#blesstask

even if he did have one of the highest gpa and participations, jonny knew he would never be selected to speak at the graduation ceremony. clique hierachy had no place for official events. but, it was only natural for the grand and gregarious to be slotted in instead. 

a may evening, californian dry heat wafting through the crevice that was jonny’s bedroom window. graduation cap carefully placed on his desk. meanwhile, the accompanying gown was hung in his wardrobe. its fate unknown to him. 

it wasn’t like jonny couldn’t talk. public speaking was never a skill he had the chance to develop, but he still preferred small groups over crowds or conversations with single people. he always has something to say. he just...thought it was intrusive to share, could always tell (or rather, assumed) his presence wasn’t worth it. 

but on this bed of his, cross-legged and content expession, with a brand new leather bound notebook, there was an absolute desire to share, to overshare. 

at first, he just wrote a list. scrawling the capitals, unusually flowing. 

WHO WOULD I BE TODAY? — WITHOUT 

MR. TURNER FOR HIS HELP WITH SAT READING COMPREHENSION 

MOM BEING WELL

ORLANDO KEEPING ME EMPLOYED

HAPPY TENTH GRADERS - refreshing sight

CHURCH KIDS WHO LIKE LEARNING KOREAN

his eyebrows unclenched. the pen he was holding, no longer pressed tightly, as his grip on writing tools usually were. it was thrown onto his quilt. he still held the book, rereading the words he’d just produced. 

what does the word XAVIER mean to me. he remembers his face’s winter scruff. the mets baseball caps. the ride on shoulders. screaming in his backyard. yelling when tickled. no more. 

who is GYEONG-CHUL? a printed name on a screen, bank transfers. a tired voice, muffled by cables and internet connection. half-siblings, half-this, half-that, half-related, half-with him, half-not at all. inherited nose, inane conversation. 

and then PAMELA. clipboard and continuously slipping glasses. no stereotypical couch to lay on. a dimpled smile. weary expression, is everything going to be okay? of course, of course. your mom is strong. i know, thank you, pam.

these were the thoughts he never listed. 

jonny ripped the page and scrunched it up. threw it to the bin. of course it went in. 

m i s p r o n u n c i a t i o n

“young-man?” that was probably the worst butchering of his name yet.

no one responds to an unfamiliar name. thirteen boys and a stick-thin coach stand in silence. only a huffing echoes—jonny’s sigh.

his faint voice corrects. the response almost involuntary. “it’s jonny.”

d i s r e s p e c t     @    a u t h o r i t y    f i g u r e s

middle school is tough for everyone. jonny just kept his head down. he was still new at the time, no friends ‘cause he towered over everyone. “ms. yoo is such a bitch. who says that to a student? we were just chillin’ right, man?” he hears while attending to his locker. his hunched shoulders automatically elevate. he slams his locker. he slams the speaker.

with the impact of face on locker, jonny gapes at his hands;

he runs;

his look of horror doesn’t disappear.    

a s s h o l e     a t h e i s t s

— NEXT —  

even at a school like this, the cafeteria workers sound like a poor salary and treatment. they had no obligation to return the smile jonny had flashes, but there was a sinking within him when they do not. they don’t have to, yet jonny is still disappointed. he didn’t know why it was like that, that felt irrational. “god bless you,” he adds with a nod after being served. he gently pushes his tray across and stops to pay. “like, i’ll never understand why all the religious weirdos insist on it? they’re trying to convert the rest of us or something. i don’t know about you, but who cares about their old man in the sky. do they really expect their souls to float out and away, not actual death?” they used a hushed tone, but their volume certainly doesn’t reflect that. “i’d expect this in some redneck district but here? in heffes? we’re all way too civilised and like, post-modern for that. for crying out loud, they're absolute babies about everything. god, I’m so infuriated by their existence you know? they’re just..wrong and juvenile about it.”

the end of their monologue is signalled by their accomplice’s giggle. jonny could only grit his teeth while shaking the ketchup bottle, furious at a two whom he never made eye contact with.   

g a m b l i n g

“what are you looking at, chris?” a wide-eyed jonny asks, putting his morning gale cafe apron on. “i bet you five bucks that lady over there is going to spill her drink with that shaking arthritis thing going on.” he laughs, mildly but with heart. “no.” jonny’s jaw is locked. “leave her alone.” “j e e z, j-man. it’s nothing. the fuck is up with you?”

