I was in 10th grade when I first learned about my ability to hear thoughts.
It was out of sheer coincidence. It all happened right then and there, during a high school reenactment of El Filibusterismo. I was Padre Salvi. Everyone wouldn't shut up about how I fit perfectly as him. I was a "reincarnation." (Please!) I was thinner than a pencil, whiter than a ghost, and had eyebags darker than a raccoon's. I had as much grace as an inflatable tube man from a used-car emporium. Like a maniac; like Padre Salvi.
Even my name sounds like his. Sylvester. Salvi. If the shoe fits.
I, of course, paid zero attention to their bullying. I was acting for my grades. If passing meant having to dance like it was in the 1518s, I would do it.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. It was the middle of El Filibusterismo. I don't know what force of nature overtook me back then, but I remember looking at my teacher. She had this deadpan look on her face, and her eyes were wandering at the wall and not at us.
But that was when I heard something. It was ma'am's voice shouting at me— at us. Yet her lips were sealed shut. Crap! Looks like whoever was playing Donya Victorina was going to fail. I could already hear the litany for whoever played Simoun. Poor guy forgot all of his lines!
Then the second act came. Out of nowhere, I blurted, "Hoy, we need to do better. I heard that ma'am is pretty pissed at us."
And when the last word slipped out of my mouth, I heard a wave of voices from closed lips. Scoffed here, mockery there. Typical.
In short, our show flopped. No one listened to my warning. But the silver lining was that I heard my teacher say, "At least Padre Salvi had a bit of effort."
Ever since I discovered my ability to read minds, I felt like an absolute god in school. At first, I thought I needed a year-long trip to the looney bin. But that was until I realized that I could hear the key answers from our teachers during quiz times. Graded recitations were all 100%, exams were a piece of cake, surprise quizzes barely made me sweat!
Even my classmates' thoughts were available on-demand in my brain. It's like having a psychic cellphone with non-stop notifications. Call me a cheater for hacking into our first honor's brain so I could nab his answers.
And when classes were boring, I would just tune in to some classic gossip. Charlie was taking the class funds. Harold had a crush on Tiyana. And Althea was purposely doing good at math because of daddy's money.
My power followed me from 10th grade to where I am right now. In my 11th, I moved into a boarding school. Yet my abilities followed me wherever I went. And it made me realize I could start all over again with a clean slate. I had friends by the dozen, my teachers thought I was the smartest kid alive, and nobody cared if I looked like a sleep-deprived pos. I knew the right words to tickle almost everybody.
Almost everybody.
Her name was Lucille. I didn't pay that much attention to her at first. She was so shy that she looked like she would crap her pants every time the teacher told her to recite. And even if she knew the answer, you would have to ask her twice (sometimes thrice) because her voice was as quiet as a whisper.
But then I decided to hop into her thoughts. And my jaw dropped.
If thoughts had colors, Lucille's mind was a rainbow! She had all the answers to any question. She had the wisdom of a Greek philosopher and the wit of a political leader. There was this air of maturity and melancholy that made you want to just reach out and know more. I fell hard for her.
And unfortunately, she fell for me as well.
She spoke like a timid bird whenever I was around, yet I knew all the right words that could make her swoon. I made her feel like the leading lady of a romance movie. Every flower, every teddy bear— I tirelessly gave everything she wanted.
Of course, not everything was smooth sailing. I knew I crossed the line when Lucille wouldn't look me in the eye. The voices in her head were scattered. They shouted like sailors on a sinking ship. The only thing I knew to do was leave. Because how do you talk to a person whose thoughts were a hurricane? I would then come back the next day to a calmer Lucille.
But tonight, in our third month as a couple, things felt off. The air was frigid. Too frigid for a November night. It was a long time since we hung out in my dorm room. For the past couple of days, tension was high from examinations, projects, and part-time work. We always ended the same way: arguing, silencing, and leaving. Not even a hot meal or a cup of her favorite tea could sway her to open up.
Put yourself in my shoes for a moment. Lucille and I were feet apart from one another. The only light we had came from the two-by-two window above my messy study table. I was sitting on a metal bed with a mattress as thin as paper. While Lucille was sitting on a plastic chair with her knee to her chest.
The room had a strong scent of instant noodles, cheap beer, and lemon air freshener. Everything sounded so close to my eardrums, from Lucille's heavy breathing to cars' loud honking. The lack of stimulation felt like a hammer pounding nails into my brain.
"Sylvester."
She spoke at last. I could finally sense her again. Yet, nothing but gloomy thoughts were going through her mind. Did she want to embrace me or strangle me?
"Don't you always call me Salvi or Vester?" I jested.
She didn't laugh. I finally saw parts of her face when she parted her long hair to the side. Her eyes were puffy and sunken. Her lips shivered non-stop.
I knew she was speechless. Her mind went blank, and all that was left was a mess comparable to a trashed hotel room. So many frustrated and painful words, now abandoned and disheveled.
"Hey," my voice was like hers, hushed and unsure. I crawled closer to Lucille and pinned some of her hair back. "What's wrong?"
A barrage of words flooded her mind like a dam after a storm. I grabbed pieces of words here and there. She came prepared for a speech but could only answer in non-verbal noises. She jerked away, clasped her face into her hands, and shouted into her palm.
"Lucille..." I grabbed onto her shoulders. "It's okay if you don't want me right now. I can call your friends to pick you up. I can even give you bus money-
Suddenly, she grabbed my hand tightly.
"Why do you always want to run away!?" she shouted. "If you really have mind-reading abilities, let me tell you one thing: you suck at using it!"
It was my turn to feel shaken. I never heard Lucille raise her voice before, and I never wanted to hear it again. "Well, what do you want me to do, Lucille? You never want to talk to me anyway, so why should I stay?"
"Sylvester, I know you're dense, but even my brain doesn't always know what my heart wants. Here's the problem with you: You're so stuck using logic that you forget how emotions work. You think relationships are like video games where you fulfill tasks to get a high score. The truth is that you were never there, Sylvester. You were never around because you thought it was logical to leave me alone. You couldn't bear my thoughts, so you ran away. You always ran away."
I went silent. Then I replied, "I won't leave."
My promise changed nothing. Lucille continued crying, but there wasn't a sign of pain anymore. Slowly, inch by inch, her grip loosened. And as the flood came to an end, she opened her lips.
"I'm tired, Sylvester. Just three months in, and I'm already drained from your attitude. Just imagine how it would be if we continue playing this twisted game. If leaving is what brings you joy, so be it. I will do the same. And you can never win me back even if you bought me the biggest rose garden in the world.
"Please forget about me, Sylvester. But don't forget your mistake. I don't want you to break another girl's heart the same way you did to me."
She stood up. Her only thoughts were leaving my dorm, getting on a bus home, and sleeping this weekend. Each step she took felt like memories being burned into ashes.
She then thought of tomorrow. She thought of getting brunch with her gal pals. She was already thinking of creative names to call me behind my back. Payatot, multo, maniac. Yet, I knew I couldn't stop her from saying those things. I just couldn't stop her.
She closed the door, and I could no longer hear her.
Originally submitted to Technoscope Publication June-November 2018
Translated from Filipino
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