Never Forget the Cafeteria Boy

The Mohawk hairstyle is the first thing I notice about the boy in the cafeteria. His hairstyle is three inches tall and extends from his blonde eyebrows to the fuzzy nape of his neck. With his soft wavy ash blonde hair and dark brown tips, the hairdo suits him.

Brown and wide open, his eyes glint with humor. The smile of this ten-year-old boy is dimple-to-dimple, bright and beautiful.

I fall in love with this young man as I would a grandchild.  He is adorable.

We met at the local warehouse cafeteria as I held a greasy-cheesey slice of pizza. Looking around for a table, I saw one in the corner.

The boy and I arrived at the white vinyl table at the same moment.

He and I look at each without worries.  In seconds, we sense a common competitive streak.

I believe he sees a trustworthy grown up who feels no anger towards this serendipitous situation. Peering at each other, we see the humor.

Our eye-to-eye contact seals the feeling that we are kindred spirits without age barriers sharing a forever moment.

In an instant, I take a risk. I raise my fists in a overly dramatic old-fashion boxing stand. After all, I am somewhat old fashioned. With fists raised, I challenge the boy.

Without hesitation, the boy in the cafeteria raises his arms and hands in the perfect karate block and parry stance, and that smile.

The interaction takes a few more seconds.  Within that moment of fun and camaraderie, I know the table is his.  I surrender graciously and ask, “How many are in your group?”

His reply is puckish yet respectful.  Raising a handful of fingers, he says, “Five.”

That’s it.  All is lost. With a warm feeling toward him, I say, “Okay, young man, you win.”  I walk away from the white vinyl table waving a wiggly finger good-bye.

He waves back. With a little more than a few ticks of a clock, he is pointing with
enthusiasm towards a vacant table in the middle of the room.  “Hey lady, there’s one for ya!”

I love him for his good heart, and his enthusiasm. With my melting heart and blushing face, I return to him a thumbs up.

The ten year old, whose name I may never know, rewards me with that vibrant smile. He is happy.

My steps are lighter. My shoulders lose the slouch. My day becomes more carefree.  The boy is a gift.  I am happy.

I will never forget the cafeteria boy.