Takis

He is one of those kids you see when you drive by the park in your newly washed Cadillac. He lumbers around in the park, probably with a buddy, iPod strings and maybe a chain hanging out his pockets. His pockets, at his knees. White v-neck that’s too big for his skinny chest. Buzzed head, designs etched into the follicles like graffiti on the bridge.

But can you see from your tinted window that his favorite snack is takis and a chocolate milkshake from Wendy’s? Who was his first date? Did you know how he awkwardly asked her out while he stared at his shoes, the ones he just then realized were super lame?

Did you know he took one of the lifeguard’s wallets as a joke, running around the cement deck laughing? And then he got yelled at and got the stink-eye from all the guys he thought were heros. Did you know he loved that? Getting yelled at? All that passion and emotion and time spent on him.

When no one is around he throws his piece-of-shit phone on his bed and remembers all the times he received hand-me-down thrift store stuff that broke or sat there to mock him and his mother.

What about that he can’t count the number of boyfriends his mom had in the past year on his fingers?

One year he asks to play temple run on your iPod, begging for the password, joking around and almost beating your high score. The next year he asks for a cig.

His little brother bugs the crap out of him, but he would never let any man touch that boy.

The smell of lemons makes him sad, like Grandma’s Christmas lemon cookies missing at the table in December.

He doesn’t like Lucky Charms because of how the marshmallows get stuck in his teeth.

He loves the way he can’t hear anything under the water, just his thoughts and the hum of the earth’s depths.

But if you drive by, all you will see is a boy who is going to turn into someone you wouldn’t let you kids be around.

But maybe you’ll do something different.

Maybe you’ll treat him like you’ve been waiting your whole life to meet him. Maybe you’ll treat him like a treasured book, one time print, pages never been opened.

Share a bag of takis with him.