He's always at the corner

Chapter 2

             and I swear, he wasn't gonna get any better than that. He was going to stay at the corner. Because that's what his mother told him to do. And what he'll tell his daughter, and what his daughter will tell her child.

And she will listen.

God knows that's what I did.

That's what I ever did.

Chapter 2

Joan stayed where she was yesterday. She went to her class. And she went home. She thought about what he's always at the corner guy's parents raised him like. They probably told him to never talk to strangers. And he took it seriously. Ha. That actually made her chuckle.

Joan knew where this he's always at corner guy's house was, His name was written all over it. Well, not too literally. A little graffiti here and there. Not his name though. She wasn't being that literal. Plus, she didn't even know his name. He lived in a two-story medium-sized house. Nothing out of the ordinary except of his giant basement always open. He hangs out there occasionally after class. And he plays the drums. And his drums are red. Joan hates red.

Joan hates all of him. Joan hates all of his bits and bigs. She thinks he's made out of thongs. Something that's not supposed to be in this neighborhood. Well, at least that's what her mother tells her.

Unfortunately, Joan lived in the same street he lives in. The same walk from home to school and vice-versa (occasionally-or most of the time, when her mom can't drive her to school. And she's not allowed to ride the bus either) So she had to bravely walk in front of he's always at the corner guy. And gives her this type of shockwave that flows down from her top scalp to the edge of her toes. And it's not those they explain in the movies where the girl walks in front of her crush and she closes her eyes and slides across her cold, metal lockers and says something cheesy. Well, that's what she thought she didn't feel like. She felt uncomfortable. She felt wrong. Because he's always at the corner guy was never right, at least he never felt right. He was always wrong. Every tiny bone of his being was wrong and not normal.

And it drove her mad.

Joan would pass by his house and he would be playing his drums. Or stacking tapes. Or hand painting a mixtape. It was all crazy. It was all a sophomore wouldn't do. And she would walk past him. Staring. It was unreasonably rude but she couldn't get herself not to. He would never look up, thank God he doesn't. And it was not because he was a misfit. A misfit wallflower, corrected.

Joan was a person who would analyze every bit and bone of your everyday neighbor. Marking right or wrong on their temples. She was the type of person who would find a flaw on the chocolate she'd eaten the night before. Which was insane. Because chocolate is perfect. She would stare at everybody thinking how did her parents raise her? ; what does her parents think of her? ; why is she so happy all the time?. She had a reason every time she does something. She would never make the same mistake twice. Ever again. And those were the words she'd remember in the morning. And the day after. Those were the words she lived on.

Him, however, he was the exact opposite. Not entirely normal. And Joan started to hate him even more. Every time she would pass the hallway seeing him in all white with his headphones on sitting at the corner. It was like he needed to be different. He didn't need painted mix tapes. He didn't need graffiti on his wall. He didn't need his headphones on all the time. He didn't need to be different. He knows that he's different, it's obvious. Joan didn't. That's why she swore to this day she would never repeat the same mistake twice.

Joan got home at around 3:20. She didn't bother going to her mom today, she didn't feel like it anyway. She sat on the floor and spread out five tapes on her floor. Damn... Cherie hasn't brought back my mix tape yet... She picked up Joy Division and played it. She crawled to her bed facing the ceiling. Thinking. Thinking about he's always at the corner guy. And she would keep thinking. Keep thinking until she fell asleep, and kept thinking when she woke up. She basically woke up to him. And she would walk to school staring at him, and she wouldn't stop thinking about him until she walked home from school. That three second blackout she has when she walks pass him cuts it all.

It made her insane.

He made her insane.

She sat where was a few days ago. With a notepad this time. She's trying to analyze why he needs to be different from everyone else. Why he wants himself bullied. Why he allows it. Why he doesn't have friends. Why he never talks to anyone. Why he's cold to his being. Why he's not normal.

Joan had been uncontrollably thinking too much today. She had been marking and analyzing everyone too much. And you could see because her eyes were pink. Which also meant she hasn't been getting any sleep. Mainly because Mark had been wearing out his heavy metal mix tapes--at twelve in the morning--on weekdays specially. Jesus.

Joan gave a rude sigh(unlady like, too, you could see the people looking at her) and dropped her notepad on the cafeteria table. Too much thinking can wear you out good. She noticed a very uncomfortable atmosphere around her. And she looked around the room to figure out what it was. And for a half second, she swore, that her eyeballs popped out of there sockets. Nononononono she looked to the corner. And he was staring at her. Not like her stare, his was calm but intense at the same time. That was the best way she could explain it. As soon as she saw him staring at her he looked away and continued stacking his cards. Joan rolled her eyes and continued eating.

He's crazy.