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Growing UpI watch her sitting before me. The leather of the swivel chair creases underneath her crossed legs and suit. She's holding a ball point pen in one hand and behind her pointy glasses her eyes are scaring the butterflies in my stomach. They are fluttering cause they know, like I know, she can see right through me. I stand there and wait. Her head shakes and she speaks.
"People want what they can't have"
I shoot a cold sneer at the ceiling.
"Girls with curly hair want straight hair, girls with straight hair want curly hair. It's always been this way and it always will be" she continues and it's like she reads the words off a tv behind my head.
"I can't believe this"
"Well you better believe it. Look adults always want to be kids while kids always want to be adults. It's just the way things are" she explains with the all the care of a sleepy house cat.
I find courage in my disbelief.
"Well I didn't! I never wanted this"
She seems unimpressed but I knew she would be.
"I mean fuck it's why I
Graffiti and GuitarsThe first time I saw him I stood up.
The other passengers ignored the quick act of notorious anonymity that passed by their windows. The sunlight shone around them and as we drew closer I placed my book beside me and rose. There were two of them wrapped in black like shadows. One artist, spraying pictures over gray concrete, and one watchman. I felt the cool clear glass under my palms as I steadied myself. The watchman turned to fix us with a glare and his eyes met mine, face emerging from the hood. Just a little colour peering out of the drab, like the fresh graffiti on the wall behind him. A pair of jade and jaded eyes. Then he was gone speeding away in a blur of distance. The day continued but I kept a piece of the moment he stole.
Nine TimesI saw him nine times.
The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.
I tested out of the class.
I don’t know if he did.
The second time I saw him, it was a few months after I arrived on campus. He was the one rushing and frantic this time, running across the square. He was probably late for class, though I had no way of knowing for sure. I was already lost in my own thoughts and ideas, deciding on my major and convincing people that yes, this is what I really want to do with my life. If they weren
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