Identity

I'm in love with the boy that has no identity.

Sure, I'll take another cig.

He offers it towards me as soon as I stomp out my latest one. It's lunch time, and we have hid ourselves in an alley across the street from our school to get in a few smokes. I let him light it for me as well, and then I put it between my lips and inhale, take the cylinder out of my mouth, and exhale. This is our way of prepping ourselves before the hell that is Algebra II, English 11 and Physical Education. Relaxation at it's finest, with an object that is turning our lungs tar-black.

"You doing anything after school?" It's a question poised to him so he might say something, anything. He's so quiet, a mute by choice. Everyone thinks he's an idiot. In reality, I copy off of him on every homework assignment. Or he does it for me.

He does everything I want.

So, it shouldn't surprise me when he shakes his head no. It shouldn't surprise me because he plans his schedule around what I want to do, not what he wants to do.

I feel bad for him sometimes. He doesn't have his own identity, he's just the tall, pale, possibly mute unshaven guy that follows me, the school b***h and drug w***e, around. But I feel twitchy if he isn't there. He's my bodyguard, my confidant, the guy that will beat people up for me or keep them away. He holds my cigarettes so I don't get caught with them, and then he'll light them for me, too.

"Right," I respond, stomping on that cig as well with my combat boot. "We better head back. And I'm heading to your house after school, since your parents don't care, right?"

He nods in agreement. His parents are more than well aware of our drug use and alcohol binges, but they couldn't care less. Most of the time they're passed out on the floor.

We cross the street back to the underfunded educational prison. I, of course, leading the way. He follows me, and I can smell the stench he carries: cigarettes, cheap hairspray, and a hint of the dollar store cologne I bought for him last Christmas. Those are the smells people recognize him by, along with his figure, his unshaven face, his rumored inability to speak. Along with the fact he's always on my heels.

I'm in love with the boy that hardly has an identity.

Reviews

[Bruce58]

A lot of emotions went into writing this

[ScarlettTheDreamer]

Wow you write great! Trust me, i haven't said that many times before. You write the simplest of things in the truest of ways. Loved this story. Its simple yet so unique! Keep writing!