The Boy Who Doesn’t Know Me
I rock my bottom in the chair three times, back and forth, clanking the unsteady seat until coming to a rest, with the front right leg lifted in the air. Annoyed, I look upon the tables around me, mostly empty. I knew coming in the late evening would agree with a small crowd and felt comfortable with this, as I prefer to write in the quiet. Hearing the shaking of a drink caused by the barista, I notice the other two students here have their headphones in. I scan my eyes over the boy in checkered pajama pants and a gray sweatshirt, with his right hand cupping his jaw and his elbow placed on the table; He is forced out of his room to do homework, as he couldn’t study with all the noise. His hoodie, pulled over his head, hides his hair, but I inspect a dark long strand curl over his eyebrow. He cups his lips and blows, to set the strand in motion, only for it to land a millimeter to the left of his face; however, he is pleased with its placement now. He stares at his gray MacBook sat on the rounded, white table, with a sticker of a black sheep on the cover, which I recognized. It’s a skate apparel company and that’s when I notice the board resting underneath his chair. He has his car on campus, yet grabs his skateboard every chance he gets. He enjoys riding, just to and from class, it makes him feel free. Which, to him, sounds silly to say, but it’s true.
An expression of boredom is clear on his face while his green eyes dart back and forth over the screen, memorizing a sentence he couldn’t care for. He doesn’t really pay attention in school. He sits in the back of class and is easily distracted on his phone. He seems like the type who doesn’t try to do well, and he doesn’t, but he gets a good grade regardless. People are surprised to hear this, “Really? Him? I wouldn’t have thought,” with a taste of resentment on their tongue.
He clasps his hands together and throws them over his head to stretch, tightly gripping his hands as if to squash his frustration. He jitters his right foot, shaking his whole leg, while both his palms rest on the back of his neck. He squints his eyes at his computer, his brows furrowing, until he looks down at his shaking leg. Noticing this tic he brings his leg to a halt and crosses his foot atop his left thigh. We sit here for about an hour as I watch his seemingly meaningless motions of studying and discover the person he could be.
He is a skateboarder with a dream beyond his college classes, one he keeps to himself, one many don’t know. A quiet boy, who at times feels too mature for his friends who laugh over dirty jokes and make comments about girls. He may live at High Point, but it’s not his home. He can’t wait to get out of school, he will visit the friends he cares most about, and awaits to work towards his future. He is a boy with lonely thoughts and a friendly smile. I’ve never seen him on campus, but I sense I can relate to his deepest emotions, as all humans could. Although he doesn’t know it, he gave me company this late evening, and I like to think if I knew him, he would rattle the narrative I gave him.
Who: A boy studying
Where: Cottrell Starbucks at High Point University, North Carolina
When: Late Wednesday evening
What I’m drinking: An iced green tea
