Wednesday, April 17, 2013
African Queen Crab
Must resist crinkling water bottle--cracks and pops of a plastic water bottle fill the silent room. Chapped lips again? Good thing I always have my trusty Eos lip balm in the shape of a golf ball to satisfy their desert dryness. "Kyle, do you have any gum?" Why does he never have gum? You know, I should probably participate in this discussion, "Going off of... Sorry, you can go." Aw, thanks Kate for letting me make my comment. "Going off of..." Must move pen while talking--click, click, click. I will hold my pen in a scholarly manner during this comment--wait, no I should leave it on my desk--but how else will I look scholarly? Ah, stupid pen, quit causing me such inner turmoil as I make this darn discussion comment. "What'd you get from this supplement Kyle?" Probably nothing. How does he talk for so long about those abstract ideas? Wow, he just talked for that entire partner discussion interval. I shall display my irritation with my variety of angry faces. Hey Jess, yes, my facial expression does not tell a lie, I am aggravated as a matter of fact. School gives me such a headache, good thing I carry this economy-sized bottle of Advil everywhere I go--pops a handful of ibuprofen. Yes Kyle, I deal anti-inflammatories. What a smart alec. Why does eighth period feel longer than every other one? I just want college to start already. Brock and I will room together--it will feel just like home. I cannot wait to return to the days of my youth when Brock and I shared closets and subsequently wardrobes. I will finally embody my inner tomboy that high school has so disappointingly suppressed. This hair always gets in the way--hair flips but then returns to previous position. Maybe Brock and I can go to the same barber. Until then my days seem like forever as I fall deeper and deeper into the clutches of senioritis and my body becomes more accustomed to rising every morning, sleep-walking through school, and babysitting after. The occasional visit to my long-lost, African, refugee family (yes, in fact I am one-seventeenth African-American) breaks up the monotony--clicks a self-pitiful sentence in ancestors' native San Bushmen language. Other than seeing those distant relatives every now and again, I live the zombie life, longing to reunite with my brother and my masculine side. Until then I shall stumble through the motions of the typical sleep-deprived, fourth-quarter senior with chronically chapped lips. And people wonder about the origin of my nickname. "Click-clickity-click" (Crabs out).
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Kyle, ever since I read this earlier today I have began noticing myself with my lip balm, and my pen, and my water bottle, and my gum cravings. Despite your dramatic emphasis, I suppose I do have a few quirks. I find it funny that these become so noticeable once pointed out. However, for one, I do not plan on rooming with my brother next year, nor do I plan to return to my male-phase. And as for my refugee family, Burmese, not African.
ReplyDeleteI commend you on your detailed disection of Abby's daily movements; as someone who knows Abby well I have grown accustomed to her so-called quirks, so I do not usually notice them. But I have to say, you nailed the daily routine Kyle. The refugee mixup cost you, and the childhood callout toed the line, but we all know you mean well (you became a girl in the end Ab, never fear). I think we would all surprise ourselves if we stopped and considered the level of familiarity we have with our classmates' habits; you can soak up a frightening amount of personal information in twelve years. Kyle, well done. Abby, you have the best quirks around.
ReplyDelete