Boys Named Chad
© Rachel C
What is it about boys named Chad? Or, boys in general—studying human anatomy with their triple grande white mochas in the middle of a crowded Starbucks? What is it about young beards and short hair, wandering eyes behind metal rimmed glasses? My first though is med. student. But, after several glances his way, while I read about Islam and listen to popular girls drink their frappuccinos, I think he might be an artist, studying the shape of the silhouette. But, it could go either way. And I suppose I couldn’t care, as long as he glances my way every once in a while to watch my face as I write, draw inspiration. In that case I sit up straighter, hide my imperfections as because I can. I touch my chin, my lips thoughtfully, maybe he’s intrigued. Maybe his blue eyes will meet mine for a moment. Maybe we’ll share a moment, as he thinks and I break for a sit of coffee. But, he’ll go back to work, and I will try to keep my eyes on the page. We’ll look up—he at the girl saying goodbye, me to see who responds. And that will be the most, that will be as much as I share with boys named Chad. He will check his watch, grab his back, and even if he thinks I’m pretty, he’ll walk out of my life, the door bouncing on its hinges behind him.
June 17, 2007
It's About Words that Throw Me
What is it about boys named Chad? Or, boys in general—studying human anatomy with their triple grande white mochas in the middle of a crowded Starbucks? What is it about young beards and short hair, wandering eyes behind metal rimmed glasses? My first though is med. student. But, after several glances his way, while I read about Islam and listen to popular girls drink their frappuccinos, I think he might be an artist, studying the shape of the silhouette. But, it could go either way. And I suppose I couldn’t care, as long as he glances my way every once in a while to watch my face as I write, draw inspiration. In that case I sit up straighter, hide my imperfections as because I can. I touch my chin, my lips thoughtfully, maybe he’s intrigued. Maybe his blue eyes will meet mine for a moment. Maybe we’ll share a moment, as he thinks and I break for a sit of coffee. But, he’ll go back to work, and I will try to keep my eyes on the page. We’ll look up—he at the girl saying goodbye, me to see who responds. And that will be the most, that will be as much as I share with boys named Chad. He will check his watch, grab his back, and even if he thinks I’m pretty, he’ll walk out of my life, the door bouncing on its hinges behind him.
June 17, 2007
It's About Words that Throw Me
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