Sunday, March 28, 2010

Never Know

Oh. It's you. I didn't recognize you for a moment. Yeah, I suppose my hair's changed since we last saw each other as well. You look like your ten-year-old self with your hair like that. Maybe even your five-year-old self. I remember you best as a five-year-old.

Don't judge me with this tennis racket in my hand. I've never been a sports person like you. I simply wanted to see if I could still hit a tennis ball the way I could two years ago. So far it's a no. You don't remember I had that phase, do you? I suppose not, it was very short lived. But I see you're still good with the soccer ball. I see you've acted on that God given talent. I see the ball obeys your command like a puppet; I envy you for that. You're really good. It's too bad we can't talk about this.

I've noticed you're wearing a necklace. That's interesting. Just a chain, though, nothing girly; and I must say it adds to your personality. If I knew your personality. I can see now your face has matured. Your baby fat's gone. Mine is too, if you didn't notice. I wonder if you see the five-year-old me standing here, the way I see yours. I wonder if you're putting the pieces of my past looks together with time and trying to make them equal what you see. Like I am you.

I see you're looking at me. I see we keep "missing" eye contact: I look, you've been looking and look away at that moment; and vice-versa. How does your voice sound? I heard you a while back; it had deeped. Is it the same, or has it gone deeper yet? I suppose I could ask, or you could say something to show me, but there are two conversations happening across our paths. Let's not disrupt them by speaking. You can keep wondering about me, and I'll keep wondering about you.

How does it feel, cousin? How does it feel to you to look at me? How does it feel not knowing the hobbies of my life, the name of my best friend, my middle name, or even something as simple as what makes me laugh? How does it feel not knowing what type of humor I have? I don't know more about you than I do your brother. Or your sister. Or your sister. Or your sister. I know your first name, sometimes I even forget your last-is it really the same as my own? I know you play soccer. Apparently you play it well. And for Davis? So you go to Davis High? That's news to me.

Let's be frank, Derrick, if that is how you spell your name. Let's be frank with the fact that I don't know you; you don't know me. I'm seventeen, you're seventeen, and our birthdays are 29 days apart.

We're strangers and we should be best friends.

So why won't either of us say "Hello"?

1 comment:

  1. You are an intense writer Erica!! I love reading your stuff! Keep blogging! Keep posting!