curious and curiouser

This one is a  love story sort of. Did it  on my phone  again so it is  very safe to  assume that  all typing involved was  frustrating. Thank you for  not hating  me. 




He didn't know -- and that was the problem. He knew who the emperor of China was in 1854, he knew where you could get a tooth replaced on a  Saturday at two o' clock in the morning, he knew how to make a papermache sculpture to put the best fifth grade class to shame, but he never quite knew what was going on. 

He knew what happened before that hole the in that step on the stairs, but he didn't know that it would lead to his parents' divorce a year later. He knew how long it would take for someone to bleed to death, but he didn't know what it meant when his best friend showed him the scars on his wrists. He knew what was inside a cigarette but he didn't know that he would ever kiss someone who smoked one. 

He knew and didn't, and it bothered him that he could memorize enough jokes to fill a dictionary, but couldn't manage to be funny. It bothered him that he knew the 38 distinct ways women were different from men and yet he still couldn't hang  on to one. 

His friend likened it to knowing robotics and engineering but not knowing how to stop the rise of the machines. Or not being able to manifest a Transformer. 

He had it memorized to the dot how she flipped her hair and looked back and said good morning everyday on the bus. He knew the sound of her voice to the point that he could pick it out of the background noise of surveillance tape audio. He remembered the glorious way she would look at him and tell him not to listen to those kids. They were just jealous. 

But he never knew when to say hi. Or whether or not he should walk her to class. Or if it was polite to buy her lunch or if that was too much. 

And then there  were the things that were beyond his capacity for knowing. He never saw the way his parents would scream at each other as soon as he shut the front door. He didn't see the beginnings  of clinical depression in his closeted best friend whose closet was completely invisible to him too. And he was incapable of seeing the way she lit up every time he accidentally brushed against her hand on the way to first period english. 

And that he could've asked her out and she would've said yes in a heartbeat. He knew that he wanted to understand social behavior and fast food logic and retail therapy, because it was a little hard to go through life without context. But he didn't know that he really truly wanted her more. 

Until she stopped coming to school. The others said she left town with her family. He didn't feel bad about it. It didn't change that he knew a lot of things (and didn't know even more). He didn't feel devastated -- just a little lacking. 

And it wasn't until he realized that was what he was feeling and not horrible indigestion that he knew: he should've said hi in the hallways and called her when he thought it would be imposing. He should've walked her to class and  bought her lunch and asked her out to something. Maybe given her one last reason to stay. He discovered he missed her voice. And how she didn't seem to mind that he was oblivious. 

What a remarkable thing it was to be so connected to someone he only saw a few minutes everyday. And to want that rarity more than wanting to know why. 


day 12: knowledge