Finding John
Chapter Eleven
The five minutes between leaving fourth period and going into the lunch room were the most thrilling five minutes of my day throughout the next few days. At first I didn’t understand why my stomach would do flip-flops while I was walking to my locker. It soon occurred to me, though, that it was not because of the fact that I would see Sara, but the fact that I would see Alex. Alex was complex, a puzzle you could say. He had always interested me. He was the one puzzle I couldn’t seem to figure out. But I was determined. And when I stepped into the lunch room, and saw Alex sitting at Sara and I’s table once again, all my fears washed away. The funny thing was that I didn’t know I was nervous until the feeling went away.
When it went away because of Alex.
It still puzzles me as to why I feel more comfortable around Alex than I’ve ever felt around anyone, when we’ve barely spoken 10 words to each other. I guess it’s that connection that we have, the one that always takes my breath away, and that I’m okay with for some odd reason.
Like I said, with Alex and I, sometimes words simply aren’t needed.
---
It was a Thursday, the one week anniversary of my mother’s death. Walking through the halls, it was quite obvious that people still remembered. Through my dark green eyes, I could see people staring at me, seemingly unable to figure out what I was thinking; wondering if they should say something; mumbling incoherent words to their fellow peers.
It was all too much for me. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself not to show my feelings. I was not going to cry if it was the last thing I ever did. My eyes were only closed for a second, but in that second, I ran into something; something hard. I opened my eyes and saw a locker door. Not only that, but I could see people laughing and hear their laughs echoing in my ears.
The urge to cry became greater. I looked down at the ground, then back up. Be strong, I told myself. I carefully stepped around the locker and continued down the hallway.
---
Alex was sitting at the lunch table again. His shaggy brown hair was slightly hidden by the blue sweatshirt he had on. I set my tray down across from him, expecting today to be just like the last, and the one before, and the one before that: I would sit down, Alex and I would smile at each other, and we’d eat in silence.
But, to my shock, Alex lifted up his head, smiled at me, opened his mouth, and said, “Alex. I--I’m Alex.”
I was silent for a moment as the shock traveled through my body. Alex had just talked to me. He had said something. To me. John. This was something that, sad as it was, didn’t happen to most people.
I didn’t know what to say. What do you say when someone who has barely spoken 50 words since he was 12 starts talking to you? “John,” I said. “I’m John.”
When it went away because of Alex.
It still puzzles me as to why I feel more comfortable around Alex than I’ve ever felt around anyone, when we’ve barely spoken 10 words to each other. I guess it’s that connection that we have, the one that always takes my breath away, and that I’m okay with for some odd reason.
Like I said, with Alex and I, sometimes words simply aren’t needed.
---
It was a Thursday, the one week anniversary of my mother’s death. Walking through the halls, it was quite obvious that people still remembered. Through my dark green eyes, I could see people staring at me, seemingly unable to figure out what I was thinking; wondering if they should say something; mumbling incoherent words to their fellow peers.
It was all too much for me. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself not to show my feelings. I was not going to cry if it was the last thing I ever did. My eyes were only closed for a second, but in that second, I ran into something; something hard. I opened my eyes and saw a locker door. Not only that, but I could see people laughing and hear their laughs echoing in my ears.
The urge to cry became greater. I looked down at the ground, then back up. Be strong, I told myself. I carefully stepped around the locker and continued down the hallway.
---
Alex was sitting at the lunch table again. His shaggy brown hair was slightly hidden by the blue sweatshirt he had on. I set my tray down across from him, expecting today to be just like the last, and the one before, and the one before that: I would sit down, Alex and I would smile at each other, and we’d eat in silence.
But, to my shock, Alex lifted up his head, smiled at me, opened his mouth, and said, “Alex. I--I’m Alex.”
I was silent for a moment as the shock traveled through my body. Alex had just talked to me. He had said something. To me. John. This was something that, sad as it was, didn’t happen to most people.
I didn’t know what to say. What do you say when someone who has barely spoken 50 words since he was 12 starts talking to you? “John,” I said. “I’m John.”