Grade Five. At ten years of age I was one of the youngest in a class of 40 students. There were older boys in our class. Leftover from the previous years’ crop of failing students. They were recycled or remediated. I was sure our teacher didn’t find it amusing to be teaching 15, 16 year old adolescents. These older students, in many ways, acted like older men who took it upon themselves to behave differently toward younger, more educated but vulnerable women.

Such is the case with out teacher. She was new. This was her very first assignment. At a tender age of approximately 23, she was young, vibrant, smelled of fresh hibiscus, and was quick to smile at some of the silly things we young boys did and said. She remained wary, careful and often aloof when dealing with the teenagers in our class however.

She hailed from San Esteban and her name was Esmeralda Elephante. We addressed her as Ms. “E” for short. Due to extreme silliness, her name soon became a joke around the campus. Some creative genius even penned lyrics sung to the tune of Manang Biday, “Ms. Elephant ilucat mo man, ta subilmo icalumbabam… ta kitaem toy pinayatam, casla adigi dagita sacam. No nadagsen dimo baclayen, no nangato dimo sucdalen, no nababa dimo gaw-aten, ngem labas-labasam to laeng.” Innocuous enough and silly words – but it was beginning to bore deeply into Ms. Elephante’s psyche.

The day came when she could no longer take the ribbing and the unprovoked snickering each time she was around. Of course she would always immediately conclude that all this frivolity was caused by her student’s lack of regard and respect toward her. Therefore she decided to instill some discipline in her daily dealings with the class. She became a foremost believer in giving unannounced quizes and short tests.

Fifth grade was no longer fun. It became a slave camp and a pedagogic torture chamber. The older students intensified their puerile attentions toward her. It seemed as if Puppy Love was turning into something more serious. Some of them were even accused of being Peeping Toms. They were all dragged to the Mother Superior’s office kicking and screaming their innocence.

The school year was coming to an end. It was time to clean our desks with “oplas” – the sand paper like leaves of the oplas plant. We were instructed to remove all graffiti and other doodled drawings on our desktops. It was also time to sand our hardcover textbook edges before we turned them back in for next year’s reissue.

Unbeknownst to the class, some of the older students (their identities were never revealed) gathered sabawil fruit along with the oplas leaves and brought them to the classroom. The sabawil fruit – not unlike the fruit of singcamas or madre cacao in shape – was covered with fuzzy like hair almost resembling a kiwi fruit fuzz. This fine sabawil hair or folicles thereof, coming in contact with the skin instantly creates an itch that spreads or widens in area as you scratch the itchy spot. There is no stopping the spread of the itch once you begin to scratch.

It was academic – the way they deployed the sabawil hairs. It was as simple as dropping the fruit in the teacher’s main desk drawer and letting the hairs  fall off, then retrieving and removing the evidence.

At first Ms. Elephante sat down behind her desk and greeted the class, “Good morning class.” She attempted to be warm and pleasant with a smile.

“Good morning Ms. ‘E’,” the class greeted her back.

Standing up she quickly made the morning’s announcements with the attendant instructions on what we were supposed to be doing with the oplas leaves to our desks and to our books. She sat down once again only this time she sat playfully on the edge of her desk like a horse rider would ride side saddle. We could see a little bit of her finely sculpted legs – though her batik skirt was not hiked high enough to cause the class to go into a fit of wild delirium at the sight of things forbidden.

Then she did the most unbelievable thing. From her sitting position she pulled open her main desk drawer to get something out. She jiggled the drawer handle because at that angle of pull from where she sat the drawer was wedged rather tightly.

It was not too long after she had succeeded in opening her desk drawer and closing it back that she began to scratch. It was an innocent, light one stroke, uncharacteristic scratch at first. It appeared that the first scratch was borne more out of curiousity rather than caused by a true itch attack. That assessment changed quickly though as Ms. Elephante began to scratch vigorously now – first at her knee, then up her thigh and then going a little bit higher still. The itch must have been horrendously excruciating she soon forgot where she was. She became oblivious of her surroundings and began to scratch in earnest, revealing first the bottom of her lacy slip… then her upper leg.

The room became suddenly quiet. The sound of sanding and buffing ceased. Conversations and chatter ceased. The silence was sepulchral you could hear a pin drop. All eyes were on Ms. Elephante. She appeared contorted like some circus performer about to spring like an unwinding rubber band. Her desk couldn’t shield her from view – it wasn’t big enough to hide her from the sea of staring eyes. Lord have mercy. I looked around the classroom. The older students were in primal ecstacy. It was written all over their faces.

The unchoreographed burlesque show was broken with the unannounced entrance of Mother Superior. She was going around checking on the class’ progress. Quickly realizing what was happening, Mother Superior barked some orders, “Get me a blanket… somebody!” A scurrying of feet ensued.

There was so much commotion I couldn’t break through the crowd. I was pushed out of the classroom by the sheer force of the moving mass of frenzied “blanket seeking students”.

Later, in the playground, I heard differing reports as to what they have seen and witnessed. I heard everything from “lacy slips” to “nice legs”… even “white panties”. “Really? Hmmmm. . . how come I didn’t see those things?” I asked myself. “Maybe I should pay more attention next time.”