"I love that you're never satisfied, at face value, wisdom, and happy lies..." Say the headphones, lovely headphones. My only source of solitude and solace in this world we all live in. But I had to take the earbuds out of my ears when the school bus landed at Lakeside High School.
Ironic in name as there's been no lake for at least a hundred years, officials are just to freaking lazy to do anything about it, but I guess they can argue "It's our heritage, our history!" to which I always answer. "Unless your learning from the past, that entire period of time is dead and gone, get with the program 'dude."
The entire first of the year routine is alive in my footsteps as black canvas sneakers screech their newness with the bending of rubber against certain types of ground. I follow myself into the school building, a large lobby area up front where "us kids" tend to group up in superficial throngs of people we're similar too,... called cliques.
Myself I just walk through the miniature masses of preppy Poptarts, goth kids, and whatever the 'eck you call those other kids toward a bench. There was ten minutes till school actually started as busses tend to arrive early here to give kids plenty of time to eat breakfast and get to class. So in knowledge of this, I rested my rear on a harsh little wooden bench and commenced my favorite past time, watching people.
That's when the guy catches my eye, the one I'm trying to tell you about here but never shut up about my own meager understandings long enough to talk. Normally I wouldn't have noticed him, he was just another straggler freshie lost in the sea without his own little clique yet. But he tripped over some hick's spitefully extended foot, the guy's beginning-of-the-year notebook paper and whatnot flying forward in a straight line that copies shape when landing on the ground below.
My inner sense of justice just did a tumble with the kid and screamed its watcher-agony at the jerk who stuck his foot out. However, my body didn't move, I probably should have got up to help the kid, but I didn't know him. Thus I watched him slowly pick his stuff up and shoved it back in his arms, seeming to apathetically snuggle it in his arms.
Like I said, I was watching people when this happened so I made sure to remember what the kid looked like. A natural emo-child almost, his hair dyed pitch against skin that looked like he rubbed olive oil on it all the time as its shade was thus. He seemed to cower in his grey-and-green jacket that was way to large for him, so were the "skinny jeans" covering his legs that bunched up and made clear that he was to thin to fill them. The important thing to me though was the shoes, it was my personal belief you could see a persons soul through their shoes.... Okay that's a bit to transcendental, just say I think their important.
A pair of torn, green converse sneakers with shoelaces that had been stepped on more time than counted, frayed out with only half their binding aglet thing. They were scuffed beyond belief and it was obvious the kid was poor, otherwise a sane person would have bought him new shoes by now. Not that his parents probably couldn't buy them if they actually had better control over their money, but when a family is lacking they tend to get in a mentality.