I sat in an anticipated silence for about fifteen minutes as Roj scanned my essay for English class this week. It had to be some sort of a memoir; a story about our past that effected our future. Kind of stupid really, because every part of our past effected humanity in some way or another. How was I to choose one moment? Professor Engle told us to write about something significant, and since the only experience in my life that truly felt good enough to be mentioned was my mother's death, I decided to write the essay on that.
His eyes roamed the paper, and the pages cracked with every transition he made to a new one. When he was done reading, he looked up at me with eyes the color of sand, and he sighed.
I didn't exactly take that well. In fact, I wasn't taking any of this well. For the first time in four years, I was going to tell my story to another human being- other than Roj, of course. This whole situation was positively nerve wracking. As to the question: Why my teacher, of all people? Well, the answer was simple. The guy was a decent enough man who seemed to honestly care about his students and their wellbeing. He also made me laugh a lot.
One time a student in class saw Mr. Engle eating from a plate of fruit salad. The boy said, "Dude, that's so gay."
Mr. Engle, who was just about to take another bite out of his light meal, stopped what he was doing, let it hover in the air, and said, "What the hell is gay?"
"Your fruit salad."
Mr. Engle slowly put the plate on his desk and gave the boy a perplexed look. "I don't understand how fruit salad can be considered gay."
"It just is, bro."
"Well, bro," he said with a mockery of a smile, "you would be the expert on that now, wouldn't you?"
The whole class "Ooohed," and I just couldn't help but shake with laughter from where I sat in the front of the room. Mr. Engle turned to me and gave me a look that said, "Who the hell does he think he's dealing with?"
The man was one of those teachers who you'd remember even in your old age, and since I liked his class-compared to all the other craptastic subjects I took-I wanted to do good on his paper. Sure, it would lead him into a world he'd never entered, being my own. But I was okay with it. I mean, it wasn't like the guy was going to read it aloud. It was for his eyes only, and was sure to get me an A.
But damn Roj and his sighs! Now he had me doubting myself.
After spitting out a piece of nail which I had been chewing on like a beaver for God knew how long, I breathed in. "So what do you think?"
"I think..." He paused just to spite me, I was sure of it. There seemed to be an odd gleam to his eye that told me he was playing the trickster. "It sounds morbidly depressing."
Odd that this statement made me grin. "Isn't it though?
"Hell yeah."
I clapped my hands and sat back on my booth. The leather stretched beneath me and whined. "That's exactly what I wanted."
We were having breakfast at Denny's after working night shift for a maintenance company that cleaned and fixed buildings. Our shifts varied from time to time; sometimes I worked during the day, other times I worked at night. It conflicted with my school's time schedule a lot, but I had to work for a living. I was alone, after all, living by myself in a studio apartment that could hardly fit in a twin bed without giving someone a sense of claustrophobia.
Roj shook his head and sniffed. He was suffering from a cold and shouldn't have been working-but you didn't tell that to a Forman. They worked till they died because it was dishonorable to take days off-or so he would mutter bitterly every time I brought up the topic. He claimed that the words weren't his. They belonged to his parents. Once it was legal for him to work, his parents sent out a resume and got him a job wherever they could. They were trying to teach him how to become a man, they said. They both had to work since they were young, so it was only right that their only child do the same.
Truth be told, the guy didn't have to work at all. He was well off, with parents who made good money. I mean, they lived in a two story house, with five bedrooms and four baths. Honestly, they had it good. But they didn't believe in spoiling a child or hand feeding them through life, so yeah, Roj had it a little rough in life. Like me.
The only difference was, he wasn't alone.
"Dude, it's seriously depressing." He revealed his arms from under the table and rested them at the surface, baring them before me. "Makes me want to cut myself," he said, sounding not a little disgusted.
"But do you think it's worthy of an A?" I hedged, making circular motions in the air.
"Sure, but I don't know if it'll be because Engle's gonna pity you or honor you for your decent writing skills."
I took offense. "Decent? I write better than half the student body."
He shrugged. "Maybe you do, but couldn't you have written about something less emo? I mean, come on! That story doesn't have to be told."
"You're right," I assented, putting my hands into my coat pocket. I felt a thin piece of paper in there and crumbled it into a fist. "But I feel like it'll do me some good. I've been missing out a lot and I need the grade."
