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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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Beautiful boy
It's the end of the semester--yet another semester. Yesterday, I sat at a table near the deli, waiting for my calc prof to show up. Almost immediately, a table full of the most obnoxious people came over and sat down next to me. One of them was that flavor of girl who has to scream everything and deliver interjections like "Oh!" and "Oh, my God!" in a kind of high-pitched squeal. Another was this really, really stinky boy. He was kind of cute, but then he would, like, move around and whenever he disturbed the air molecules around him, the most disgusting smell would waft over to me. He was old sweaty gym socks and goat and the kind of cheese only the most shameless French epicurians will touch. Disgusting. There were a few other people sitting with them, but those two were the prize-winners. I pulled out my headphones and tried Brian Eno/David Byrne ("My Life in the Bush of Ghosts"), but even a mixture of techno/rock/Christian evangelism couldn't drown out Miss Screamy McSquealler. I tried some Tom Waits ("Bone Machine"). And even fabulous growling, gruff, off-key, blues gospel couldn't compete with little Miss. And even the attempt at drowning out the noise did nothing to dispel the funk lent to the proceedings by Goat Boy. Just as I was about to admit defeat and start to pack up my walkman and my untouched calc text and my various beverage selections and wander off to find a new table or at least some fresh air, the most exquisite boy came over and sat down at the table in front of me. This boy was...amazing. He was that flavor of boy that is incredibly good looking but has not the slightest idea that that is the case, so he doesn't work it in such a way as to destroy it, you know what I mean? He was about my height, thin, with dark hair and fair skin. His eyes were a beautiful shade of greenish blue (or maybe they were bluish green or maybe I was making the whole thing up and they were really hazel). And he looked a bit tired at the edges, (it is finals week, you know), which did nothing to dispel his attractiveness. In fact, that slight edge lent him a weariness that belied his youth, made him seem more mature and so all the more desirable. I tried not to stare, but I think we all know how well that came off. An old man came over to my beautiful boy and the boy greeted him. I pulled off my headphones, silencing Tom Waits so that I might hear the boy's voice. It was quiet. Very quiet. And he didn't speak much. He put his books politely away, and turned his attention to the old man who spoke of various world religions. Another woman came to join them (a bio major/ditz whom I have overheard in other conversations muse in ignorant wonder about the most basic biological processes) and b.boy pulled another table over and got her a chair. He was just the most well-mannered boy I have seen in a long time is what I'm trying to say here. He glanced over a bit at me. I was twisted over a calc make-up exam, and, from having gone to the bathroom moments before, knew that I was in poor, poor shape. I'm talking a hair day gone so bad that small children's smallest glimpses led to life-long scarring. And my outfit for the day was one t-shirt layered over another so as to compensate for the holes in both, a pair of red/white/blue plaid wide-legged capri's that I like to pretend are really cool (but which are really just those things you wear when you and the laundry are at an impasse), white socks, and my black workboots, laced halfway up. I looked bad. I think he was glancing over more to make sure I wasn't going to gladhand him over some spare change. That or he was going to, in all his angelic glory, offer to help somehow. Maybe by buying me a cup of coffee and offering some fellowship. I don't know. All I'm saying is: Universe, thanks for the boy. My faith in love and beauty remains devout.
More lies:
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