In Black and White

Chapter 1: 14/7/1965

So am I meant to start with “Dear Diary” or something? I can’t imagine myself saying that though, not because I’m the machismo jock type (argh, I hate those guys), but it’ll just feel awkward. This whole thing, writing in here, feels awkward. I mean, I haven’t written in this since I was seven, although I guess I haven’t felt this way before either. I mean there was that Melanie Smith girl a couple of years back, but this is different, way different.  You know what, I’ll just explain it, yeah?

So I was looking out the window on the school bus, partly daydreaming, mostly just trying to avoid looking at whatever “hilarious” shenanigan (does anyone even use that word anymore?) the jocks were doing today, when we stopped at the traffic lights (that’s not the exciting bit, by the way). Anyways, the “black” school bus stopped in the lane next to us. Blacks and whites are meant to be given the same facilities, but the blacks’ facilities are usually worse. For instance, the black school bus had blotches of rust and scratches throughout, and the license plate was dangerously close to falling off. Whenever we passed it, I would usually stare at the spots of rust, trying to create a shape or image out of them (like that test with the ink blots), but today it wasn’t the bus that got me interested.

The first thing I noticed were her eyes, her big light brown eyes, beautiful beyond words, with a slight twinkle in the corner. I know this’ll sound cheesy, but they were like small stars upon her face. Her black face. But that didn’t matter.  We made eye contact for a split second, then instinctively looked away, but another instinct made me look back. She was smiling. I knew it was now or nothing; I had to make an impression, so I grabbed the nearest piece of paper, and began to write something romantic, something that stood out, something unforgettable. The best I could manage was “Hey, nice weather today, huh?” As I held it up to the window of the bus, my nervous half-smile on, I saw her giggle and take out a pen. I watched on in anticipation, as she began to scribble something down, when suddenly, something pulled her out of my view, and pulled me back into the real world, the goofy laughing and screaming of the jocks rushing back into my ears. The lights had changed, and the black bus had turned the corner. As I stuffed my “piece of paper” back into my bag, I caught a glimpse of the back, and realised it was my report!

Damn it, I’m pathetic.