I stare. I examine the writings that are spilled all over his ragged appearance. There are enough words visible to my sight, all of which, could be bound together to create a horror story. These sentences that drip on him from head to toe, represent his life, and himself as a person. He stands there, I keep reading. His vision is locked on his worn-out, black shoes on his feet. He flicks another stogy, from his limb finger tips, as he gazes up into the sunny sky, eyes half open, from the suns harsh glare. I watch, as the orange sparks fly into the air, like fire works on The Forth of July. He throws the cigarette across the parking lot. He watches it twirl out of control down the black concrete, as he casually exhales the remaining smoke that has been captured in lungs, for quite some time now, he redirects his attention back to his shoes. I keep staring. I keep reading.
His hands disappear into his worn black Dickie's. In a split second, he pulls out a small zip lock bag, this bag is filled with a white continence, that is foreign to me. He slowly turns around as if no one is watching, and rustles around in his other pocket to find this small thin like tube, and inhales this substance into his nose. The empty baggy is released from his bony hands, and drops to the ground, in a small wad. He coughs as he turns back around. Am I the only one that can view the statements carved into his pale skin? I notice. I stare. I keep reading. He, once again, focuses all his attention to some area on his weathered shoes, as I do the same. I view sentences squirming in and out of his shoe and all over his body, repeatedly.
Him, as a person, looks very dangerous, however, very gentle inside. Still I keep reading the sentences of his life, apparently only visible to my eyes. He wears an over sized white T-shirt, over his broad shoulders, and large armed upper torso. He also wears a pair of stained black Dickie's pants, that cover over his long legs. He appears to be around five foot ten, and very attractive I might add. He too is fourteen, and for his age he has a rather deep voice. He is extremely built and has great posture, even though he has his head is down, at least in my presence. He has raggedy black hair. His skin is very much pale, but I can tell it is not his natural pigment. There is indented marks, along his triceps of both arms. His facial features are very distinct. His cheek bones stand out, unnaturally. He has a few freckles that sprinkle over his nose, and under his droopy eyes. He looks as if he has not slept in days, maybe even weeks. He has a broad manly jaw, and a small scar on the top brim of his nose, right between his dark thin eye brows. He has other marks randomly scattered across both arms. They are quite painful to glance at. They tell a story all their own.
He scrunches his nose as he brushes his nostrils, with his skinny fingers, and looks up with his hollowed out, icy, blood shot, yet beautiful blue eyes. For the first time they encounter with mine. Shyly, I turn my attention back over to the both of our best friends, that are reacquainting, after god knows how long.
Out of the corner of my eye I see him stare at my face, not in a provocative way, it is just a gentle consistent glance, but I can still feel the presence of his piercing eyes, on the surface of my skin. I see a small smile, his white perfect smile. I turn my attention back from pretending to be involved in a conversation I had no interest in to begin with, back to the sentences that seem to be tattooed all over his attire. He seems lost.
I can tell he is a genuine person, associating with the wrong group of people. I continue to stare. I continue to read. When he pulls out another stogy from his left pocket, I begin to read quicker and quicker. My heart pounds with every heart breaking complex sentence. He finds his crack lighter. He shuffles his body away from the three of us, lights his cigarette, and places it on the right side of his mouth, gently between both lips. He takes a deep breath, and more sentences of his horrific past and present catch my attention, immediately. I read quotes, horrible, degrading disputes preached to him by both parents, and friends. I envision negative thoughts he feels inside. All that I read, spill all over his attire, that only I can see. I see marks, not ones made by Crayola markers, in cute or abstract designs. These marks are permanent, they are injection mishaps that did not make in into the vein, that lay all along his forearm.
My heart pounds harder and harder, as the words rush through my mind at a frightening passe. He peers up into the sky and blows this disgusting odor of smoke, that the wind blows directly into my eyes, I close them shut. I step back. He immediately takes a small step towards me, as he holds his hand out to grasp my forearm, he says. "I am sorry". I open my eyes, surprised by his comment. He steps back, and intakes another puff, and puts his head down.
His eyes are hidden by this red ball cap, that I want to remove. I glance up slowly to meet his eyes. My hair is blowing behind me, from the aggressive wind. He took a step towards me, as I close my eyes, our bodies almost touch. He slowly exhales the smoke over my left shoulder and whispers "Hello there, blue eyes." I look down to the ground, trying not to smile. I look up and attempt to notice if he is doing the same. I catch what his forehead says, a split second before he darts his eyes back to the concrete, i read "Please save my broken soul". I lock my eyes to the ground, once more. The passages I read all over him are swimming around in my head. I become teary eyed. I keep my eyes lasered to his shoes. A tear falls from my face, and connects with my cold feet, he notices. We look up at each other. He looked at me, eyebrows arches, puzzled, while blowing smoke out of his nostrils. He takes one last hit off his cigarette, and I feel his eyes examine my face, gently. I feel his body brushing up against mine. I hold my breath, and clench my hands tight. He blows the smoke over my shoulder, but before he steps back, he whispers, "Please, don't cry." He proceeds back to his position that he has remained in for the past twenty minutes. I see a tiny smile appear on his face, as another tear falls from my face.
I look up. He smiles and winks.
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