In front of the courthouse we watched him. His finger raised in the air and
pointing to all of us, convincing us that we had to stick together. Not
sophistication, but toughness enamored us. Not articulation, but strength
captured us. We were with him and we were going to stick it out. He made us
believe we were all in this together, acting together, and we were.
He had such confidence exuding from all parts of his body. His large feet were firmly planted (except when they shifted, but that was confident too), his long legs could not have been stronger, his torso was lean yet sturdy, his arms were muscular, his hands had the gift of communication, his shoulders were round but looked square sometimes and always perfectly strong, and his face would have this look on it that said, "You can't hurt me!" He was untouchable, at least, to any of us.
To me, also, I believed. I wanted him to be, more than anything, because at that moment, while staring intently at his red bandana and greasy hair, I realized that I wanted Jack.
I think the first thing that attracted me to him was his confidence. I had always known, from the first day I met him, that I was attracted to him. I had never taken it seriously; thinking I had no chance, I forgot about him within a matter of days. He was on my right, watching Jack as I was, with his arm around my shoulders. He liked being my protector.
I rotated my head so I would be able to see him; I only got as far as his feet. He needed new shoes; the ones he was wearing were scuffed and too tight. I had asked him a few days before how he could walk in shoes that hurt him so much. He smiled and rubbed the shoes affectionately. "Because I love dese ole' things," he replied in his thick New York accent. I remember that very vividly.
I continued to study him now, noticing his loose black pants, brown-and-tan- checkered vest, soot-stained white shirt, and almost-black hat. Suddenly he looked at me and I looked down. Then I looked up at Jack.
I don't know what happened at that moment that made me so chilled, but I felt a shiver run up my spine and then Jack was staring at me. I was instantly exposed to him; my thoughts and wishes were as plain as day, and I always believed that at that moment, he knew.
Without faltering, he looked away at the endless sea of faces in the crowd. They were waiting for the climax of his speech, and it was getting nearer.
The boy with the ill-fitting shoes tightened his grip around my shoulders. I began to feel very uncomfortable and tried to subtly wriggle out of his hold. He looked at me strangely and said, "What's wrong?"
"It's hot," I replied. I squinted and looked upward. "The heat's killing me."
"Do you wanna go back to the lodging house? I'll walk ya."
"No, it's okay. He's almost done." And he was. Not ten seconds later the whole crowd of street boys was in a screaming state of frenzy and I was left to try and emulate their excitement.
There was nothing exciting about my situation. I was alone in a dark hole with only one person to save me.
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He had such confidence exuding from all parts of his body. His large feet were firmly planted (except when they shifted, but that was confident too), his long legs could not have been stronger, his torso was lean yet sturdy, his arms were muscular, his hands had the gift of communication, his shoulders were round but looked square sometimes and always perfectly strong, and his face would have this look on it that said, "You can't hurt me!" He was untouchable, at least, to any of us.
To me, also, I believed. I wanted him to be, more than anything, because at that moment, while staring intently at his red bandana and greasy hair, I realized that I wanted Jack.
I think the first thing that attracted me to him was his confidence. I had always known, from the first day I met him, that I was attracted to him. I had never taken it seriously; thinking I had no chance, I forgot about him within a matter of days. He was on my right, watching Jack as I was, with his arm around my shoulders. He liked being my protector.
I rotated my head so I would be able to see him; I only got as far as his feet. He needed new shoes; the ones he was wearing were scuffed and too tight. I had asked him a few days before how he could walk in shoes that hurt him so much. He smiled and rubbed the shoes affectionately. "Because I love dese ole' things," he replied in his thick New York accent. I remember that very vividly.
I continued to study him now, noticing his loose black pants, brown-and-tan- checkered vest, soot-stained white shirt, and almost-black hat. Suddenly he looked at me and I looked down. Then I looked up at Jack.
I don't know what happened at that moment that made me so chilled, but I felt a shiver run up my spine and then Jack was staring at me. I was instantly exposed to him; my thoughts and wishes were as plain as day, and I always believed that at that moment, he knew.
Without faltering, he looked away at the endless sea of faces in the crowd. They were waiting for the climax of his speech, and it was getting nearer.
The boy with the ill-fitting shoes tightened his grip around my shoulders. I began to feel very uncomfortable and tried to subtly wriggle out of his hold. He looked at me strangely and said, "What's wrong?"
"It's hot," I replied. I squinted and looked upward. "The heat's killing me."
"Do you wanna go back to the lodging house? I'll walk ya."
"No, it's okay. He's almost done." And he was. Not ten seconds later the whole crowd of street boys was in a screaming state of frenzy and I was left to try and emulate their excitement.
There was nothing exciting about my situation. I was alone in a dark hole with only one person to save me.
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