my meridien boy
Chloe said that I’m an observer, not a questioner. I like that. My mediocre skills in school are made up for by my ability to ponder. Figuring people out by simply watching them. It’s a beautiful thing. Like that very young, barely a man sitting over there.
He’s a questioner. You can tell by the way that he listens to the conversations around us, with the answers almost falling out of his mouth. You can also tell he’s only been praised for his extroverted tendencies—most boys are. He thinks he’s an observer. It’s cute. I want him to question me. He’ll think he’s figuring something out about me, but I’ve already fit some of his puzzle pieces together. I like answering questions, though. Maybe it helps that he’s cute too. He goes to one of the schools around Meridien. I hope he gets to ask a lot of questions at his Meridien school. I hope he’s a good person; I hope that people are good to him. My good Meridien boy.
He’s sniffling and coughing on the ride. Every so often, he will pull a dwindling roll of toilet paper out of his backpack. You pulled the paper off; it was so thin that you removed more so you wouldn’t dirty your hands. I looked away. Seeing you blow your nose is too intimate. My sick Meridien boy.
The book you’re reading for one of your classes is one I read in freshman year. I rolled my eyes when I had to read it, but I want you to enjoy it. Read it thoroughly with your pen underlining the parts you find profound. You adjust your glasses. They’re brown and speckled with an abstract pattern. You would definitively call them “specs” while laughing to yourself. My blurry-eyed Meridien boy.
The show you’re watching on your phone is making you giggle. Your face kind of scrunches when you laugh, did you know that? Mainly your nose. Your nose is beautiful. Gorgeously arched right in the middle. Arched up to the sky in a slow incline and falling slowly to the floor. Should I write poetry about it? You would probably like that my poetic-faced Meridien boy.
You know that director of that new movie—or really, it’s an unreleased one. But you’ve seen the trailer more times than you can count. You know all the titles of the movies released by this director, too. You like him, you like his films. It was enough for you to scoot to the end of your seat and join in on a conversation that was not yours. I can’t tell if I find it admirable that you can join in wherever you want. Passion is how you speak of this film. I think that’s wonderful. My maybe film major Meridien boy.
When will this end? My observations aren’t enough. I need to know you and how you see the world. Your secrets don’t mean much to me, but I would listen to you if you shared them. I might even tell you one of my own if it meant you would keep talking to me. Your curiosity shows plainly in your eavesdropping. You think you’re good at it. You think no one can hear your thoughts—you can’t do it like I can, though. I caught you.
My questioner Meridien boy.
