Much Ado About...(*tittering*)

I was on the train, enveloped by sweaty pungency and squeezed by human cargoes, with my read Waiting opened just enough to put my face in. Of course, this is partly fictional. I'm too much of a model Singaporean for my novel to take up another passenger's valuable standing space. So much for my brief digression.

The curious thing about reading is that sudden sense of deja vu: life as in fiction, and vice versa. So, I was reading about Lin Kong's wet dream, how he wasn't sure about his virility until his daughter was born. Then, I had to search down the corridors of my memory, as if driven by some mystery force.

Al, Qw and me, we were the best of friends in Secondary School. At about thirteen of age, all puerile and wet behind the ears, we went about our lives indulging in movies, pop music and Karaoke. Other than that, we were very much different as individuals. Al was the academically brilliant one, while Qw was rebellious-spirited; I was just me, nondescript and diffident. Yet, boys being boys, we were strongly-opinionated, and had egos larger than our ordinary lives could suggest.

There was this day that we were supposed to meet at Clementi MRT station. For some reason I've forgotten, I was early, and I saw the despondent figure of Al approaching, head drooping with a languid gait. I was rubbing my palms, ready to rub salt on wound. But Al was reticent, and my verbal thrust and push fell on marshmallow-like defence that left a bad aftertaste. That spelled trouble deeper than the Pacific Ocean, or that was what I thought. Then, Qw arrived and sniffed out the nuance in Al all too soon. Being a weekend, the station was swamped by teenagers, couples and small families enjoying their day off.

Without warning, Al pulled my left elbow, not hard enough to hurt, leading me to a corner with Qw following. In a low, dry croak, he whispered:"I've never had a wet dream, is there any problem with me?" Right, as if I'd know! He was the bookish one, remember? Partly out of sympathy - overnight wavy grooves seemed to cut his forehead with brows knitted - and partly out of pool toilet's hearsay (this is another story), the blind led another blind out of darkness. Relief was written all over his flushed, awkward countenance, which led me to ensure myself: no point rocking the boat if the sea is all calm, right? It never occurred to me then what might have happened if I had said otherwise.

These are all but bittersweet memories of an innocent age. We were to go our separate ways after I went to Junior College; Al to a Polytechnic despite his superior result, and Qw was to earn his first paycheck while retaking his GCE "O" level. As we probably would have joked: Qw's English and Mathematics really can't "swim".

My, how I miss those days...