-= I =-
"Look at his cute little toy." The jeer is distant, uttered from the mouth of one of my usual tormentors, an unimportant and portly soul with little moral or intellectual achievement under his belt. I pretend that I don't hear it, as I always do, and finish carefully placing the RC platform into my locker. Here I am, barely home, two days off of the airplane, and already it is beginning again. I am already back in the clutches of a reality where people would rather see me fall flat on my face than continue to breath. It's exhausting in every way can imagine. I remind myself that, at very least, I had a great weekend. Our team was victorious. Our teachers and parents were proud. At least, that's what they said over the phone. They hadn't been able to make it to the actual competition. It's understandable. Really, it is. They had to work. But this only serves to remind me how hollow a victory in something like a high school robotics competition is. Nobody outside of the inner circle cares. It holds no weight here, in the "real world." It holds no significance to the general population, to my parents. Of course, they're proud simply because I won something. They admire their son, but they don't understand the accomplishment itself. They don't understand why I do it or why I enjoy it, least of all how hard it is for me to get a robot to shoot a basketball accurately into a hoop, when I am working within a group of people who can't even accomplish that with their own God-given hands.
It's almost enough to get me to drop it all right there, to quit the worthless hobby altogether, but not quite. I turn the opposite direction and march towards my classroom with my head held down and my hair partially obscuring the faces of the people I pass. I can't let go of his words. I can't push them out of my mind and call him an idiot, because in the end, I know he's right. I'm just playing with toys, and what good will that ever get me? And it's not just the robotics. Existential questions of all sorts are rattling about in my head. I could take apart every single thing that I do, peel back the layers and reveal the utter lack of purpose in each of them. I could do it as easily as I can disassemble the machines in the lab, and later, I probably will. But right now, I just want to get to my chemistry class and lose myself in my daydreams, so I can pretend to be somewhere else, so I force myself to soldier on. I try not to think about what was said or the worth of my actions. I try not to focus on anything at all. It's working, at least a little. I'm so caught up in this act of meditation, of focus, that I almost don't hear the other voice addressing me. The gentle touch to my shoulder causes me to flinch and helps me snap out of the cycle.
I know the girl, if barely. I know of her, at very least. I'm almost certain that her name is Jessica. She's in several of my classes, including chemistry. Very attractive in a cute and innocent sort of way, but she has never really been on my radar before. I cannot honestly remember if I've ever even talked to the girl before. If I have, it obviously didn't leave a lasting impression. Though, to be fair, I've always had a different sort of quarry on my mind.
"Don't let those jerkwads get to you," She says to me with a broad smile. "Heard you all did well in your competition. Congratulations and welcome back!" She goes through the words with a bit of intentionally apparent procedure. She, like many others, is happy to see people succeeding, but really doesn't understand or care about the nature of the competition. The words are just a formality exchanged between human beings. There's nothing wrong with the pleasantries, but I usually can't help but find them a bit wanting. I say my thanks and cast a glance towards my classroom. I don't really want to stay. I feel awkward to say the least, but I'm entirely certain that she stopped me for more than simple small talk- a relief, since small talk is not something that I excel at. So, I politely wait for her, and as she reaches inside of her jacket pocket and produces a small pamphlet, I find that my suspicions are confirmed.
"We're getting together a new youth group type thing. It's for after school. A local minister is agreeing to put it on." She hands me the pamphlet and I eye it suspiciously for a moment. My apprehension on the matter has nothing to do with religion. I am myself more than just a little religious, even if I don't necessarily agree with all the pomp and excess that defines churches in this modern day and age. No, my hesitation is based entirely on the sudden upheaval in my stomach. The wicked butterflies that betray my near phobia of social situations with unfamiliar people dance their mad dance in my gut, laughing at me all the way. I can hear the little whelps decrying my insecurities, but I reach out and take the pamphlet anyways, brushing my stringy blond hair from my face and flipping through the pages. It seems like the usual, straightforward type of thing. There is a piece of clip art praying hands on the cover, with a time and an address on the inside. Nothing too fancy.
