On Beautiful BBoys

Scene - Thursday a few weeks ago. Around midnight.
Setting - Poorly architecturally designed apartment riddled with bad feng shui.

Enter N.

Roommate: Where were you? I was just wondering where you went.
N: Oh, I just got back from this monthly hip-hop thing. MC Battle.
Roommate: Really. Did you break?
N: Um, kinda. Not really. It was all carpet except for this little square of linoleum so I just kinda did my thing in the corner.
Roommate: Heh.
N: Yeah, and the thing was, Beautiful Boy was there.
Roommate: Beautiful Boy . . . ?
N: Yeah - the one that I saw before the Roots Concert.
(Beat)
N:I’m sure I told you about him.
Roommate: Eh . . . probably.
N: Yeah, so - he was there and he was so good. So! Good! I don’t think you understand! SO GOOD!
Roommate: Did you get to talk to him?
N: Well, there was this one time I thought he left already so I was just, you know, doin’ my thing, practicing going from baby to chair freeze. And he came over all the way from the other side of the room with his backpack, and put his stuff down to tell me what I was doing wrong. It was embarrassing.
(Roommate Laughs)
N: Yeah, I was like, ugh, I’m-an-ass-I’m-an-ass I suck, I suck, I KNOW I suck! And you’re so Beautiful! You’re not allowed to help me! Don’t look at me! You’re too good!
Roommate: Oh, so only Ugly People are allowed to help you?
N: Exactly!
Roommate: (Laughs) Well, look at the bright side. At least it means he was looking at you.
N: Yeah.
(Beat)
N: I guess it means he was.

Brenda?

I saw him coming up the walk as I began my descent from the bridge. It was a little past three then, and the crowded bustle to and from class had lessened to a trickle. He was in my direct line of vision; I could see the look of recognition flash across his face. As the distance between us shortened - the space between us clear - I could do nothing short of trudging forward and simply hope he wouldn’t say anything. I was committed to the bridge, he was about to run into me, and I could not relegate him to my periphery. Of course, he would have to say

“Hi Nancy.”

I didn’t want to deal with it. I futilely averted my gaze, rolled my eyes, and turned my head in the opposite direction. The air was still, the sound carried, and he was inches from me then. I could feel the presence of someone a little behind me, not a foot’s width between us. As if to prove a point, to prove that yes-he-did-know-me to this stranger, he called out

“Fine. How come every time I say ‘hi’ you roll your eyes at me?”

But before I could reply, he was past. And I wasn’t about to turn around and respond when I was too lazy to do so in the first place.

So I calmly turned to the stranger beside me and very matter-of-factly said

“Because. He’s a dick.”