There Are Many Ways (This Not Being One).
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Written by Nunyo Bidness
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Sunday, 02 March 2008 |
We need to re-acquaint, he says to her before class, about as nervous and about as ripe as it's going to get there under that Wednesday morning tree. The morning was still and thick. The sun was behind clouds but it wasn't dark. Her eyes told it all, that she wasn't quite sure what he was doing here. In reality, she knew exactly what he was doing. But she didn't say anything and he kept going.
I'm a liar, he says, without much of a change in tone or expression. He talks in a bland voice and slowly, like the words were written down for him already. I tell people I don't smoke but I do, he continues, and I don't always wash my hands after using the restroom, but I try to. His folder drops to the ground and he follows it, sitting on the grass and leaning against the tree. It was his favorite kind of morning and nobody could take it away from him. He looks at her directly for the first time since they begun talking.
But above all, he says, I was lying when I said it was nice to meet you, because I'm not content with anything lower than getting a cup of coffee. He kept gazing off, maybe into the sky, maybe at something closer, she couldn't tell. But there he was, propped against that tree, almost sunk into the ground, and there wasn't much to say against that.
The classroom door opens. She gets into the crowd of others at the door. Shorter, and she still sticks out. Distinct, and menicingly so. He keeps sitting. Not now. One day, he mumbles, and begins waiting for the next perfect morning.
Copyright 2008 Nunyo Bidness
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