I believe in Jonathan Fall. Eyes like acrylic sienna. He sits hunched, a mammoth of mental prowess. He stands firm, proponent of the untamed. This figure, like and oreo cookie, claims a chalky complexion topped with an onyx mane. A man who takes nothing as black and white, he uses templates of liberalism and socialism to fixate his principles. I have yet to find a man whom I can trust in, a brother among my peers. And so I must suffer the mounds of busy work and the whims of the teachers alone. Oh but there is hope for a single and satisfying bond–hope nestled in the hearty spirit of a man; some say he has no birth name; some say his name is writ in a tongue unutterable by we mortals; some say…some say he needs not entertain a petty label, for he is above earthen institutions; as for me, I have a peculiar, majestic, and no doubt frightening relationship with Him; and so I have been granted the right to call to him as…J-Fall.
To the passer he is an ordinary guy. Built like any one of us, he shows no signs of super human strength or heroic qualities. But I depend on him none the less. It’s a routine ride on bus 99—solemn and foreboding. Upon arrival I slip into my headphones and maneuver evasively though the corridors of the Big C. As the day lurches forward events and objects begin to bleed into one another. Its not that you are numb to it, it’s more the feeling that your surroundings have been numbed. And should you reach out and crack any part of what’s around you, nothing would come of it, and the world would pass it by. Yet as this sensation and possible insanity approaches, I make my way for third period US History—the safehouse. Being a test day, I move back among the rows of desks and littered book bags to a seat on the right wall and review as much as I can by rapidly muttering facts. J-Fall enters finally, and sits directly across form me, as always.
Question twenty-five. About half way through the test. A test that Mr. Erwin gave just enough kick to. Slowly I cock my head to the left and lean back into the chair. The plastic at my back bends easily and my eyes catch his. No words, no attempts at cheating on the test, no thoughts pass between us. What extends between and through J-Fall and I is something light and silent and grand and undetectable and protective and yielding. It is security. When our eyes meet on those test days I know that there is at least one person fixed in my routine that’s worth a five-twenty wake up call. I may never know if he feels the same about whatever ethereal bond is created across our desks, but I don’t need that assurance. Now I don’t mean to claim that J-Fall and I have a destiny, that we are soul-mates, bound unwillingly to each other by the powers that be. No when I am with J-Fall all I find and all I need is peace.
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