Daniel

As I roamed the great halls of community college today, an elderly Korean man got out of my way so I could get a drink of water. He smiled nicely and presented the fountain to me. I was just bored.  It was only a three-second take. I didn't want to kill the whales.  Even as I rose to walk away, I could tell he was following me. I stopped at the corner to let him walk past me if I happened to be wrong, but it turned out I wasn't. He stopped right in front of me as if to happily point out an embarrassing booger I had planted on my collar.

Daniel: You study here?
Me: Huh?... Oh, yeah.
Daniel: You like it here?
Me: Yeah, I do.
Daniel: What you like to study?
Me: Graphic design. Art. Web design.
Daniel: Oh, wow. So, what would you like to do?
Me:....What?
Daniel: What do you want to do (leaning in so I could understand).
Me:...Oh, well,  Web design mostly. You know, websites. Internet.

He nodded. 

And for the next twenty minutes, right there in the middle of the hallway at community college, Daniel preached to me about his conversion from Buddhism to Christianity; the Bible and all its teachings.  Through out the session I looked around, to either see who set me up for this, or someone I might know to get me out. But, there was no one. I had too few friends. So, I stayed still and listened, but let my eyes wander like they do at toy stores. Or Wal-Mart.  He left me with a couple sheets of Genesis Bible Reading Material. He also asked if he ever sees me again, if he could bother me. I told him he could, only because I was ready to be done. And now I am afraid he is waiting around every corner, ready to attack me guerrilla style, followed by a session of power-preach.

the pits

Apparently, I already asked Vanessa, who sits next to me in my Art History class, how long she could hold her breath, last week, because she told me I had. I felt like a first-rate dufus for forgetting.

Moka and Me

Last semester, in my film studies class, there was a girl in my class who didn't always know what was going on.  I'll call her Moka. She seemed nice and I actually felt kind of bad that she was weird and didn't know my language well. I didn't pity her, I just felt she deserved more attention because not being at the same level of understanding must be real tough. One day, I even saved a seat for her, just because it seemed like the right thing to do.  She had missed a few classes, and being the nice guy I am, I offered to give her my notes for the upcoming test we were going to have. I even copied them, so the transfer would be smooth and easy. We were going to meet up one day outside my art class, after it ended.
So, a few days later, I was in my computer art class working hard on a project. My back was to the door, so I could not see when someone comes in. I was not even paying attention to people talking because I was really "in the zone" and completely unaware of anything around me. Apparently, someone kept showing up in the doorway, causing the whole class to look, because of the shadow this person cast in our dark room. This person was relentless and my teacher, Jennifer, apparently was yelling at her that we were in class. Who was this mystery person that keeps popping their head in? It was almost as if they didn't understand. I happen to be turned away from my computer, talking to someone, when the disruptor was there. I caught a look. It was Moka. And this time, my teacher demanded what she wanted. "The guy," she said and then quickly disappeared again. I couldn't believe it and I also got Hot-Cheeks.  Jennifer, still pissed from being disrupted, angrily looked to the class after Moka booked it. "Who knows this person?" she demanded again. The class was looking at her. It was odd when Jennifer lost her patients with any of us, and so it scared us. Everyone was listening and and looking, but me. I was hiding, playing the fool card. When I did peek around my shoulder, she quickly saw me. "Matthew! Do you know her?!" she asked, pointing her finger to the empty doorway.  Holding my shaking hands up as if to plead for my life, I shook my head in most directions, so as to avoid a complete 'yes' or 'no' answer. It was true that I was the one she came for, for help because I pitied her. But there was no way I would admit it. Once everything had calmed down, I went out to visit the water fountain with hopes of running into Moka so I could ask what the hell she was doing and why she wanted to embarrass me so badly.  She must have hidden or something, out of fear, because I didn't see her. I still had Hot-Cheeks when I got back to my computer and couldn't make them go away. Shay, who sat next to me, some how knew that Moka had come for me, by the way I too-easily played off not knowing who she was. Also, my Hot-Cheeks probably gave her the hint.
I found her after class and tried to give her the notes without anyone from my class seeing, but was unsuccessful.   

