Imre - POV (Cafeteria scene)

It was his favorite time of day. In the morning it was far too busy to hear himself talk and in the afternoon he would be home and his home felt very quiet. But right now, the voices trampling over each other, the eyes he felt on him and the words slipping out of his mouth like syrup gave him a joy like no other.

In another life he wouldn’t been an actor. But he doesn’t like makeup on his face and his interest in acting only lies in that others don’t know he is, being on a stage takes away all the fun.

The cafeteria smelled abysmal. He didn’t know if it was the food or the room itself but there was always this stench of onions. Sometimes he has to breathe through his mouth but then they all ask him why he’s being so quiet?

Imre sat at the head of the table. Although there was someone at the other end, everyone knew that they needed to look his way. Nia sat by his left. She was moving her fork along her salad. Barely paying attention. He used to try to inject his stories with more drama so that she could one day listen as attentively as the others did, it just made her yawn.

Today he was retelling the story of when he went to New York City and was nearly mugged outside broadway. He was saying that he was trying to reason with the man. That he felt bad for him because he was obviously homeless and in need of psychological help. He even added a little spiel about the homeless crisis in the country,

“And then… he pulled out a gun,” Imre says.

His crowd ‘ooohhhsss.’ Their eyes go wide with wonder and he notices how they lean against each other, trying to move closer to him. He is the center from which all springs. He doesn’t like being so inflated with his own sense of importance — at least that’s what he tries to tell himself.

“Did you fight him?” a girl asks.

“He had a fucking gun, why would Imre fight him? Are you stupid, he would die. Obviously he got help from the cops,” another boy says.

“Please, insults aren’t required. And you’re wrong anyway Tony, there weren’t any officers around. I did think of fighting him as ridiculous as that sounds,” Imre responds.

“Ridiculous is a word I would use,” Nia says snidely, “but not just for that.”

Imre smiles at her. “Actually I talked him down.”

“Holy shit, how?” someone asks.

“Patience, I’m getting there.” Imre looks around at his rapt audience and he savours the words that begin slipping out of his mouth. Until he can’t.

There are few things in this world that can take away the deliciousness of his public speaking. His father and mother are two of those things. He didn’t know there was a third until they walked into the cafeteria looking as lost and displaced as he saw them last.

He kept talking but his eyes followed them. They got in line, their gaze vacant. When they got their tray they looked around, to all the tables. When they caught his eyes that were already looking at him they began walking.

He didn’t know what he was saying anymore, his mouth on autopilot. They passed so closely that he could swear he smelled their laundry detergent. But he didn’t lose the thread of his story. He ended it on a high note, like all the times before.

Nia was stabbing into her salad he face tilted downward. He noticed her tightly her lips were pressed together. They were behind him somewhere. He wouldn’t turn around.

Everything was soiled. He kept focus on him but he couldn’t enjoy it because his mind kept going back to them. Knowing they were in the same room as him made him feel… like what he was doing wasn’t important. It was juvenile. He never felt more like a teenage boy.

They’ve lived a life he couldn’t ever imagine. They had scars and god knows how many stories that would shove his own aside like a sad imitation. A prickle of jealousy entered his heart, along with something else.

He was so wrapped up in them that he hadn’t caught onto what some of the people at his table were saying until lunch was nearly done. A girl sitting a few seats down from him, the type to wear pink Mary-Jane’s to school. He only caught the end of whatever conversation she was having with those nearest to her.

They’re such a freak, maybe this will make them never show their face here again.’ He saw Nia look in their old friend’s direction. They had passed by him early, they would likely pass by him again. In the perfect place for the girl to do what she planned.

Imre had seen how cruel his friends could be. He never partook in it but he didn’t much care to stop it. This was high school, just like in the adult world there were hierarchies and he didn’t want to give his up. So he let them enjoy themselves with whatever poor bastard caught their eye.

They intrigued him, he had felt the tension in the police car. He was glad when he came out of the interrogation room and saw them. He wanted to know so much more about them. That was all true.

But that didn’t mean he would change or give up his place. If they endured all that the rumours have said they did, then this will be fine.

As he predicated, he smells their detergent as they pass by him and he sees the girl’s pink shoe slide into their path. It all happens so quickly. One moment they have their tray in hand and are doing their best to look forward and the next their legs give out from under them and the tray clangs like a loud slap on the ground, hugged to their chest.

Imre could wince as he knows how much their face will hurt. He feels movement on his left and before he can say anything Nia rushes over to them. She grips their arm and tries to help them up.

Damn it, he thinks.

They look around them wildly, their nose looks swollen and watery mucus is crippling down their nostrils. They seem to be disoriented. Looking, looking… for what? It’s like seeing an animal get caught in a bear trap, trying so hard to survive. They say something to Nia who moves back.

They look around them room again and stumble away. Everyone follows their erratic running as they push open the doors and disappear.

He hears laughs and then an explosion of voices. He has maintained his face friendly and open this whole time. Internally he’s trying to see how he can salvage this. There are many personas he could play.

He thinks about being truthful, maybe that will get them to trust him when he gets the chance to talk to them. He scoffs, please.