In theory, you should be checking on customers, seeing if orders are up, or wrapping more silverware, but for whatever reason, you’re zoned out on this boy’s shoes. They are the strangest shoes you have ever seen. These red, plaid high tops are so blatantly out of place. They look mismatched with thick fabric and a homemade touch. You might have thought that they were stitched by this kid himself, if one of the other waitress hadn’t told you how expensive they were. They move back and forth, unsuspectingly casual, while this bewildering boy slices green peppers.
There is something distinctly magical about new kids. In a small town you begin to think that you already know everyone in existence. New kids are an exception, and therefore, fascinating to the point of being a mythical creature. However, it is breaches on unacceptable when they turn up at your work place and chop peppers with such reckless disregard. You can already tell that this kid is going to be a problem.
— I’ve realized how short this post is, so I’ve added another short piece —
Let’s say I just met you. Let’s say I held my hand out to you for the first time. Let’s say that when you shook my hand it wasn’t hard to meet you eye and it wasn’t hard to feel your fingertips on the back of my hand. We’ll just pretend that this isn’t a reenactment, like we haven’t played this scene out before. We’ll pretend that we haven’t been introduced. I’ll say my name. You can say yours.
We’ll smile naturally and there won’t be a single pause. Maybe I’ll say that it was nice to meet you and maybe you’ll believe me. We’ll put on this show. If we accidently see each other again on the street or in a class we could acknowledge each other and ignore the things that we’ve lost. Maybe we could pretend that we didn’t say our goodbyes last summer. Maybe we could pretend like we never stopped reaching for each other’s hand, like we never stopped arguing over who was smarter, or pretending we were foreign spies. Let’s say I just met you instead.