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WHEN I THINK OF HIM.
The sounds of our shoes contrasting against the macadam pavement lightly echoed as we made our way to the bus stop. I turned my head to him, attempting to make small talk.
“It’s pret-”
“What are we?” He interjected.
Apparently he had other plans for where he’d like to take our conversation.
Well
Crap.
“That’s an awfully deep question for only 6:15 in the morning,” I joked, playfully nudging him.
He didn’t laugh.
“I’ve been labeling us as just feelings, but I feel as if we are more than that at this point.”
“Well, I..”
I pondered. I was half panicking, while also half elated. I took a deep breath, and sorted through the memories of him and I.
When I think of highschool, I think of a place where the future begins. The period when your free trial of childhood ends, and the pricey subscription to adulthood begins. A time when you sort through the things you had put off for later. It’s when the well of empathy runs dry, leaving nothing but due dates and endless expectations in its place. These are the four years you must take with utter care. Distractions have no place here.
When I think of him, I think of a boy who had the largest, brightest smile. He wasn’t overly tall, but taller than me. He had the messiest, brown curly hair. He had blue eyes–not quite piercing, but prominent. Not quite blue like the Atlantic, nor cold like ice. It was just the right amount of blue. More notably, he was wonderfully sporadic and goofy. He was always up to something and always getting into something he shouldn’t have been. At first glance, people tend to subject him to assumptious opinions. Just talk to him once, though, and you’d see just how sweet he is. He was the perfect distraction.
Memories come and go; they form then evaporate, just like clouds. A specific moment comes to mind and reels in from the distance. It comes into clear view, as I’m forced to watch it unfold.
It was the third week of my freshman year in highschool. It had just turned 2:25, and countless kids were flowing out from the building. I managed to push my way through the sea of teenagers and out into the bus pickup area. I scanned the area, searching for my bus–yet instead my gaze latched onto a familiar backpack. It was one of my friends that I shared my science and english class with. Forgetting my original objective, I rushed over to them. I pulled on their pink backpack, grabbing their attention. “Oh, hey,” they waved. I smiled and gave them a quick hug. Neither of us wanting to miss our buses, we parted ways.
“Right, back on track,” I thought to myself. I carefully navigated through the crowd, eventually finding where my bus was located. I stepped onto the bus, realizing that my usual seat in the front row was taken. I walked further down the aisle, looking for a free spot.
And that’s when our eyes met.
"Don’t you want to come sit with your new friend?” He grinned, tilting his head to the side.
“Fine,” I groaned, plopping down beside him.
I kept my gaze on my hands, refusing to show the fact that I was indeed a little excited that he invited me to sit with him. “I’m not sitting here because I want to, it’s just out of necessity,” I reassured myself. Besides, emotions are best left buried within one’s mind. Before long, the bus doors closed and the sound of a purring engine followed suit.
Rays of sunshine gleaned through the half-open bus windows, shining on the mundane gray leather seats. The light scent of gasoline lingered in the air. The playful breeze continuously tickled my face as the bus gently rocked and swayed me–quite like a mother rocking her baby to sleep. Sounds of teenagers chatting and giggling amongst...
“It’s pret-”
“What are we?” He interjected.
Apparently he had other plans for where he’d like to take our conversation.
Well
Crap.
“That’s an awfully deep question for only 6:15 in the morning,” I joked, playfully nudging him.
He didn’t laugh.
“I’ve been labeling us as just feelings, but I feel as if we are more than that at this point.”
“Well, I..”
I pondered. I was half panicking, while also half elated. I took a deep breath, and sorted through the memories of him and I.
When I think of highschool, I think of a place where the future begins. The period when your free trial of childhood ends, and the pricey subscription to adulthood begins. A time when you sort through the things you had put off for later. It’s when the well of empathy runs dry, leaving nothing but due dates and endless expectations in its place. These are the four years you must take with utter care. Distractions have no place here.
When I think of him, I think of a boy who had the largest, brightest smile. He wasn’t overly tall, but taller than me. He had the messiest, brown curly hair. He had blue eyes–not quite piercing, but prominent. Not quite blue like the Atlantic, nor cold like ice. It was just the right amount of blue. More notably, he was wonderfully sporadic and goofy. He was always up to something and always getting into something he shouldn’t have been. At first glance, people tend to subject him to assumptious opinions. Just talk to him once, though, and you’d see just how sweet he is. He was the perfect distraction.
Memories come and go; they form then evaporate, just like clouds. A specific moment comes to mind and reels in from the distance. It comes into clear view, as I’m forced to watch it unfold.
It was the third week of my freshman year in highschool. It had just turned 2:25, and countless kids were flowing out from the building. I managed to push my way through the sea of teenagers and out into the bus pickup area. I scanned the area, searching for my bus–yet instead my gaze latched onto a familiar backpack. It was one of my friends that I shared my science and english class with. Forgetting my original objective, I rushed over to them. I pulled on their pink backpack, grabbing their attention. “Oh, hey,” they waved. I smiled and gave them a quick hug. Neither of us wanting to miss our buses, we parted ways.
“Right, back on track,” I thought to myself. I carefully navigated through the crowd, eventually finding where my bus was located. I stepped onto the bus, realizing that my usual seat in the front row was taken. I walked further down the aisle, looking for a free spot.
And that’s when our eyes met.
"Don’t you want to come sit with your new friend?” He grinned, tilting his head to the side.
“Fine,” I groaned, plopping down beside him.
I kept my gaze on my hands, refusing to show the fact that I was indeed a little excited that he invited me to sit with him. “I’m not sitting here because I want to, it’s just out of necessity,” I reassured myself. Besides, emotions are best left buried within one’s mind. Before long, the bus doors closed and the sound of a purring engine followed suit.
Rays of sunshine gleaned through the half-open bus windows, shining on the mundane gray leather seats. The light scent of gasoline lingered in the air. The playful breeze continuously tickled my face as the bus gently rocked and swayed me–quite like a mother rocking her baby to sleep. Sounds of teenagers chatting and giggling amongst...
