CHAPTER FOUR

The following day around January in 2007, Via attended her classes with the absence of her school notebooks that made her everyday bag less weighted; she only brought a pencil case filled with pencils, a sharpener, erasers, and a red ballpoint. Via was nervous as she walked to the hall for the regular morning assembly at their school. She questioned herself how will she perform in activities if she had no school notebook. Concurrently, she had the feeling of ease because she carried less weight of the bag. It was the first day in her entire school life that she did not bring a single notebook, for she routinely brought the weighty nine school notebooks for the whole weekdays in the past three years. For their schedule during that day, they had Christian Living Education, Filipino, English, Philippine History and Culture, Home Economics, Mathematics, and Science - all of the subjects for which she had no more notebook to use. 

It was during the first subject of Christian Living Education that she took her seat beside Erika. Via decided to share with her the incident of the last night. She whispered the full detail of her story that antagonized the actions of her mother. She paid no more attention to the lessons being presented in front of her while every student paid heed to the discussion of the Old Testament: The Promised Messiah. The lack of activity for the subject time during that day helped them to be unnoticeable by their teacher. 

"I think she hates the fact that you used your school notebooks for that stuff," Erika replied in a hushed tone.

Via looked at her with distaste in her statement. "She clearly said; the gap between the eyes of Dora is too wide. Those were her exact words. But I compared my drawings to my Dora stickers; they were similar. Maybe, I didn't have the right materials but they are the same. Look."

She reached for the bag and grabbed the stickers and the used school notebook. She opened the school notebooks and put a sticker on the same paper she drew Dora for Erika to see a better comparison and handed the school notebook to her desk.

The moment Erika touched the used school notebook, her face was stunned at how Via drew on the school notebook. The cartoon character was drawn similarly to the stickers beside them on the same paper. However, it was not the drawing that gave her the facial expression of amazement. It was how the school notebook seemed abused in every of its space. It was after Erika had flipped every page to observe that she began to understand the mother of Via. 

"Via," Erika spoke as she continued to skim every page of the notebook quietly for her not to be called out amid the discussion. Via took a look at her as soon as she heard her name.

"I don't want to hurt you but I think your mom is right, there is one Dora whose gap between her eyes is too wide, she looks like an alien there, but it's only this one thing." Erika burst out a laugh a little as she pointed to that one Dora - some of its parts are unclear and messy due to the attempted erasure. "Don't be hurt. It's only one Dora but the rest of the other Doras are great. I think your mom was pertaining that you used your school notebooks for drawings. Your mom doesn't think your drawings suck. She just said so to discourage you from drawing on these school notebooks. I think your mom was just not able to word it correctly. I think she's wrong on that part. But your drawings are good. Everyone in the class admires your drawings, including me."

Via, when she heard the criticism on her art, had ignored the rest of the sentences. She never liked a distaste in her talent, not even when its context is different. She could not distinguish between a sincere compliment, a back-handed compliment, and a straight insult; she only wishes to hear praises with no buts and ifs. Erika, on the other hand, was a genuine friend; she had been the companion of Via most of the time at their school, with whom she can share her secrets, tell gossips, and ask for a hand in help. 

"I was expecting that you'll be saying, 'your mom sucks, you have a talent, she is just jealous that she does not have the same talent.' But seems like you're on her side. Am I a friend?" Via replied with annoyance.

"Your drawings are good. Your mom does not hate these drawings; she was not able to word them correctly. What she meant was you should not have used your school notebooks on that stuff. What are you going to use now that you have filled them? We have a quiz after this CLE, we have to use a school notebook, and now you have none. But, I think she was still wrong on the part of having to insult your drawings; she could have used better words to express that stuff.” Erika continued in a hushed tone while she laid her sight on the writings on the board.

Via surveyed her facial emotion as she listened to her words of advice; she had seen her have said such with heartfelt concern. Although she had no more difficulty comprehending her unbiased advice, she perceived disappointment because she still longed for the words she wanted to hear. She stared at Erika and remained speechless of her dismay. She wished for her friend to know through the facial display of emotions. However, Erika did not notice her expression because she focused her attention on the discussion. Via chose not to mouth a word because she was afraid of what her friend might have thought of it. She ceased to lay sight on her face again after a few seconds as irritation emerged in her thoughts. The frustration began to grow that her mind loses amid discontentment.

Via had accidentally kicked the armchair in front of her; it caused a disturbance to her other classmate. She murmured an apology after her mind had terminated its wandering. Erika heard the noise as she still paid heed to Via; she came to the assumption that the vexation that Via seemed to have felt was caused by her response a minute ago. A pang of guilt started to grow within her. She grabbed her extra school notebook, placed a scratch of paper with a note, and slid the notebook on the floor until it touched the feet of Via.

"We have a quiz in Filipino. That was like my 10th notebook. My dad bought an extra one, thinking we'll have ten subjects. I never used that once in the whole year." Erika murmured.

Via glanced at her face again. She silently and slowly bent over, grabbed the notebook, and put it inside her bag.

"Via." Erika attempted to speak again. The whole class had decided to bid their teacher farewell. Despite the interruption of her classmates, Via had heard the remark of her friend. Still, she decided to pay no attention to her and pretended that she did not hear anyone.

"Look, Via. My entire goal is I don't want to upset you, I don't want you to be upset and I don't want you to let yourself be upset by others." Erika attempted once again to speak to her friend.

Some of the girls went to the bathroom in a group. Meanwhile, some of the boys went outside to have a loud exchange of words as they continued the topic of the interest they share. Via still intended to pay no attention to Erika as she chose To distract herself in the observation of the activities of her other classmates in which such action was taken in seriousness by her friend. 

