Amidst a sea of sturdy wood tables and plush gray armchairs, only the soft clacking of laptop keys and the occasional turning of a page can be heard in the Emerson College Iwasaki Library. Students sit engrossed in their work, buried under headphones and behind textbooks. One student, his book bag lying forgotten on the floor beside him, dozes in the mid-afternoon sun.
A couple sits a few tables away, the girl on her laptop with large headphones, the boy reading. Head bent, he doesn’t notice when she giggles at her computer screen. Her body leans towards him, chin resting in her left hand.
A boy quietly strides into the room. Carrying only a newspaper, he heads for the nearest armchair and settles in noiselessly. He sits upright, and bounces his foot without rhythm, the movement reverberating through his thin frame and lightly shaking the pages of his paper.
He inhales sharply every once in a while, not quite like a sniffle, but with similar frequency, and appears oblivious to the few students who noticed him. Taking great care, the boy gently folds his paper, and shifts his body slightly.
A Blackberry interrupts—three consecutive, high-pitched notes.
He bounces his foot only to stop, ruffle his paper, and bounce again. Absent-mindedly, he runs his free hand through unwashed, curly brown hair. Does the news of the world distress him? His mouth bears a displeased curl, and his jaw is set firmly to an under bite that appears to have formed out of habit. Scruff ages an otherwise young face, but his mannerisms and posture make his age indeterminable.
Holding his paper up with both hands, he hides behind it. A sharp inhale gives him away.
A Blackberry chirps again, this time a series of descending notes.
The boy does not look up.
No comments:
Post a Comment