Lunch With Julia

I don't get to sit down as soon as I reach the cafeteria. He may set his lunch box down and sit (instant relaxation) but I have to walk through the room, feeling like every table is looking at me, and wishing some of them actually would.

The line can sometimes be hectic, but, not all the time. I like listening to the people all talking and buzzing with that stupid excitement of thirty minutes away from education.

At the table, there are four of us, officially. Across from me, she sits and smiles at everything I say. She never has a mean thing to say. Most days, I find comfort in her warmth. It's sweet.

Next to me, he always has a reason to complain, or mope. I can never say the right things to please him. I know he thinks I'm not good enough for him, and every time he said that he loved me was a lie because since our cleansing of dishonesty, he hasn't uttered those three words.

Diagonally to the left. I love him the most. He is quiet, except when there is a joke to be made. He is nervous and shy about the things he should be proud of. He can make me happy and he can make me sad. I'm so glad we are talking again, after so long.

The table to the left is all of the people I wish hadn't come. It had been the four of us all year, and then they invaded, bringing their friends with them. Like mold, they spread. Now she sits there and makes me nervous when I notice her. Those sad, sad eyes.

The table in front of us is all of the people I wish I could eavesdrop on. The four boys, mainly. I watch them smile and laugh at each other with red-faced joy.

It has occurred to me that these people are all the refuge I take for those thirty minutes. I watch and observe them and I take these notes in my mind, saving them and logging them all so that I can always remember these people. Even the ones who may not want me remembering.