Dream 3

There were tennis courts and people wearing white shirts and white shorts were were playing. Some poor kids, myself included, were hiding under a tent-like thing hanging over a closed, dark tennis court. We watched the people play closely, in the hopes of a thick, cookie disks they were hitting instead of balls, would fall close to the dark net that separated us. We were on edge and very hungry. When one did come by, we'd all run out like a wild pack of hungry hyenas and grab the cookie disk. It would crumble of course, but the chances were good that some of us would get a few chunks of it to eat. 
This went on for hours.
Later, we were doing the same thing.
After a while into our wait, a cookie disk finally came. This time, it did not shatter. I could barely contain myself because I was so hungry.  As I ran out to grab it, I realized it was not a cookie, but a large high-top shoe made of cookie.
That must be hard to hit around, I thought. As I grabbed it and got back to our saggy tent quickly, it felt warm and somehow I just knew someone had been wearing it. I could smell the sweat from the foot that was once worn by the cookie shoe, formally the cookie disk... I hesitated about the whole situation. -That I would soon be eating "foot" .  But hey, its food. When times are tough, you do what you can to survive.
And I tried not to think about it.

Sunny Afternoon Dealing

I was sitting in the sun today, downtown, just relaxing and listing to music before class started. Then, a guy walked right in front of me and gave the the, "aight'" thing where he dips his head ever so slightly. He walked passed me but stopped ten feet away and turned around. As he came in front of me again, he asked how I was doing...

Guy: How you doing today?
Matthew: Good. I like today. Its so nice out.
Guy: Yeah, its nice. Whats your name?
Matthew: Russ. Whats yours?
Guy: I'm Will. How you doing, Russ?

We did that "Bros" hand shake that good "pals" do, where you grab thumbs, change your grip as you bring it in close, and you never who is doing what, who is leading the cycle and where its going...I kind of went limp for Will, because I wasn't sure how this was going to go down.

Matthew: hhuh?
Guy: you doing good, man?
Matthew: Yeah.
Guy: You live in the area?
Matthew: Huh?
Guy: you live the area? Chicago area?
Matthew: No, not really. -Just for school.
Guy: Well I could give you a number to call if you ever want some weed, and I could get it to you.
Matthew: What?
Guy: If you wanted to buy some weed....
Matthew: Im sorry, what?
Guy: ...Weed. It'd be easy. You could just call.... You smoke this stuff?
Matthew: ...Huh? No. I don't smoke this stuff...

Then it got weird and a bit quiet. Will did not know what to say, because who knows if I'd be able to hear him. We enjoyed the sun.
The awkward silence between the drug dealer and the full-grown school boy who couldn't hear, was probably a lot more than Will had planned on. Seeing this, he panicked badly by doing nothing but hold his ground, look suave in the sunlight and be cool under pressure.

Matthew: Well... I think go to school now... Have a good one, Will.
Guy: Hey, you too, Russ. Have a good day.

The Ass-Biting Passed

A few weeks ago I made a new friend at school. I helped her with some art stuff in the computer lab. She is really nice and laughs a lot. I work a lot in the lab quite a bit and run into her often, now. I answer a lot questions about computer stuff she doesn't understand.  Tonight, I helped find pictures of doors and buses. Later, we stood outside the school not knowing what to do. She needed to eat and wanted it to be cheap. Her cheap though, was too cheap for me, apparently. We rode the train two stops to where I get on the bus. Once we got out of the subway and once again stood there, she hinted to me to come in and eat with her....But it was McDonalds.
"I am not going in that place with you," I said, pointing. Maybe I was a bit too forward, but she just did not know how much of a passed I have with this establishment.
"I don't feel comfortable. Too many people..." I think I went on about something, but its not entirely clear to me at this time. I was nervous.
"Maybe in another six months. I have a hard time breathing in there."
I saw my bus pulling up, so we said our good-byes. She wished me good luck on my journey.
...It wasn't until I got home and made a sandwich, that I realized I gave up the possibility at a nice evening, with a nice new friend, in a big city, where its hard for a guy like me to find a nice friend, all because I refused to step into a McDonalds for a cheap meal.

