greek boy.

March 17, 2013 § Leave a comment

You are so unbelievably scrumptious. And I don’t mean it in a sexual way. Well, I do and I don’t. Mostly, I don’t. You swagger into our lab. You casually put your things down at your table and then you walk over to my table where I sit with my group. To be fair, it’s not my table. You’re free to sit with us when we’re not doing anything before the class starts. I look at you and I think about how I know many boys like you. I went to school with boys like you, all faceless and nameless and so utterly ordinary. They’ve got egos the size of their jeeps and they talk like they’re real men. But I know they’re not real men just like I know you’re not a real man because you’ve still got this boyish charm that oozes out from your lopsided grin. Your mouth just keeps spouting nonsensical talk. It’s half serious, but mostly half not. I don’t have much to say, so I look at your mouth and I notice the stubble littered along your jawline. You are not scrumptious, I think. A better word to describe you is scruffy. Just… just go away already.

I am sitting in the science lounge. My friend just left for class and I am left alone in this pit of couches cluttered with noise and people. I hate the science lounge unless it’s early morning or late afternoon. I don’t hate the noise. I hate the lack of space. I always feel as though I am bumping elbows with the people sitting next to me. But I’m sitting here because this is the way it is everywhere else and I never know what to do with myself when I have a bit of free time. Amidst the noise and the clutter, I hear a particularly loud someone from across the way. It is you and our eyes meet. You stare. I have no idea who the hell you are at first. Your face is forgettable and I have trouble pinning down facts in my head. Where do I know you from? Do we have a class together? A lab? Did you go to my school? Then you ask me my name and I tell you and I ask you yours and you tell me. You’re sitting with a lot of people. You have a lot of friends, I realize. But then, so do I.

It is only after I’ve left and waved goodbye to you, you stranger you, that I remembered who you were.

The first time I met you, you kind of just sat at my group’s table like you owned it. I know I went quiet because I always go quiet and retreat into my shell when strangers approach. I sort of wonder what your first impression was of me, but that doesn’t really matter. Out of respect for my new friend and fellow group member, I welcomed you to our table by simply letting you two have your mundane conversation. I didn’t like you then. You said something like, “My group is terrible. All they talk about are computer games. They’re such nerds.” I think I died a little inside and I decided you were a bad guy because I happen to like gaming and I happen to be a huge nerd. So I just stayed quiet some more. Somewhere along your conversation, the introductions were lost. And that is why you had to yell across the way at me to ask me my name in the science lounge that one time.

Boisterous is a good descriptor for you.You don’t seem like a jerk at all. But you seem lazy and scruffy and careless and no different than the boys I went to school with. You wear a gold chain around your neck, you listen to hip hop and the only thing that matters are the people you know and the people they know that you know. I’ve met a lot of people like you this year. I’d like to think you’re no different so I can just get on with my life. Please.


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