liquid cookie
Right now, I'm drinking gingerbread tea and it's just as delicious as it sounds, just like drinking a cookie.
Fran, my favorite old lady at work had her friend call me last night. Her friend, Thomas, is a 23 year old geologist who didn't laugh at any of my jokes or even seem to understand them. But, nonetheless, I promised Fran I'd take him out.
Talking to him reminded me of Cayman. Cayman, was a boy who transferred to my High School my senior year, he was very short and very young and wore a backpack that was far to heavy for his tiny frame to carry. His backpack was probably his most defining feature, it was bigger anyone's, filled with heavy books that pushed his back over into a hunch. He was devastatingly geeky, to the point that he didn't even seem to understand what 'geeky' even was. No one talked to Cayman. He sat outside by himself at lunch time and read.
One day Mr. F said, Jessica, can't you go introduce yourself to him? Look!...I exclaimed that I'd had tried before and he just doesn't listen... But, feeling as though I was Hatboro-Horsham's only ambassador, I left the lunchroom door to head out to greet him anyway. Mr. F stood by the cafeteria window watching. It was drizzling a little, but still didn't seem to bother Cayman. "You're Cayman, right?" I shouted, while waving vigorously, "I'm Jessica!" "What are you reading...." I started to ask a million boisterous questions. In High school I was boisterous and enthusiastic about almost everything. Cayman didn't say anything back. Nothing. He looked at me like I had two heads and then walked out the opposite door of the courtyard. It was raining harder now, and when I turned around I realized that the entire lunchroom saw Cayman "diss" me. I was totally dissed.
Later that year, whenever I'd see Cayman in the hallways, I'd still wave enthusiastically and smile and shout and ask him how his day was. He never once responded to me. But I continued because I took pity on poor Cayman, the geeky geek with no friends. Sometimes I'd feel a little somber about it "Why doesn't he like me?" (I was so filled with ego, that it seemed a surprise that anyone didn't like me.) But I wouldn't let myself get downtrodden about it. Cayman was my little project. I really cared about him and maybe even obsessed about him. I got louder and waved harder and smiled until it hurt my cheeks. But I graduated and Cayman never changed, never said hello.
A few years later I went back to my high school to visit. Jeanne and I stopped in to Mr.F's room and he told us about how Cayman eats lunch in his office now.
"He told me this story this fall," Mr. F. Began "About how he was having trouble because this person he thought was sort of, you know, retarded kept following him around and waving....It took me a little while to figure out that that was Jessica....and I had to explain through my laughter that you weren't retarded, you just thought you were being friendly." We couldn't stop laughing. Our sides hurt
"Well, I tried to tell him, but he just didn't believe me, so he still thinks you're special."
Maybe meeting Fran's friend will be like this.
Right now, I'm drinking gingerbread tea and it's just as delicious as it sounds, just like drinking a cookie.
Fran, my favorite old lady at work had her friend call me last night. Her friend, Thomas, is a 23 year old geologist who didn't laugh at any of my jokes or even seem to understand them. But, nonetheless, I promised Fran I'd take him out.
Talking to him reminded me of Cayman. Cayman, was a boy who transferred to my High School my senior year, he was very short and very young and wore a backpack that was far to heavy for his tiny frame to carry. His backpack was probably his most defining feature, it was bigger anyone's, filled with heavy books that pushed his back over into a hunch. He was devastatingly geeky, to the point that he didn't even seem to understand what 'geeky' even was. No one talked to Cayman. He sat outside by himself at lunch time and read.
One day Mr. F said, Jessica, can't you go introduce yourself to him? Look!...I exclaimed that I'd had tried before and he just doesn't listen... But, feeling as though I was Hatboro-Horsham's only ambassador, I left the lunchroom door to head out to greet him anyway. Mr. F stood by the cafeteria window watching. It was drizzling a little, but still didn't seem to bother Cayman. "You're Cayman, right?" I shouted, while waving vigorously, "I'm Jessica!" "What are you reading...." I started to ask a million boisterous questions. In High school I was boisterous and enthusiastic about almost everything. Cayman didn't say anything back. Nothing. He looked at me like I had two heads and then walked out the opposite door of the courtyard. It was raining harder now, and when I turned around I realized that the entire lunchroom saw Cayman "diss" me. I was totally dissed.
Later that year, whenever I'd see Cayman in the hallways, I'd still wave enthusiastically and smile and shout and ask him how his day was. He never once responded to me. But I continued because I took pity on poor Cayman, the geeky geek with no friends. Sometimes I'd feel a little somber about it "Why doesn't he like me?" (I was so filled with ego, that it seemed a surprise that anyone didn't like me.) But I wouldn't let myself get downtrodden about it. Cayman was my little project. I really cared about him and maybe even obsessed about him. I got louder and waved harder and smiled until it hurt my cheeks. But I graduated and Cayman never changed, never said hello.
A few years later I went back to my high school to visit. Jeanne and I stopped in to Mr.F's room and he told us about how Cayman eats lunch in his office now.
"He told me this story this fall," Mr. F. Began "About how he was having trouble because this person he thought was sort of, you know, retarded kept following him around and waving....It took me a little while to figure out that that was Jessica....and I had to explain through my laughter that you weren't retarded, you just thought you were being friendly." We couldn't stop laughing. Our sides hurt
"Well, I tried to tell him, but he just didn't believe me, so he still thinks you're special."
Maybe meeting Fran's friend will be like this.
posted by j-e-s-s-i-c-a at 9:48 AM
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