I’m tired of hearing the same Neil Young and Van Morrison songs at this Starbucks. “Silver and Gold” and “Moondance” respectively. I’m sick of Starbucks, really. But it’s the only place nearby that’s open late. Good for homework and hanging out with my good friend Rahwa, one of the only (good) people I still talk to from my high school years.
There’s an older man who comes here every night (probably - he’s here whenever Rahwa and I are here), doesn’t buy a drink, and uses the wifi, checks out the girls. He’s always smartly dressed - black pants, charcoal grey shirt, black blazer. Sad eyes. Incredibly sad. Maybe he has nowhere else to be at this time of night that would do him any good.
On the train to campus this morning I saw one of my middle school bullies. He hasn’t grown much, and he’s still trying to grow that mustache. I tried to catch up with him when we all piled out of the doors, but he walked in a completely different direction than where I was headed. I fumed during the train ride; I hadn’t thought about him in years, probably. I wanted to tell him that all the times he spat on me and called me ugly proved to be in vain. I wanted him to look me up and down and see what I was talking about; I wanted him to be ashamed. Maybe he is. I doubt it.
I’m wondering if I have an affinity with people named Robert, just generally. I’ve had briefly intense crushes on a Robert and a Bobby; I’ve become good friends with a Robby, and I don’t see enough of him; I was good friends with another Rob before he moved away; I adore Bob Dylan (just like many people do, but I thought it was worth mentioning); I’ve been hit on by a Robert and a Robbie in the past week. I’m sure there are more Roberts, but I can’t think of them now.
Mumford and Sons is the most terrible band I’ve heard
in a great while ever.
Sometimes I think I don’t need any more friends. Sometimes I think I have too many. Other times, I think I need more good ones. Then I feel exhausted from giving myself away to people.
I have the most gracious friends a person can ask for, though. Ones who have listened to me, especially over the last few months, as I try to avoid fighting these battles I have going on in my mind. They tell me to confront them; I hide, I talk about hiding, they listen. I have to stop.
I can’t handle it when I hear from people older (and not so much older) than me, “Your generation sucks,” or “You’re too young to know anything.” It’s discouraging on a level that I’ve been trying to find the words for lately but can’t. When I do, though, I won’t hesitate to say them.