Today I was coming back from our service day on the bus. I was all covered with paint and tired after managing a group of middle schoolers for most of the day and settled down into a seat with my journal without any thought for the world passing me by.

At least until the young man sat himself down in front of me, almost as if he expected me to ignore him. But because he was expecting it I, of course, had to be contrary. When he asked me if I was taking notes he said yes, and asked him if he had anything for me to add. He slumped, as if for effect, telling me that he was “a real n*****.” He implied vaguely that he was high, but I got the feeling that it was act.

I took down what he said into my notebook and ended up explaining why I was covered in paint and wearing my bright red jacket- which led to my explanation of what my red jacket means and what I’m doing in Seattle.

It changed his attitude for a second. Rather than just trying to get my number he sat and contemplated what I had said, seemingly thinking about what I was doing and the difficulties he himself faced in Seattle. His next words confirmed my suspicion.

“I’m just trying to stay in school and stay out of trouble. But,” he paused, his formerly macho voice tensing with unexpected pain. “It’s just so hard here.”

He got off a little while later and strangely enough, shook my hand, leaving me alone with my notebook a little confused at what had just transpired.