The Little Things

We’re in math class together, doing work. He sits one desk over. He doesn't have a desk partner today, probably due to the cold that’s going around. He’s quieter without his friend. Probably missing him. I could talk to him instead, ask him where his friend is. His head is down, staring at his work, looking at it but not seeing, clearly in another place in his mind. I wonder what he’s thinking about. He has earbuds in, designed like airpods, but cheaper, the same brand as mine. He’s methodically tapping his fingers against the desk, to the tune of my favourite song. I wonder if it’s his favourite too, or if he just likes it. I could ask him. His rings glint in the light, flashing light into my eyes when his fingers go down, as the sun hits it. His chain swings, hitting his chest lightly and then going back as he moves his body ever so slightly. His shirt is from that new store in the mall, the one that just opened last week. I know because my brother has the same one. Even though I know where it’s from, I could tell him that I like it. His new haircut looks great on him, the way it’s line fits his face shape perfectly. Really shows off his eyes, unlike how his previous shaggy hair covered it. I could tell him that his haircut is nice, ask him where he gets it cut. 

She sits beside me in biology. She’s constantly leaning forward to talk to her friend, quietly. Often when the teacher asks the question, she says it quietly, like a whisper. She’s almost always right. I wonder why she doesn’t say it louder, why she doesn’t show everyone how smart she is. She dyed her hair last week. It looks different, but nice. I should've told her that it was nice. Her hair isn’t curled like usual, just straight like it naturally is. It looks good like that. I wonder why she doesn’t usually leave it. She looks bored, and tired. I feel that way too, due to this material being so boring. I could ask her if she’s bored. Start a conversation about it. She always has a water bottle on her desk, the same one every time. Filled with stickers of all kinds. I could ask where she gets them, if she collects. Tell her about how when I get a new guitar I plan to sticker-bomb my old one, and how I have some cool ones in preparation for that. I wonder why she’s always wearing the same bracelet, a silver metal one with some sort of handwritten word on it. I wonder what it says.  

My friend sits behind me in most classes, and my other friend sits a little farther away, still within talking distance. It’s nice because I can easily turn around, and we talk but we never talk. I tell them some things, like how I like how one of their hair is dyed pink, and when the other got new glasses. But I never said that I like it because of how vibrant it is against her curly brown hair and brown skin, or that the glasses are really nice on her because of how it frames her face. We talk about the class, the answers, the teacher, other people. Talking, never saying. I like them, they’re my friends, but they don’t know. I could tell them, let them know. 

She sits a few rows behind in english. We still say that we’re friends, but we haven’t spoken in weeks. I can tell something’s up, from the way she moves, talks, even dresses. She seems uncomfortable all the time. I wonder why. I could ask her, see what’s up with her, if she’s okay. We could talk like we used to, no matter how shallow my end was. She could speak, I could listen. 

His locker is beside mine. We’re in the same classes, but we rarely speak. Only to say ‘excuse me’ when one’s in the way or something similar. He always looks sad, down, upset. He only really has one friend, who I have never heard speak. I could ask him what’s wrong. See if he’s alright. Maybe even be his friend. He always wears big hoodies and jeans. The hoodies often have a reference to something on it. Today it has a reference to one of my favourite tv shows. I could tell him that I like his hoodie, and the show. Find out who his favourite character is, and his least favourite. What his favourite season, episode or line is. He started doing eye liner recently, just a little bit, barely noticeable, but better than I’ve ever been able to do it. He’s always wearing so many rings, and when the sleeves of his hoodies fall up his arm a bit I can see doodles that he’s done there. He’s a really good artist. I’ve seen some of his artwork before, hanging on the wall in the art room or in the hallway by the library. One time his notebook fell open and some of the pieces flew across the hall. One fell by my feet. It was an oil drawing of a storm in the ocean. You could see each raindrop hitting the water. I picked it up, handed it to him and smiled. I should’ve told him how much I liked it, how great it was. 

I see him in the hallways. The traditional jock, who everybody knows. You either love him or hate him. He plays basketball, and he’s really good. He’ll probably get a scholarship somewhere. He’s dating the captain of the volleyball team. They seem like a great couple, and he always seems so happy, and confident. But the other day I came across him crying in the hallway at the back of the gym. I went to grab something, and he was just there. Crying quietly. I almost asked him what happened, if he was okay, but then his girlfriend showed up. She was mad, telling him that he better not break up with her over this, that if he paid a little more attention to her then she wouldn’t have cheated, that it was all his fault. Then she walked away back the way she came, telling him that he shouldn’t be crying, because what kind of man cries. I was still there because I really needed to grab something from the back room at the end of the hallway, right by where he was. Then the quiet boy, the one who’s locker is beside mine, came out of the room a little ways down. He saw him, and sat down. They started talking. I figured I could grab whatever I had needed later. I could tell that they need each other. 

She’s my best friend, but she lives so far away. It’s hard to see each other, but we talk virtually all the time. I talk to her more than anybody else, but some things you just can’t say over a call or text. I miss her so much, all the time. I miss the way I can tell that she’s about to say something funny by the way her mouth twitches first. I miss listening to her talk about whatever boy she likes, not just over the phone but seeing her talk. I miss sitting on her bed, seeing her walls covered with those boy-band posters who’s songs she loves but are mostly only mediocre. I miss when we lived close to each other, and I wish she never moved. I know that she misses me and that she knows that I miss her, but I don’t think that she’ll ever know how much I miss her, all the time, everyday. And I don’t know how to tell her either. 

I only see her on wednesdays. She greets me by yelling my name when I walk in. Then she jumps up and hugs me. She always smells like vanilla. She’s wearing her fuzzy brown coat that she likes so much. We sit down and have a conversation with some of the others. She seems happy, better than she did last time I saw her. Our friend walks in, I’m glad she’s here, she doesn’t often get to come. We call her over and hug her. She’s wearing the sweater that she got when we were at the mall. We talk about our days, people, whatever. It’s nice. I miss them all the time, whenever we’re not together. I wish I got to see them more. They mean so much to me, more than I could ever express. Often I wonder if I matter to them as much as they matter to me. The uncertainty hurts. I could tell them, explain, ask questions, but it would feel fake, forced. 

I stand in front of a broken person. Sad, hurt, confused. In pain. And I wonder how no one else sees it, if no one else sees it. I can see it, so clearly. I look down, and then back at my reflection. I wish I were different. I wish I felt different. I wish I made different choices. Told people what I noticed, how I felt. All I want is for someone to see me the way I see others- fully, noticing the big things, and, more importantly, noticing the little things. I wonder if I would feel better if I just spoke up about the little things.