The Kids Aren't Alright

II

I didn't have time to clean my apartment like I thought I would. As soon as I hit my head on the pillow, another dream surfaced.

And just like that, I'm back in that cafeteria, looking down at my phone like I'm waiting for something to happen. I remember this. My first college orientation. I remember so much. Too much. I remember the exact number of sausage links I took on my plate (4); the color of my phone background at the time (purple with pink fleur-de-lis accents); the look on your face when you asked for a seat next to me. I swear, you looked way too nervous to talk to me, although I definitely looked like a dork back then, so it wasn't like you had anything to worry about. Your almond eyes crinkled whenever you smiled, making my stomach flip circles; your smile could light a thousand rooms, but who am I to judge. I only knew you for a year.

"Is anyone sitting here?" you inquired. You genuinely looked nervous if I said no and you had to find another spot. I never thought about this until now, but the cafeteria wasn't packed at all when you asked. Funny.

At first, I wanted to have my fun with you. Maybe you were here for a good laugh. But something about your disposition stopped me, as if you told me something about yourself without having to vocalize it. Why not, I told myself, give the guy a chance, "No, I don't think so," I said timidly, gesturing towards the seat.

As you sat down, I took notice of your outfit. A vintage Seattle SuperSonics sweatshirt? Silver chains? Black sweatpants with rose inlays? I swear, this is a man with impeccable reference points, but god bless him, it doesn't look like he knows how to style the clothes together. You were like a guy who bought fresh as fuck pieces without thinking about how they all look altogether. I don't know if that said something about you, but it definitely impressed me; your fuck-it attitude, it had been something I've been craving for a while.

"So, University of Michigan, huh? Which teacher did you have to blow to get that recommendation?" you asked in a straight tone. Now that's a conversation starter if I'd ever heard one. I had a flash-reaction to his comment, ranging from pure shock to gleeful surprise to waves of relief. Oh okay, so you're this kind of guy.

Without missing a beat, I countered, "Not many, just had to finish the high school principal to get his support." And just like that your jaw dropped to the table. It didn't seem like you expected being topped in your remarks, but I gotta admit, it's nice to surprise you with my own filth.

You composed your figure and cleared your throat, hastily saying, "Well, I'm proud of you for your achievement, but what about your admission essay? Surely, you had to have pulled out all the stops there."

At this point, I don't know what kind of game you were playing, or even your name, but I decided to play along. I straightened my figure and looked at you in mock sultry tones. "Maybe I might have threw in some... interpretations about my childhood. Call it spinning straw into gold, but I call it 'capitalizing on your trauma'. A tried-and-true strategy to be sure," I said with a sly tone. This time, you let out a big chuckle. God, your laugh is infectious; I want to envelop myself in the richness of it. It's a breezy tenor that comes so easily out of you sometimes. I miss that about you.

"We'll, I'm pretty sure you're one hell of a wordsmith, but tell me this: how's you do on your SAT's? A true test of a Wolverine, I'm sure of it." You stated authoritatively, although your smile was getting harder to deny.

I had to think for a second, trying to think of something clever, then I replied, "If a 1440 means something in this shit, then you might as well give me a fucking crown!" I let out a snort-ripping laugh, and he giggled at my ridiculous guffaws. It was a mess.

Before we knew it, we were both whooping and hollering in the middle of a quiet morning in the cafeteria, letting everyone see the two hooligans that are causing so much noise and chaos in the early breakfast hours. But thank god you didn't care. You never cared.

By the time we settled down, you had the gall to poke me on my shoulder from across the table. Then, as you were getting up from your seat, you slid into my side of the booth and grabbed my arm. Your hands were so warm, I suddenly became flushed. Fuck, I thought to myself, I really am a goddamn dork. From your pocket, you grabbed a sharpie marker and wrote down a couple numbers and a name. "This is where I'm staying if you wanna hang. My name's Niko if you're down, and if you're not, you never saw me. But then again, I hope you are," I could have sworn you said that last phrase with a hint of hopefulness, but then again I could have been imagining it. I'm imagining a lot of things right now.

I'm imagining a lot of things right now.

Like this moment.

Why this?

Why?