the art of

two » strangers

You start correcting yourself in high school—not elementary, not middle school. It's been three years since I started changing everything about myself; how I dress, how I present myself, how I suppress my emotions when people start making fun of me, and everything I do. It's a constant battle for everyone, even those who hurt others with the venom in their words but no one knows that. No one knows that everyone is on the same path in high school; sure, we can take different classes but the sole purpose? To graduate and go onto college, to make some meaning of a life that is judged constantly. They say children are the immature ones; the ones who will accidentally say something negative and that we just have to wait when they grow up; their harsh words would settle down to the bottom of the ocean and become tiny fossils. Yet, how come, everyone is afraid to look up in the halls of a large high school? No matter how accepting an environment is, the taunting will still live off the unclaimed fear of the students. The taunting will get its message across through the looks given when you slip on that backpack on your shoulder, when you raise your hand to answer a question, or when you show that you're even a tiny bit happy.

It was another foggy day in San Francisco; the city's official weather rolled down from the ocean's waves. The fog smothered everything in its path, not even caring that the innocent birds who flew above the Golden Gate Bridge did nothing to deserve their path to be covered by a blurry smoke. The muni bus was, as expected, overcrowded. People grasped onto anything they could get their hands on—so they could save themselves the embarrassment of falling backward when the bus made a quick halt. A feeling that I was too comfortable with; once I even fell backward and ended up landing on the tiny stairs to the upper side of the bus. It looked as if it was planned; as if I had intentionally wanted to sit down. Graceful? Perhaps. Intentional? Definitely not.

A boy that looked around my age got onto the bus. His hair jumped up and down as he climbed onto the stairs and dropped his change into the money machine. He stuttered a thank you to the bus driver and squeezed himself through the mess. I looked ahead to the streets in front of me. Just a few more and everyone, well mostly everyone, will get off. Do you know those types of streets that a mass of people will get off at? And every one that was squeezed into the corners will let out this huge sigh of relief and sit down? One of those streets was coming up and thank God it was. As everyone got off the bus like a school of fish, I ended up sitting in the very back next to the window to watch the fog cling onto the windows. The boy sat across from me and rummaged through his backpack, pulling out a notebook and a pencil. He began scribbling furiously into the tiny book of thoughts. He let out a frustrated sigh and threw the pencil back into his backpack. His fingers felt the edges of the notebook before tossing it in as well.

"Are you okay?" I asked out of curiosity and sincere wonder.

"Oh, y-y-e-ah I-I'm okay. T-Th-a-anks for ask-king." His voice was rough with fast jumps as the syllables didn't know where to meet up with each other. All ran chaotically through his mind and ran out from his mouth in a too-fast rhythm.

"You sure? I mean, you didn't look or sound okay." Certainly, you're not okay when you throw something into your backpack and whisper profanities underneath your breath.

"I'm f-fine." He shot back with a fire burning in his eyes, swirling around his pupil, enraged as if his emotions were being boiled in a pot.

"Okay, jeez, sorry for asking." I crossed my arms and pulled my feet up from the floor to the seat's edge. I turned on my phone and let the music notes enter my ears through the earphones. They swayed up and down my cerebellum, jolting me up straight to accept the beauty in the song. It twirled past my parietal lobe, where it sparked up my sensations. Music is a powerful magic wand that can make your ears' wishes come true if you think about it.

"S-Sorry." He nervously whispered but the music drowned out his voice and let my mind wander. When you're surrounded by a fog that blurs away the road, and your mind is tingling with music notes, your eyes start to close and lock up till you're sound asleep to the bouncing of the bus on the cement.

I felt a tug on my hand and something started to shake me. I jerked up and smacked the closest thing near me, afraid that someone was trying to hurt me. I saw the boy bounce back as the bus shook off the people. "S-School is here."

"Oh, I'm so sorry for hitting you. I thought you were trying to hurt me, I didn't even see you." I blubbered as the color green washed over me.

"It's o-okay."

"And how do you know what school I go to?" I raised an eyebrow, as his cheeks swirled with pale pink.

"Y-You a-are wearing our s-school's j-j-jacket."

Embarrassment drowned me with the color red, suffocating me till no words could escape my lips. "Oh."

I saw a tiny smile tickle his lips which, in return, received a glare from me to him. He let out a real laugh, filled with the bubbly essence of I told you.

"What's your name?" I asked as we got off the angry bus full of bees—ready to sting you with their alarms ringing on their phones and their backpacks as shields.

"A-A-A—" He took a deep breath in and closed his eyes. "Alex."

"Whoa, my name starts with an A too. My name is Alice. A team unite," I gave a little chuckle and nudged his arm. "We better start moving; school will start soon. Gotta go get that A."

He shook his head and ran a hand down his face.

"Too much?"

"A little."