I Want To Hold Your Hand

 CHAPTER ONE (Christian Rose)

            I’m only sixteen years old, but I like to say that I’m depressed.  My parents? Well they just think I’m going through some “adolescent phase”, in that case, I’ve been going through this “phase” since first grade, you know, the one where you have no friends?  Most of you probably do know the phase, because having no friends is often crudely associated with book readers.

            It wasn’t the majority crowd’s fault per se I was just a shy kid, I always have been, and it troubles me that people don’t get to know the real artistic me, just because of one lousy characteristic of shyness.  It isn’t like I don’t try to, you know, socialize, but I just get nervous and ramble.

            Most kids find me invisible, but also enigmatic, whereas usually kids with loaded parents are in the cool crowd, buying their friend’s love, and passion… Only, that wasn’t me, I mean my parents are rich, my whole family is for that matter… We practically own every single fast food restaurant in the country, okay, state.

            As I type this, I sigh inwardly to myself as I listen to the Beetles song, “I Wanna Hold Your Hand”, just because I’m shy, doesn’t mean that I don’t fantasize about love.  Hey, clever slogan, they should put that on a t-shirt! Too bad I would

So enough of all the introducing, because I feel pretty lame talking to a computer screen, no big deal though, I always feel lame, Especially on this normal Tuesday morning, I had to wake up, put my sweatpants, t-shirt, and sweater on right after waking up, I slightly sagged the black sweats of course, a tactic often exercised by me.

Just because I didn’t compromise who I was to be accepted by the crowd, didn’t mean that I didn’t want to look my best.  So, I skipped breakfast (always do on school days, even though my parents say it’s important to eat healthy) and strolled out to the corner of the street.  It was about a minute (felt longer since I just stood idol for the time) before my bus arrived, the yellow monster’s engine roared in complaint as it stopped.  I hopped on, taking the first open seat, and since everyone goes to the rear of the bus, the first open seat was, the first seat.

I went to a fancy school, albeit a public one… One of little excitement, just a rendezvous for bullying, learning (so they say), and romancing (if you have someone to do that with).  I loved art, I always had a passion for it since seeing the Mona Lisa in first grade, and henceforth my Art class was the only event of the day I was actually a tad bit excited for, first hour Honors Advanced Algebra with Trigonometry? Absolutely not, I call it H.A.A.T, pronounced “HATE”, by the way.

Only today would be different, I had the sixth sense that it would, the sixth sense of, anticipation of a big event?  I felt it when my guy, Obama, was about to be elected President… And I felt it now, albeit this feeling would have nothing at all to do with politics… It would have to do with love.

            Our school gave us fifteen minutes after arrival to get situated, put stuff in the locker, get stuff out, get to class… and so on… But mostly so we get the socializing virus out of our slick systems early.  Of course, I would always head right to class as I never had anyone of whom I could socialize with in the morning, of the afternoon, or the evening.

I walked into class, the dull white walls and the uneventful gross green chalkboard just added to my mood of depression…. Boy, do I need help from a shrink, I thought.

As always, I was the only one in the classroom, whereas even the teacher was out socializing, there was still ten minutes left until the bell would signal it was time to start another pointless lesson, signaling that it was time to put the tax-payers dollars into play as we would take out our textbook.

I began to peek up into the doorway once I reached my seat, I knew no one was going to walk in, no one ever did until the ten seconds of panic that occur before the bell rung…. But today, she did.