Brandon is twelve years old. He comes up almost to my shoulder and has dreads way past his own. He is a light-skinned boy with the most beautiful long lashes you've ever seen on a dude. The only thing that mars his otherwise perfect face is a deep gash that runs across his upper lip.
"What happened there, Brandon?"
"Aww I hate it when people ask me that! The doctor accidentally did that when I was gettin' born."
"Oh. I'm sorry. I think it looks kind of cool though. You could tell people you got it during a sword fight."
"Now why on EARTH would I go around tellin' that kinda foolish lie?"
I spend every afternoon from about 3:45 to 4:00 with Brandon. He is a car-rider, and my after-school duty post is in the car-riders' lot. For some reason, he's latched on to me since the first day I was out there. Since he is in 6th grade now, I'll probably never teach him--which is a good thing despite how fond I've grown of his crazy self.
By crazy I do mean...crazy. He tells me all about his aunt Whitney Houston and how he and his momma go visit her in Atlanta on the weekends. He gives bizarre nicknames to all the regulars in the parking lot (my favorite of which is "BIG JUICY," referring to a large 7th-grader who wears way too much lipgloss). Unprovoked, he chases other kids around the schoolyard, throwing sticks and rocks. He listens to old gospel music on his mp3 player and sings along loudly, not caring who hears.
Most of the time I leave before Brandon's ride gets to school, so the last thing I see in the rearview mirror is my little terror forlornly sitting on the curb tugging his dreads.
"If your daddy's in jail and your mom works during the day...who picks you up after school?" I asked him one day.
"The Lord." he replied solemnly.
"Hmm. Does the Lord know that school gets out at 4:00?"
"The Lord is all-knowing and om-NI-PO-TENT...HALLELUJAH!!!"
Even though I've spent probably around 36 hours with Brandon since last August, I'm never fully prepared for his response to anything. One day I swung open the door and took a step outside to be immediately greeted by his wide-eyed face. He grabbed my arm and blurted out in one giant breath:
"You know you have some very white teeth. Are you a mistress? You know what is mistress is? A mistress is someone who's married but she goes around havin' SEX with other people who are married too!"
This is all before the door has even closed behind me.
Friday, as I was pulling out of the parking lot, Brandon sprinted up to my car and tapped urgently on the window. I rolled it down.
"Has anyone ever UR-IN-ated on yo car?"
"Not to my knowledge, Brandon. Have a wonderful weekend."
ahahahahahahaha omg. hahahahahahahaha. legitimately laughed aloud at work today.
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i totally love how if that happened a couple years ago in tuscaloosa, we would be the like what the!? but now, you just perfectly compose yourself and go on with the day-- hilarious.