American Boys
It was Saturday night. I had shared two bottles of wine with 3 friends. I was on the train headed home. When you expect a quiet train on a Saturday night, that's called unreasonable expectations.
First I noticed the obnoxious trio. The obnoxious trio consisted of three boys. They looked like freshman college students. But as I listened in on conversation they struck me as more immature than that. One was getting the other's goat about whether he watches porn. And he was being loud. And from the expressions on the faces around me, I wasn't the only person rolling my eyes unamused. The one doing all the teasing was wearing a tie with a button down, jeans, and sneakers. He was eccentric, in a frat boy kind of way but also a gay boy type of way. And then it hit me. All three of these boys were dressed like frat boys. But all three of them behaved very eccentrically. In the way they spoke, in their facial expressions. All the while speaking of this girl or that girl, who they took to prom and who they fucked. It wasn't all that hard to figure out from the outside.
Then I looked up and saw the awkward ardvarks. The awkward ardvarks were also high school boys. One of them looked like Seth Rogan, but a huge afro. The other three wore letter jackets or leather jackets. If they weren't on a train in Chicago I might have thought they were farmer kids. One in particular kept staring at the obnoxious trio. He seemed uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. His friend kept bringing him back to their conversation by talking about football. They all sort of stared awkwardly around each other while Seth Rogan tried to tell big funny stories to break the hetero tension.
And then the stone colds walked in. Their upper torsos were stiff and they carried bottles of whiskey and coke mixed together in bottles. One of them chewed tobaccco. And they all looked 25 years old. They smirked at things and had with them a cute girl with a perfect winter hat on all bundled up between the four of them. They made jokes about each other and tried to see who could make who look the stupidest in front of each other. At one point the bigger one spit brown tobacco residue into a bottle. It was tasty looking. Two of them almost fell on me. They took out their camera phones to take pictures of the I-Pod advertisement on the train because they were obsessed with the silouhette's boob. It was an advanced moment in history.
Behind me was Mr. Smarty. He and his younger friend were discussing college. Mr. Smarty was drilling the 15 year old boy about whether he had goals in life. Mr. Smarty and his friend were black and Mr. Smarty told the young boy that nowadays you have to have goals and there is a reason your mother wants you to get an education. It was the conversation that I most eavesdropped on and kept my interest while the stone colds continued to invade my personal space. The young boy said he felt too young to know. He needs time. Mr. Smarty was really forcing it down his throat.
Of all the groups, I had a hard time figuring out who I'd rather be stuck with on a deserted island.
I'm reading this book of short fictional stories No One Belongs Here More than You. by Miranda July. One of her stories refers to the New Man. "New Men are more in touch with their feelings than even women, and New Men cry. New Men want to have children, they long to give birth, so sometimes when they cry, it is because they can't do this; there is just nowhere for a baby to come out."
I don't know if the stone colds or the awkward ardvarks or the obnoxious trio or Mr. Smarty fit into that idea.
If I had to choose one to live with on a deserted island though. I've made a decision. Probably Mr. Smarty. He seems like he wouldn't let anyone die.
First I noticed the obnoxious trio. The obnoxious trio consisted of three boys. They looked like freshman college students. But as I listened in on conversation they struck me as more immature than that. One was getting the other's goat about whether he watches porn. And he was being loud. And from the expressions on the faces around me, I wasn't the only person rolling my eyes unamused. The one doing all the teasing was wearing a tie with a button down, jeans, and sneakers. He was eccentric, in a frat boy kind of way but also a gay boy type of way. And then it hit me. All three of these boys were dressed like frat boys. But all three of them behaved very eccentrically. In the way they spoke, in their facial expressions. All the while speaking of this girl or that girl, who they took to prom and who they fucked. It wasn't all that hard to figure out from the outside.
Then I looked up and saw the awkward ardvarks. The awkward ardvarks were also high school boys. One of them looked like Seth Rogan, but a huge afro. The other three wore letter jackets or leather jackets. If they weren't on a train in Chicago I might have thought they were farmer kids. One in particular kept staring at the obnoxious trio. He seemed uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. His friend kept bringing him back to their conversation by talking about football. They all sort of stared awkwardly around each other while Seth Rogan tried to tell big funny stories to break the hetero tension.
And then the stone colds walked in. Their upper torsos were stiff and they carried bottles of whiskey and coke mixed together in bottles. One of them chewed tobaccco. And they all looked 25 years old. They smirked at things and had with them a cute girl with a perfect winter hat on all bundled up between the four of them. They made jokes about each other and tried to see who could make who look the stupidest in front of each other. At one point the bigger one spit brown tobacco residue into a bottle. It was tasty looking. Two of them almost fell on me. They took out their camera phones to take pictures of the I-Pod advertisement on the train because they were obsessed with the silouhette's boob. It was an advanced moment in history.
Behind me was Mr. Smarty. He and his younger friend were discussing college. Mr. Smarty was drilling the 15 year old boy about whether he had goals in life. Mr. Smarty and his friend were black and Mr. Smarty told the young boy that nowadays you have to have goals and there is a reason your mother wants you to get an education. It was the conversation that I most eavesdropped on and kept my interest while the stone colds continued to invade my personal space. The young boy said he felt too young to know. He needs time. Mr. Smarty was really forcing it down his throat.
Of all the groups, I had a hard time figuring out who I'd rather be stuck with on a deserted island.
I'm reading this book of short fictional stories No One Belongs Here More than You. by Miranda July. One of her stories refers to the New Man. "New Men are more in touch with their feelings than even women, and New Men cry. New Men want to have children, they long to give birth, so sometimes when they cry, it is because they can't do this; there is just nowhere for a baby to come out."
I don't know if the stone colds or the awkward ardvarks or the obnoxious trio or Mr. Smarty fit into that idea.
If I had to choose one to live with on a deserted island though. I've made a decision. Probably Mr. Smarty. He seems like he wouldn't let anyone die.
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