The Works of RetroAnimal

Remembering Doodle

 

I remember a man I barely know

 

His ambitions kept secret from me

 

His presence as loud as his inspiration that caused silence in Mrs., Martinez’s sixth period composition honors class.

 

His name, Doodle, one of the strangest I will admit that I have come to secretly meet unbeknownst to anyone else in my lifetime.

 

His voice, loud and deep that roars at others always meeting them with opposition and mocking acceptation. Sitting at the back of the class as if it was a front row seat to analyze and to try to understand the back of everyone else’s head.

 

I look back at the note in which he wrote his name on crudely with a purple crayon with almost a childlike mentality. Or as I like to think a form of childlike genius that the rest of us who look at him from the inside out, fail to understand. Each stroke that it took to make that name appear on paper with the wax of the crayon, embedded with imagery, a snapshot movie moving so fast that within a milli-second we miss it.

 

There’s something I can tell that’s just beneath the surface of his skin that crackles and pop with an energy that I have come to know.

 

I don’t know Doodle, I have exchanged very little in the form of conversing words with him in the semester that I have been in this class. And I have come to the conclusion that this entire class of enigmas is a character, but distinct in each and every part that they all represent.

 

I won’t just remember Doodle but the entire class as well. It’s also not because of the assignment that I’ve been assigned to write about him, but the interesting air that surrounds him and very little that I know, and that I believe I will always know about him.