This term I’m writing for the LBCC school paper, “The Commuter.”
Today I was in the Commuter office. A couple of the staff are in my American Minority lit class, and so we were talking about “Kenton,” this one guy who always talks way too much in class and has way too many opinions.
(I am sure if you have ever been to college you have encountered someone similar to Kenton.)
“Kenton?” says the Editor. “I went to middle school and high school with a Kenton. I wonder if it’s the same guy.”
He pulled up a picture on his computer.
“Is this him?”
“Uh huh,” I said, laughing. Community college is so weird. You’d think you could go to college and get away from all those people you grew up with, but community college kind of does the opposite. “Was he the same way in high school?”
“Yeah,” said the editor. “Once, in middle school, I asked him to sign my yearbook. He said, ‘I don’t have a pen, so here,’ and used his finger to smear something on the page. I looked closely and saw that it was blood.”
I thought that was so funny.
I had to go to class then. Every time I saw Kenton I thought of him smearing his blood on my editor’s yearbook, and just busted up laughing at the randomness of it all.
The Girl in the Red Rubber Boots 