Not Many People Have My Name
Between Places
A perpetual smile, but he sits alone during lunch.
That was last year, this year it’s different, but I just can’t unsee the image of the pink hoody, the gaze locked on the screen, the Airpods drowning out the world, and the smile whenever anyone approached him. He is more social this year. There are friends and group chats. A girlfriend came and went (along with quite a bit of cursing). The impregnable wall of teenage boydom weathered by time and the sins of teenage-hood pilling up innocently.
On his desk is a silvery MacBook, and a brand-spanking new iPhone—ever present Airpods, iPad in his bag.
How many siblings do you have again?
“Oh, let me see. On my dad’s side there is my older bother, and one, two, three, and me. That’s five kids all-together. Um, and on my mom’s side I’m the oldest and I have three younger siblings.”
Yikes. You don’t have your own bedroom, do you?
“No, I have a bunk bed in my mom’s place and in my dad’s place I sleep with my thirteen-year-old brother.”
Do you go to your dad’s on the weekends?
“No. I go for a month.”
A month?
“Yeah, mom’s place a month and dad’s a month.”
That’s hard.
“Not really… I guess—I mean, I pack my three bags and go. Everything I need is in there.”
That sucks.
“Yeah, it does.” He smiles sadly. “I don’t feel like I belong anywhere.”