Our waiter came then with the drinks we had ordered. She was young, probably a few years older than us, with blond hair pulled up in a pony tail. I liked pony tails. Roj usually scrunched up his nose every time girls wore them. He thought that they were being lazy, and any woman who was lazy wasn't worth his time. I, on the other hand, thought they were endearing because it made girls look relaxed and calm. The world was stressful and added enough strain to humanity; looking like it was so just added to the drama.
She poured me a cup of coffee, and the cloud of sugary heat wafted through my nostrils. That would definitely keep me alert while in school. I thanked her and she smiled down at me, though not with her eyes. Those dark brown depths held shadows beneath their sockets. I'm sure there was a story behind that smile and maybe if I were more inclined to do so, I'd ask her about it. But I hadn't drunk my coffee yet and so her tale would just have to wait. She turned around and without a backward glance, she left with her green skirt shushing to the side.
Roj reached for his cup and took a sip. "You really think like this, Jay?"
I smirked. "On my more darker moments."
"It's a sad story."
"So? Life is a song of lament and we are the orchestra from which it plays."
Roj narrowed his eyes at me. "Friggin emo. You need help."
I waved my hand, discarding his comment. I needed no help. I was perfectly sound in the mind. Sure, my thoughts often geared toward more negative subjects than most eighteen year olds dared to venture off in to. But, hey, I had an excuse for it. And it didn't mean that I constantly moped around, groaning about life's injustices. I knew how to laugh and smile. Roj was just exaggerating.
"I'm just joking, man. Relax."
"I'm not going to friggin relax. You-"
Closing myself off, I lowered my gaze to his cup of coffee. The white piece of porcelain gleamed as the reflection from the sun clashed against it. A window stood high behind us and watched as pedestrians walked past. My watch read eight-thirty in the morning, which meant that we had thirty minutes to get to school before our first period began. It only took us fifteen minutes to walk there from here, but I figured now was as good a time as any to start heading out. I honestly wasn't in the mood to hear Roj's talk. He worried too much about me and often times it was unwarranted.
I had a select group of friends, most within my work place. School housed few people who were brave enough to talk to me; not that I was mean or anything. In most of my classes I was the quiet nobody. Roj knew me back when I was happier and less somber. He, along with one other kid, took it upon themselves to keep me from losing my mind after mom's death. Each time I pushed him away, he just came running back. I guess that's what one would call a best friend. And so he was.
I glanced across the room and caught sight of our waiter. She was talking to a friend, laughing about something. It piqued my interest for a few seconds, the way she threw her head back and laughed aloud, frivolously allowing all the world to witness the hoarse sound.
I could also hear Roj's mumblings from afar. They were indistinct and I could hardly make up any words, let alone any proper sentences. Good. That was the purpose of zoning people out.
I took another sip of coffee and let the warmth slide down my throat. From my jeans pocket I could feel my cell vibrate above my thigh. I reached in and pulled it out. No text from anyone important; just a message from the phone company telling me my bill would be due in two days. Hungry money eaters. I'd give them the money tomorrow. I slipped it back in and made a move to stand. The last of Roj's words finally creeped into my mind.
"-listen to a damn thing I said."
I smiled at him as he stood up. His skin was light brown, but there were dark circles beneath his eyes- natural ones that never left. He glowered and clenched his jaw. Slipping on his grey peacoat, he muttered something I couldn't make out and I chuckled. "Don't worry about me, bro. I'm good."
"Good, my ass."
"Come on, man. Don't make a big deal out of nothing."
"Well, if you wouldn't have shown me that literary piece of crap, I wouldn't be worrying."
"Hey!" I snapped half serious, half joking. "Don't call it crap. Took me twenty minutes of my lunch break to write that baby."
"Time forever lost," he mumbled as if he thought I wouldn't be able to hear.
My eye brows arched and I said, "Now who's the depressing one?"
"Oh, shut up. You dug this one up on your own."
I barked out a laugh then because, seriously, that, to me, was funny. He was using my own words against me and it made me feel kind of good about myself. Whether he liked it or not, my words got through to him somehow, and with writing, wasn't that the point?
He didn't say anything after that, blushing from his hilarious mishap. Paying our bills separately, we discreetly made our way out of the diner. Pony-tail girl was at the front entrance, reaching into her shirt pocket. She took out a packet of Marlboros and discarded a thin slab of a cigarette. Her fingers touched her name-tag briefly before she put the box back in. I quickly turned away from the white piece of paper and walked on off with Roj.
As with most people, anonymonity was best for me.