Contact

I stepped into the elevator without really looking, just like any other day. I usually ride it twice, once going down in the morning, once going in the afternoon. In the morning I’m usually still wolfing down a scone, trying to remember something for a Bio test. My Biology teacher is the devil, she really is. If I’m not doing that I’m totally in zombie mode, due to no sleep the night before, or I’m hyper and ready to start the day because I nicked my dad’s coffee of the table. Then, like a swimmer trained to leave the block and the gun, I fly out of the elevator and run down to the corner to catch my bus. The rest of my day is just an average day in the life of a high schooler. Forgive me, I’m boring and un-athletic. But I’m pretty, so it’s all good. Anyway, my next elevator ride is uneventful, the elevator is usually empty and I wouldn't chat anyway, I’m still plugged into my bipod, the only way to survive a bus ride with screeching kids and maintain your sanity. So anyway, I got on, and I stopped. You see, like any teenage eleventh grade girl, I like to take some time out of my day to visit my good friend Mr. Mirror. But today there was a face in the mirror. One of those childish, breathe into a mirror and fog it up, then draw on top. And yet there was something about it. I pushed the button without turning around or taking my eyes of the doodle, and kept looking. Even I’d made things like it on mirrors or metal, but you rarely saw anyone else’s drawing. It was special. Like me and the artist had a connection, if only for a second. Even if the artist was a total freak, who pulled of his/her fingernails and took drugs and kicked puppies, for that one moment, we were together. Like maybe I had someone to hold my hand, someone as scared as me about the future. The face was smiling, but there was an almost sad quality about it. I wanted to know this person, ask their name, know who they loved, and what that streak of sadness in their eyes was. It felt like finding the perfect match, like a soul mate. To know that my feet and hands touched places the other had touched, and that for one second, I was him, he was me, and I wasn’t alone or scared. It made me think of a comic my brother had shown me once. I was a man in a bathroom stall, looking at the graffiti, and though there were the usual penis drawings and so-and-so is gay, the main thing was a sentence reading “This graffiti is fleeting human contact both of us lost, but for a moment were lost together. I wonder who you are”. But I didn’t wonder. As the last tendrils of my friend’s breath faded, I knew who they were. An artist, a poet, my best friend, and a stranger. Smiling, I took a deep breath and misted up the glass once more, to the face was visible. Then I stepped outside. I wonder who saw it next.

The comic that is referred to is a strip of the online comic xkcd, which I do not own, and am hoping I will be forgiven for using. The strip in particular is called Graffiti, which can be found here: http://xkcd.com/229/. Once again, I do not own the line, and I did not write it. Someone else did, and I’m not trying to steal their work. The line stuck with me and spawned this. Hope you enjoyed.