Stache' Sporting

I knew I was going to shave or at least trim my beard for some pictures for my photography class. However, I failed to be prepared for the feelings I got when I cut it it down to a mustache.
"Who is that man in the mirror, now?"
I could not stop laughing as I buzzed off all but the stache'.  I looked like a completely different person, like a real man.  When I had the beard, my face looked more narrow. Now, it looks littler and rounder. Untrustworthy. I walked out of the bathroom and they both laughed. Possibly out of fear, because maybe I had a gun in my pants or some candy I might use to lure into a garage or van. Paul liked it, and Brigid did not.
"For photographs, its fine, but get rid of it before you go out in the world, okay?" she gently pleaded. Something happened to me as we took those pictures. Some kind of power, like I knew everything in the world, including the cougar-attack facts and how to beat people up with (without even touching them). It scared me.
As I brushed my teeth tonight before bed, I worked on my faces in the mirror. Normally, they are just silly ones that make me laugh and other people ask if I am lost. These faces though, were new and I did not know them well.
They were dirty.
Mysterious. Like a sketchy salesman selling designer jeans out the back of his pick-up truck, behind the high school. Chicks, man.
I didn't trust him.....and yet, something about him, this person who was me, but not, at the same time, opened me up to the possibility of a new world. A new life of fortune and glory. A life full of corner-standing, chick-grabbing, Stache' sporting, adventure. -Something I have never had.
Maybe, when I go out into the world tomorrow,  people will fear me, or at least, not ask for spare change. Maybe I will hold my head up high and say,
"I dare you not to look."
Or, "Yeah, my pants are tight, my shades are dark and I have a man-bulge, what of it, jack?"
-All with the eyes, the stach' and the uncontrollable need for babes.

Thursday BMT

I walked into Subway and right away, they began making my sandwich, even before I could say anything. Its not surprising, because I always get the special.
She put the meat on the bread and I sprawled myself over the glass wall that divided us.
"Umm... I think I will try the BMT."
Of course, she didn't understand because she rarely ever does. Most of our communication lies between the roasted chicken and chipotle mayo. That, and their laughing and talking towards me in their native, Indian tongue, when I walk in.
She just twitched the corner of her lip. She always does that when she doesn't understand. That lip twitches a lot. To her,  I must do something right, because she always packs my sandwiches so full, I can barely wrap my lips around the damn thing.

All in all, the meal was a success, but I felt like popping after words, because I was so full.


Later...


As I waited for my Biology class to begin, my science teacher pulled out a bottle of water, juice, what have you. And we all know there are rules in science classrooms: No Food or Drinks.
"Hey... Hey! You can't drink that in here. That's not allowed," I told her and I gave it to her in black and white. We students, all (mostly) follow the rules.  I thought it was so silly how she began to make excuses to me, her student, about other people having drinks in class too, as she pointed them out.
"But... other people have drinks too."

According to Pino.

Monday. Art History.  I know it is a class that is all about participation and getting the thoughts of everyone who wants to give their opinion, but sometimes people need to just stop talking. Every class has those people.  -The same person that always has something to say. I have that in my art history class. He sits right next to me. I'll call him Pino. The worse part is not that he always has something to say, but what he says sometimes, is just ridiculous. Today we we were talking about how people have been socially taught how to know what art is and isn't. Pino raised his hand and said, "Yeah its just like that girl who really liked to dance. You know her? She was, like, in class and she couldn't stop dancing. You see, some people thought she was autistic, but her parents didn't know what to do...
My teacher, Ivan, just leaned against the white bored, trying desperately to follow and understand. "Yeah..." he said, trailing off, covering his mouth, not quite sure what to say. "Anyways," Ivan continued, "from a very young age we are taught that a tree is green and the trunk is brown. Why? Why can we not change that?" 
The whole class was quiet. Then, a hand went up. It was Pino's. "Yeah," he went on. "They found out that that girl loved to dance so much, that they put her in a dance class and she did really well, actually. She has been on broadway and she is, like, really famous now, sometimes." It took the class a moment to realize this guy was serious, and then across the room, someone began to chuckle, then someone else on the other side. It spread like wild fire, but under control. I had to turn my head 180 degrees away from him.
Pino didn't get it. In fact, according to him, we could all learn a few things that only he could share.   Famous dancers, doctors that send little girls to Broadway dance camps and urban button factories, are just a few thoughts the world needs to know, According to Pino.