"It's going to be really fun. This minister is really cool, not all stuck up and 'holier-than-thou' like most of the ones that try to put on after-school things. A lot of people are coming," She hesitates for only a split second as she speaks. "Eva's coming."
I flinch involuntarily, and the butterflies scream in delight. Suddenly, the situation that I have found myself in is infinitely more awkward than it had been before. Is it really that obvious that I like her? This is exactly the kind of embarrassing social situation that I generally try to avoid. This is why I do not talk to people I don't know. With a deep breath, I try to calm myself and rationalize it. Jessica is friends with Evaline, and Evaline and I do talk from time to time. Not very much, not nearly as much as I'd like, but more than I have ever talked with Jessica. Maybe she is just trying to encourage me by listing off someone she thinks that I would find familiar. It is, I assure myself, an entirely plausible, though unlikely, explanation. "Thank you. I'll think about it," I say with a forged smile and a polite nod as I turn past her and head towards my class. She shouts a "Thanks!" down the hallway in my general direction as I tactically retreat. I simply wave over my shoulder at her.
The bell rings just as I sit down into my desk. I hate being one of the last ones to come in. It draws far too many eyes. The teacher gets up from his chair and shuffles his aged bones over to the door to shut it before returning to his seat. His pace is awkward and his grey hair is messy and his glasses are crooked. He very much has the look of a mad scientist, yet he is one of my favorite teachers. Perhaps not the best in the world at conveying information, but very good at relating to what it's like being a student. He teaches us what we need to know, and not a bit more. He makes jokes that are so out of touch with the times that you can't help but chuckle, even if it's not for the reasons he perceives. Most importantly though, I find the class incredibly easy. The biggest trouble I have during the tests is discreetly sharing information with other people in the class, and this means that I am free to daydream and sketch and contemplate life's little mysteries to my heart's content, without fear of falling behind, or invoking the wrath of one of those teaching types who finds themselves indignant at the sight of anything other than rapt attention from every mind in the room.
As the butterflies begin to go dormant once again, tucking themselves away deep within my insides, ready to swell into being again at the slightest sign of weakness, I review the happenings of the past week. I think on the competition and the cheers and the awards ceremony. I think on the night that we all went out and celebrated and ate and laughed and acted like fools in the way that only a group people with no social standing can. I think on the return flight and how relaxing it was, how beautiful the clouds were, and how I couldn't wait to get home and get back started on the next project. But my thoughts drift rapidly back towards things here, in this little town and its quaint school. My thoughts draw to Evaline, who is sitting a seat in front of and to the left of me, and how soft her brown hair looks, how adorably attentive she is to our teacher's monotone ramblings. I tried to wrestle my thoughts, wrangle them back to a better place. Some other place. It doesn't work.
And this train of thought inevitably draws me back to the track I had received only moments earlier. If Eva was going, it would be a good excuse to spend time with her. I could gravitate to her without it being weird, because with most of my friends claiming staunch atheism or, at very least, agnosticism, I doubt that any of them would be there. She would be the only person that I know in a sea of unfamiliar faces. It could give us something to talk about, at long last.
I drop my pen that I have been pretending to hold poised, ready for note-taking, and take the pamphlet from my pocket. It looks normal enough. There's an address that indicates it's in the old side of town, where brick streets and antiquated architecture provide artistic relief from concrete and asphalt. I ponder if I'll actually go, or if I'll entertain the idea and then abandon it at the last minute, decide that I'd rather stay home and brood than try to do something productive with my life. I remind myself that I've got to get out of the habit of doing that, and start being more social, and that this is an excellent opportunity to do just that. It's also a great opportunity to be more social with Evaline, and I am both enthralled and terrified by that singular idea. A few of the hell-butterflies poke their heads out of their black dwellings, sensing an opportunity, but I silence them quickly.