{ a l o n e     i n     h i s     r o o m }

what’s wrong

he’s leafing through journals, notebooks filled with doodles and words of a distant despondent time.

he looks to the door, expecting a figure. silly him. no, the voice was his—and it only ever was. 

who listened to what he had to say? 

not just, hear — acknowledge, comprehend, understand. who? who? just, who? 

was he always going to be a priest holed up in a confession box, cranking up excuses for sinners? 

could he ever be the one that slipped past a cathedral door, ensconcing themselves into that box, exhaling before releasing. 

what’s wrong 

When’s the last time you got angry?

Uh, let’s see--I think it might’ve been with my mother. A few weeks ago. She was worried that I would be taking too many classes next year, and had forced me to drop AP Computer Science. Little does she know, I didn’t actually drop the course. I think the worst thing I did that day was slam the refrigerator door shut really hard--a couple of eggs in there cracked and exploded. I cleaned it up, then went back to my room to read. End of story.

Wow, you have a lot of self-control. Is your anger as subtle as that all the time?

Haha, I wish. Sometimes, if I’m really pissed off, I’ll start an argument. I’ll say something to someone, someone’s feelings will get hurt, they’ll try to insult me back but fail in doing so, and I’ll just feel a little bit better. That’s usually the way things go.

I’ve noticed that you tend to make fun of people a lot of times.

Being irritated while talking to someone--which is all the time--is different from being, like, sincerely angry. Like I said, I’m not an angsty, attention-needing person. I don’t feel the need to show that something’s turned me upside-down, because I’ll give no one that satisfaction. If you make a mess, you clean it up yourself, and get over it, right?

Right, right. So, if I hypothetically feel like you’re a little pissed off at me, what should I think? What should I do?

Ugh, you’re not as bad as other people in my school, so get over yourself...--Anyway, first, if I’m obviously annoyed at you, you most likely need to shut up. I hate it when people talk too much. But, since 99% of the people I meet don’t shut up, I’ve had to adapt to other means of passively aggressively telling people that I don’t want to talk to them. For some reason, they never work. But whatever. People will be people.

So that’s just one normal, everyday thing. People get used to it. You should get used to it.

As for what you should do, well...just try not to say anything stupid.

Thanks, Bridgit. I’ll try to do what you say. Okay, here’s another one for you: I’ve heard you dislike summer. What’s that all about?

Ugh, please, summer is definitely the worst season to be alive. Not only is it humid and uncomfortable here in California, but there aren’t the regular school days to keep my educational progress on track. And, summer is definitely the time teenagers go wild and think they’re free and unstoppable and invincible, when they’re not. Summer is just another chance for immature teenagers to try prove how fancy and social they are. Most of the time, they fail and end up looking stupid.

What about losing or failing? 

Who does like to lose or fail? Seriously, you need a little bit of common sense.

I’m sorry about that--

Whatever. The thing is, I hate seeing any of my work or effort go to waste. Hate to break it to myself, but losing arguments just sort of sucks. That also goes for failing tests, failing essays, failing assignments--I grew up obligating myself to succeed at everything I do. I’ve never let anything get in my way.

Good. We’re almost done here. What do you dislike about spicy food?

It’s difficult to eat, period. It’s like trying to eat you that’s biting you from the inside, and it’s just, blech. People who enjoy that sort of stuff drive me nuts.

How about dating? I’ve heard that you dislike dating.

Uh...yeah. I do. I loathe it.

Want to tell me more about it?

No. Just like anger, dating simply isn’t my thing.

Okay, Bridgit. That’s all for now.