Erika stood as she was dismayed by her actions and moved by her good conscience to walk towards her friend, "Via, I am sorry. I never had the intention to hurt you, please forgive me. Maybe, I am bad at advising people but I intended to comfort you, I don't know if I did it right but I think I did my best. Tell me a happier story; let me help you forget the bad stuff that happened on your last night."

"Thanks, Erika." Via finally spared a second to lay sight on her face with a forced smile and looked away right after.

Erika fell into agony as she assumed that her friend did not forgive her yet. She questioned herself, Lord Jesus, have I sinned? Forgive me, Lord, if I have sinned. I never wanted to be a bad friend.

In all truthfulness, Via had sensed the guilt displayed by her friend. However, she chose to let her friend suffer in the mentality that she committed a fault against her feelings, rather than taking counsel for her not to overthink such a simple scenario. 

The same day later in the afternoon, around one o'clock. The sun shone brightly; it brought too much humidity in the current climate. The streets were too quiet that one could hear the noise the air conditioners produce when you pass by a house. The reflection of the sunlight was too much of an eyesore that it could bring a headache for someone. Via had arrived home after a typical five-hour day from school with a terrible condition of a headache after the high temperature she encountered outside their air-conditioned classroom as she took her journey from school to home.

She grabbed her spare keys for her parents have gone somewhere late. Her parents would never be home by this time; they would mostly arrive in the late evening. She was in the state of the mixture of vexation and physical exhaustion that she hurriedly opened the main door with the keys. As soon as she had to step her foot on the white marble tiles inside their house, she threw her bag on the sofa in the living room and laid down in her most comfortable position with still her black school shoes on her feet. Such action would not be her routine whenever she would come home from school. She would ordinarily walk towards her room without producing the most moderate sound, place her bag inside the cabinet, and lay down on her bed for a few seconds to give her body a time of rest. It was only this time that she could choose laziness as much as she desire for the lack of presence of the parents during that time. She took off her shoes and her socks and threw them heedlessly to a corner in the living area where she just leisurely laid down her exhausted body. Contentment and happiness for a little temporary freedom were what she felt for her parents were not home. If they were there in the house, there would be rules which she despised the most. She turned on the television and walked herself straight to the kitchen to grab herself some biscuits and a bottle of coke. 

When she sat on a dining chair, she noticed the new set of school notebooks and intermediate pads that were still covered in a thick layer of plastics and a box that contained the set of art materials such as the colored pencils, oil pastel crayons, watercolor paint set, a paintbrush and two pieces of sketchbooks. Her eyes widened when she laid sight on the art materials that she laid her hands on those. First, she touched the colored pencils that had the brand name of Crayola; it had a count of 12 colors - Red, Red Orange, Orange, Yellow, Yellow Green, Green, Sky Blue, Blue, Purple, Black, Brown, and White. Its packaging was a rectangular box that fit all the colored pencils. It had a visual appeal of the combined color of yellow and green. She opened the package at a slow pace and grabbed the red-colored pencil; its height was a precise eight inches long and solidly built of paraffin wax, reforested wood, and color pigment. She grabbed her intermediate pad and tore the plastic. She tested the quality of the red-colored pencil on her hand on the first page of the intermediate pad; it created a brightly colored line which gave her the exhilaration to continue her practice.

She began to inspect the other art material like the oil pastel crayons; she opened the rectangular-shaped package and read the brand name: Crayola. Oil Pastels Neon. There were 12 pieces inside the box with the named colors written as hot magenta, shocking pink, radical red, outrageous orange, neon carrot, laser lemon, electric lime, screamin' green, graphic green, aqua brite, blue bolt, and vivid violet. She found the names funny. In her deep curiosity, she tested the quality again and found it to be excellent. 

Finally, she checked the watercolor paint set. Its package is a transparent glass placed above circular dry powdered nine colors - blue, red, yellow, orange, violet, brown, green, black, and white. She grabbed a plastic container from the kitchen storage and put the small amount of faucet water. She grabbed the paintbrush, soaked it in the water, stroke the brush through the circular powdered colors, and attempted to create a line on the intermediate pad. The result was a wet area of the paper she put the brush on and barely any color pigment. Disheartened by the outcome, she read the brand: Crayola. And the ingredients for her to be made aware of the possible reason for such poor quality. However, she failed to understand a single word.

She grabbed to open the sketchbook and felt the texture of its paper through her hands; it was rough and thicker, better quality compared to the thin pages of her school notebook. Elation sprout within her that she brought the new set of her school notebooks and intermediate pad and placed them inside her bag. She grabbed all of the art materials for her room to begin her practice.

As soon as she entered her bedroom, she organized her desk. She sat on the chair to start her sketch and was interrupted by the loud ringtone of their landline telephone in the living room. When she heard them, she was irritated when. She went outside only to have all of her annoyance on the sudden loud ringtone disappear when she saw the figure of herself standing near the telephone which was in its hands. In her great surprise and confusion, she stood still to observe her impostor. 

It was her mother who called on the telephone, "Via. Don't open any bottle of coke. I will be using them for the guests tomorrow. Bye." Via could hear the loud voice of her mother on the telephone even if she stood a distance from it. 

The similar figure of herself stood up in still; it was in the same uniform she wears that day, it had the same height and weight as her, its hair was precisely like hers; black in color and straight. It stood facing the telephone and never attempted to turn around to show its face. Via could not have a glimpse of its face, yet she was aware it was her clone. Terrified at what she had witnessed, she ignored the similar figure of her physical appearance and locked herself quietly inside the bedroom for the remaining day.