Concrete Delusion

Deep in Thought

Chapter 3 Sage

What's his name? What does he look like? Where does he live? My seemingly endless thoughts were pierced only by the bell, indicating that it was time for lunch. I hadn't realized how long I was daydreaming about that guy. I slowly climbed out of my seat and headed for the door when once again, I was approached by Ian. Without even giving him a chance, I slipped my way past him and headed towards the cafeteria.

Does he eat school food? I shook my head, wondering to myself why anyone would even think something like that.

After going through the line, I sat at my usual spot alone in the school lunchroom, letting my thoughts once again take control and roam free. It was clear that I was not going to accomplish anything today. The only thing I could think about was talking to him again. Then it occured to me that I wanted to talk to him, I needed to write another poem. I'm not even sure why he started talking to me in the first place. The concrete poem I posted on the internet was literally something I wrote on a napkin out of sheer boredum. Personally, I didn't think much of it. However, it did attract the best guy in the world. Seemingly best guy, anyway.

I downed the school lunch, terrible as always, and got to work. If he liked that concrete poem, which I wrote in five minutes, then I can definitely make something that would impress him much more. What happened next was like clockwork. The second I touched my pen to the paper--BOOM!--writer's block. Why does this always happen to me? After a few more minutes of tapping the pen against the paper in a futile attempt to remember my idea, the bell rang.

With I sigh, a picked myself up from the seat. There was not even a point in going to class, seeing as how I couldn't focus on schoolwork if my life depended upon it. Shuffling down the hallway, I remembered a crucial detail about last night. I remembered him saying something about liking Poe, one of my favorite authors. Suddenly, writing that new poem was easy.

I spent my entire biology class writing the poem. Since I sat in the back of the room, faking my work was simple enough. This one turned out to be much longer, nearly two pages. I'm not one to compliment myself, but I was proud of that poem. I couldn't wait to get home and send it to him in an e-mail. I just hoped that he would appreciate this one as much as I do. After being in the shadow of Stacy for sixteen years, it was nice to have someone that payed attention to what I did.

As the final bell of the day rang, I nearly jumped from my seat. As ironic as it was, I couldn't wait to get on the bus. Despite how much I hated riding that oversized twinkie, I simply wanted to get home and talk to him. Soon after, the real world decided it was a good time to smack me in the face. About halfway to my house, the bus broke down in the middle of the road. I asked to get off and walk since it wasn't very far, but the bus driver wouldn't have it. 

After nearly an hour of sitting idly in the middle of the highway, I finally managed to get home. However, to my great misfortune, Ian had to ride my bus. The hour seemed like a year as Ian constantly told stories of how he won fights with one hand with his eyes closed. As pitiful as he was, I have to admire his persistance. It was the work of gods. Although, it'd take a bit more than that to win me over.

Once in my room, I finally had some peace and quiet. I was able to upload the poem without any problems. It was about time something went right. Once uploaded, I finally got to send it to him in an e-mail. After sending it, all I did was stare at the monitor. I knew he would not be able to respond instantly, but it seemed that was all I could do. I kept wondering to myself if he would like it, or hate it, or even talk to me again. It seemed all I could do was think, wonder, and wait for his reply.