxes, waiting to be discovered. I flipped it open and scanned each page; it was my elementary dedication notebook. When at last I turned to the last page, I found a piece of black paper folded in two. The moment my eyes fell on the name scribbled on the bottom right corner in that familiar silver gel-pen, I knew what it was. And then, my first year of high school played back before me like a movie.

This story would be about Boogerbob. This boy was my first seatmate. The start of our association was quiet. Sometimes we would talk about Shaman King or our Dreamcast games and… that’s about it, if my memory serves me right. Anyway, we were never really friends. I only considered him an acquaintance and I’m pretty sure that’s how he thought of me too.

As days passed, I never really had the chance to befriend him. Because he gradually became more and MORE ANNOYING.

Back then, there were times when I leeched off a dear classmate of mine for paper. Every time she would hand over a sheet from her pad, Evil Seatmate would be there to block her hand with his head. Add dashes of “nyah-nyah-nyahs” here (Oh, how MATURE) and spoonfuls of ugly expressions there (it drained me all of my energy to resist the urge to break his teeth), and the recipe to my bad day was complete.

If you’re chuckling now and thinking of what cute little devil he is, you are too naïve. His antics reek of too much evil. We’re talking Satan here.

He messed with my things, he tripped me in the hallways, he called me ugly, and just when you think things can’t go any worse, he punched me.

He holds up one hand against my upper arm (to buffer his blow), then punches it with the other hand. It hurt a lot. A LOT.

I glared at him in shock, horror and, most of all, anger.

“Masakit yun ah.”

“Tinakpan ko nga yang braso mo ng kamay ko kaya ako nga dapat ang umaaray ngayon eh. Isa pa, mahina lang yung suntok kong yun.” He replied smugly.

Liar. That punch was full-force. I just know it.

And as if he enjoyed the fact that I hurt me, he continued doing day, after day, after day.

I told him to stop. I even tried punching him that way too (“Ano yun? May dumapo ata sakin na langaw.” AMP).

But all these things, he never did to anybody else. He was the aloof type: no close friends (I did NOT wonder why), and was never talkative.

And then it hit me, like the arrow that struck the apple on William Tell’s son:

I WAS BULLIED.

Oh my God.

So he satisfied himself by letting out all his suppressed frustrations on ME? Of all people, why ME?! Because I’m within arms’ reach?!

I had a long “Why meeeeeee?” dramatic moment.

And then, it was replaced by a single thought: KILL. I could even imagine my eyes glowing red like the terminator’s.

From that moment on, I was possessed by the ghost of revenge. If my anger back then could be converted to food, I’d be over 1000 pounds in just a year.

It was never my style to whine about my problems so I never told anybody else. I’ll deal with him myself. It would be an honor for a creature as lowly as him.

The next afternoon, while we were still standing up after the teacher left,

He punched me again.

For a second, I stayed rooted to the spot like a tree. Then, without warning, I released all my anger in one punch. My fist landed on his right cheek. The “PAK” that resounded from it was momentous.

I caught him off-guard. The impact made him stagger a step back.

But my victory was short-lived. He retaliated.

He punched back.

But I wasn’t as stupid as he was.

I dodged his attack by instinct.

I expected him to strike again but he stopped there. We just stood silently in battle mode, glaring at each other with the intensity of a dragon and a tiger.

Since that incident, we stopped talking to each other. We never even bothered to acknowledge each others’ existence with a nod or even a raise of an eyebrow.

I remember feeling a tinge of guilt back then. I must’ve damaged his manhood. Then, I shrugged the guilt off. He physically (and psychologically) harmed a girl. He didn’t have any manhood to begin with. Hmph.

So I had to endure day after day of sitting beside him… until we had a seat change.

So for 3 quarters, I never thought of him again. Well, except whenever I’m feeling rotten because at times like that I enjoyed devising plots and plans to make his life a living hell.

I didn’t exactly enjoy my stay there because the people there are… I dunno – whacked in a way.

Imagine my shock when I entered the classroom one day and found all the seats cluttered to the sides, with two of my classmates battling it out on the floor like a couple of floor mops.

And during one boring science class when everybody was doing anything BUT listen to the teacher (I was drawing an eyeball), I peeked at my seatmates paper and was horrified to see what she was doing: she was combining her first name with the surname of another classmate and adding little hearts on the sides.

My face was contorted beyond recognition. My cootie-alarm went off the hook.
She noticed me looking and whispered, “Secret lang to ah.”

If even a word of that abomination thrived in my mouth, I’d be washing my tongue with soap, water, and alcohol for ten days.

I continued adding veins on the eyeball I was drawing and, at the same time, inched my seat away from the girl.

But, in spite of that, I made really good friends there.

And so, my first year nearly came to an end.

One Christian Living class, the teacher asked us to write a letter to a classmate or classmates whom we would like to give a special message to since it was nearly the end of the school year.

Near the end of the activity, when almost everyone has given their letters, Boogerbob walked up to me and handed me a piece of black paper folded in two. After I took it, he didn’t say anything. He just walked away.

My hands trembled. Was it a challenge for a death match? Was it a letter asking me to meet him in a deserted warehouse (where all his thugs would be waiting for me)? Whatever it said, that small note surely meant DOOM. MY doom.

I flipped it open and ran my eyes through the short note hurriedly. Then I read it again, I thought I read it wrong. And then, for one last time, I read it slowly.

It was an apology.

I couldn’t believe it. First of all, WHY DID HE WRITE IT IN BLACK PAPER?! It made me nervous for all the wrong reasons (and it made me realize that I watched too much anime)!

That dismissal, I broke our no-talking barrier and asked,

“Saan ko ba mahahanap yung doctor sa Shenmue (a Dreamcast game)?”

He answered and even offered to lend me his walkthrough.

And so, my first year came to an end.

I forgave my mortal enemy and I finished the game (with flying colors!).

Therefore I had no more business in that school.

I begged my parents to transfer me.