Let's Skip This Rerun

"NO," I pleaded. "Please don't."

And he didn't.

"Ok," I said, after taking a deep breath. "Go. Wait. Ok, go. Wait, let me just..." I took another breath, deeper, slower. "All right, give it to me."

And Jamie did. "You'll hate me for this. You have my permission to punch me afterwards."

"Just give it to me," I said. "Tell me all about it."

"It" happened in high school. Jamie and I were classmates, as we always were through high school. Jamie was part of the swim team, and was groomed to lead us as the Corp Commander of our CAT-1. I was a malnourished, awkward guy who creeped out most people with my anti-social charms. How we ended up as friends may be attributed more to proximity than choice.

That doesn't mean to say I don't love him. Because I do. Jamie and I are kindred souls, both passionate storytellers. He is now a filmmaker whose ideas are really amazing, and I write product launches scripts so celebrities can help multi-million peso brands sell more SIM cards. Tomato, Potato.

"You were writing someone a letter. Probably Carizza," Jamie said. "I was watching you writing this letter, and it got me really curious because you crumpled it up, and threw it away."

"So of course," he continued. "I went to the trash and fished it out."

Me in high school.

"Oh my god," I said. "What was in the letter?"

"Well," he said. "You were telling her about a wet dream you had."

"That does sound like me," I agreed.

"It was a wet dream you had about Alexander (not his real name). You wrote 'I was with him and things got out of hand and I woke up covered in...' uhm. You know what covers you when you're having a wet dream?"

The event we were talking about happened way over a decade ago. But still, hearing it from Jamie made me wince. Cringe. Shove my face up in my hands, and want to stab myself with the barbecue stick of the Chicken Inasal we were eating.

"I had a wet dream with a guy. How can I not remember this?" I asked, muffled by the hands I want to choke myself with.

"Well, that's not all..."

Jamie Dumancas in high school.

I whipped my head up in panic. "Please tell me you didn't tell him."

Jamie was silent. He took a sip from his Sola iced tea.

"Oh, god, Jamie. What did you do?"

"I kindof told everyone." He raised his hands. "I told you you can punch me afterwards."

"Everyone?" I shrieked, alarming everyone in the restaurant. "Who is everyone?"

"Everyone who read it in the bulletin board."

"WHAT BULLETIN BOARD?"

"The one where I posted your letter on."

I felt colors draining from my face.

"You didn't talk to me for a week after that. I'm really sorry I did that," Jamie said. His tone suggested otherwise. His tone said, "Isn't that the funniest thing we did together?"

I calmed myself down. Sliced a piece of chicken meat, and ate in silence.

"This is sooooo going in Life Under Siege, my upcoming collection of hilarious essays about my life," I told him matter-of-factly.