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quadro2000 · 09-08-2003, 01:05 PM

I posted this in my journal today and then realized it was a short (albeit very short) story. I don't write too often and this is my first time checking out this forum so go easy.

Past Glimpses

I was just in the elevator going back to my office, and there was this teenager in the elevator. He looked to be about 15 years old. He was wearing one of our striped "volunteer" jackets and was wearing neatly pressed khakis.

His face - forehead and cheeks - were covered in bad acne. Red pimples, new ones, and the ones with little white heads that look like they're dying to be popped. It stretched around to the back of his neck. His hair was frumpy and it looked like he had kind of succumbed to whatever shape it was going to take when he got out of the shower in the morning.

He stood there in the elevator a little fidgety. He wasn't sure where to put his hands. He tried putting them in his pockets, clasping them together, swinging them a little, nothing must have felt right. His eyes never stayed in the same place - he looked up and down and all around, like he was following the path of a hyperactive firefly.

Another kid in the elevator had been whispering to his older brother about the teenager - and said to him, "hey, do you go to my school?" ("my school" was the name of the school) The teenager responded with a quick, curt, "yes" and went back to looking down, up and around, darting his eyes to different points of the elevator.

The other kids got out of the elevator and soon it was just me and the boy, traveling together from floor 5 to floor 7. I tried to pretend I was staring at the numbers on the elevator but in reality I was staring at him. Studying his pimples, his eyes, his hair.

Jesus Christ, I thought. This kid is me, eleven years ago.

I wanted to reach out to him. I wanted to put my hand on his shoulder and say hey, my friend, don't take it so hard. I know this must feel like the most awkward, terrible time of your life, but please trust me - I promise you, this will pass. This all will pass. This acne will disappear - hey, I can recommend something if you like - and your hair will find its way, and you'll soon grow comfortable (for the most part) just looking directly into someone's eyes. Your confidence will grow and you will, in turn, grow up to be a fantastic young man.

Instead, I just watched him exit the elevator, quickly turning the corner as he walked out into the corridor.

09-08-2003, 01:05 PM	#1 (permalink)
quadro2000 All Possibility, Made Of Custard Location: New York, NY	Past Glimpses I posted this in my journal today and then realized it was a short (albeit very short) story. I don't write too often and this is my first time checking out this forum so go easy. Past Glimpses I was just in the elevator going back to my office, and there was this teenager in the elevator. He looked to be about 15 years old. He was wearing one of our striped "volunteer" jackets and was wearing neatly pressed khakis. His face - forehead and cheeks - were covered in bad acne. Red pimples, new ones, and the ones with little white heads that look like they're dying to be popped. It stretched around to the back of his neck. His hair was frumpy and it looked like he had kind of succumbed to whatever shape it was going to take when he got out of the shower in the morning. He stood there in the elevator a little fidgety. He wasn't sure where to put his hands. He tried putting them in his pockets, clasping them together, swinging them a little, nothing must have felt right. His eyes never stayed in the same place - he looked up and down and all around, like he was following the path of a hyperactive firefly. Another kid in the elevator had been whispering to his older brother about the teenager - and said to him, "hey, do you go to my school?" ("my school" was the name of the school) The teenager responded with a quick, curt, "yes" and went back to looking down, up and around, darting his eyes to different points of the elevator. The other kids got out of the elevator and soon it was just me and the boy, traveling together from floor 5 to floor 7. I tried to pretend I was staring at the numbers on the elevator but in reality I was staring at him. Studying his pimples, his eyes, his hair. Jesus Christ, I thought. This kid is me, eleven years ago. I wanted to reach out to him. I wanted to put my hand on his shoulder and say hey, my friend, don't take it so hard. I know this must feel like the most awkward, terrible time of your life, but please trust me - I promise you, this will pass. This all will pass. This acne will disappear - hey, I can recommend something if you like - and your hair will find its way, and you'll soon grow comfortable (for the most part) just looking directly into someone's eyes. Your confidence will grow and you will, in turn, grow up to be a fantastic young man. Instead, I just watched him exit the elevator, quickly turning the corner as he walked out into the corridor.