I will never wear sweatpants in public. -Mostly and only because I care about people thinking I don't care. There will always be people who wear these clothes in public and, I'm sorry, we cannot escape them. Paul and I were thinking this the other day as we came across a sweat-suit coat. Like sweat pants and a sweat shirt, but in the form of a suit coat. "Now, those of you who have given up on society can look nice and STILL be comfortable!!" ...Maybe that was their slogan.
After that, I went to class. As soon as I sat down,  Pino walked in an sat his stuff down and hung his coat on his chair. He went out for a few minutes and I realized the coat he was wearing was the sweat-suit coat. -The very one Paul and I were looking at a few minutes before.  I checked the door to make sure he wasn't there making sure no one would touch it.  I grazed it with my hand. It was nice. Soft between my fingers. Part of me was repulsed by it.
...Another piece of me heard the coat calling to me. A feeling that stabbed morality in the heart.
I quickly pushed it away so it couldn't do me anymore harm.

Ferrari Walking

The weekends in Chicago are busy times for people who own expensive cars to drive them around, showing everyone they own and drive an expensive car. There are Ferraris, Lamborghinis, plenty of  Bentleys, BMWs, Fords, Toyotas, and Hondas. Most days these fancy people sit their fancy cars in the garage, waiting desperately for the weekend to come so they can drive around in meaningless circles. Paul and I were in the area, pretty much doing the same thing. You see, we were getting him an application to work at a fancy clothing store for fancy people to shop. Unfortunatly, they were closed. And we had gotten all dressed up to show off that, we too, could be fancy people, could enter a classy, expensive store and act fancy. Too bad. We walked down one street for a while, although we didn't do any loops so other people could take a gander.
Sure, we looked the part from far away but, come close and you could hear us bickering and pounding out ideas on our new business: Guided Tours of downtown Chicago. Provided by, "Best Kingsmen Top Tours."
"Hi, I'm Hooper Shaque and this is my buddy, Piper Colten. We'd like to thank you all for actually signing up to come on this tour. We are just so excited to show the real Chicago; the trades and secrets that make this place the greatest place on earth!... First, we need some coffee.  So, lets go sit down, fritter a few hours and just chit-chat like real Chicagoans! Okay everybody, now climb in this here wagon and we'll be on our way!"

Assortment and a 5th Grade Dream

A bowl of Beef flavored Ramen soup, a piece of pizza I forgot that I didn't finished from about a week ago, six chicken nuggets (with barbecue sauce), an Oatmeal Cream Pie with three-times as much cream in it, and a cellophane wrapped cinnamon roll, I found in the back of the cupboard.This was my dinner tonight. Never have I had such a sad, stupid, stubborn little meal. An overall tone of colors and hues one finds in desert drab, sickened me and called to me at the same time. "Eat me. Eat me, you thumb-bumping, never-good-at-any-sports-ever boy." Maybe it was 5th grade Matthew pushing to be known again. "You'll always get picked last and ignored in gym. You will always lose in four-square. Do not ever play basketball again, seriously. Love is not made of sand and plenty of gravel, Matthew. You cannot spray racism away, Matthew. And Matthew, dumping cola all over the teacher's grade book really was your fault...But, I accept you in my deliciousness of all that in unholy." 

chicken legs

Tonight, we made barbecue chicken legs. It only took us a year to finally put the baby grill together and use it. We waited too long, because it was so good. Too good, probably.
And thanks to Honduras- less food and hungrier people, I am able to eat at a higher velocity. Something like 2:1.
We don't talk much during eat-time. Unless it has to do with how good the meat is, other meat we should get, foods that would compliment the meat, waffle fries, cookouts in parking lots of games, joining the Chicago Community Football League, chicks, big speakers, brass knuckles, recent fights we were in, Fila shoes or Bugaboo Jeans. Anything else and its drowned in the chomping of meat because we are just a couple of guys trying to have a good time.

match, set.

The nice thing about having the sink so close to the toilet, in the bathroom, is that you can wash your hands while taking care of business, because you just got home after riding public transit and you don't want to wait until you get out to have those 2 oatmeal cream pies.