MisFits

Patient Acquaintance

One day, her boyfriend missed school. He could see her sitting up straighter, looking at things other than the teacher and the floor. And she sat there in the sheltering shadow of MisFits, a tiny smile gracing her face. And because she was alone,  he decided to talk to her. After the class, he walked right up to her and told her that MisFits was his favorite band.

At first she just looked up at him in surprise, before a shy smile spread out over her face.

"Mine too," she said, looking down at the floor. Her voice was soft and timid with disuse. He was almost sure that her face had turned pink. They stood there for a moment as people filtered out of the room to escape to lunch. He ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly realizing that he didn't know what else to say to her. As he began to panic, she looked up at him suddenly. 

"C-could I maybe eat lunch with you today?" she blurted, looking at the floor again as soon as she met his eyes. The pink on her face became darker. His gaze fixed on a new, particularly large bruise that sat just above her elbow.

"Yeah...yeah of course!" he said, biting his lip. Then without another word, he scurried over to his desk to get his things as she did the same. He waited for her at the door as she lifted her heavy backpack onto her back. 

They walked silently to the cafeteria, carrying books in their arms. She walked with her head down, careful not to make eye contact with anyone. He lead her to the table he usually sat at, sitting down across from her. 

"I don't know many people who like MisFits," he ventured, pulling out a quick sandwich he had made that morning. Her head snapped up in surprise, as if she had thought that he wouldn't want to talk to her. 

"M-me neither. They're not really popular in high school now."

From there they talked about more bands they liked, concerts, and music in general. She played the cello, much to his surprise, and she was apparently very good. She told him of a solo she was working on at the moment that was ten pages long and required her to go into the thumb position on her instrument. He didn't understand a word of what she said, but it sounded advanced, and he liked the way her face lit up when she talked about it. It seemed that no one asked about what she liked, so he pointed questions at what he didn't understand, and she eagerly explained them to him. 

The conversation slowly died down, and after a few moments of silence, he asked what had happened to her arms. It was cruel, but he asked, even though he knew what had happened. It was just that a part of him wanted to know what she would say. Her face grew pale, and she looked around her in consternation for any sight of something to save her from the trap she had just fallen into. Upon finding nothing, she looked at his chest, mumbling something about running into a pole. 

She rose her eyes to lock with his, and he could see the desperation there. The desperation to be believed, and because she looked so afraid he chuckled slightly and said:

"Were you running with your eyes closed or something?"

She laughed nervously and rubbed her ruined arm self consciously, still not responding. He then quickly turned the conversation to school, asking if she understood a word of their algebra class. But as she responded, he couldn't get the image of her desperate eyes out of his mind.