The Reversal

I run when the sun comes up, which in this astronomic moment coincides with a young neighbor on his way to school.

He’s young, I’m guessing 11 or possibly 12, and like any 11 or possibly 12-year-old kid going to school at 6:30 a.m., he looks depressed.

Me, I’m an introvert who forces herself to be outgoing, so two days ago, the first time I saw the kid, I said, “Good morning!” as I passed by. He looked startled before attempting a smile, or maybe it was a grimace.

Yesterday morning he had his phone in his hand and his head down and was texting or pretending to text. That’s when it hit me. He wanted me to leave him the hell alone.

I should have known. I taught tweens, raised six kids who made it through tweendom, and was a tween myself. How can I make her stop? the kid must’ve been panic-thinking, dreading the sound of my voice. Then he came up with the texting idea. 

This very morning, I ran by him and said nothing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him clutching his phone. You can lose the prop, buddy. I swear his relief was palpable as I disappeared from view.

I get it, and he’s right. Faux or even genuine perkiness sets up a terrible precedent for all involved.

Undoubtedly he worries that I’ll start up again, but that will pass, and then we’ll both return to the blissful, unbroken silence of strangers ignoring each other.