At the Door (Part 2)

“So, em, hey, good morning.” he said simply. No. Actually, he was nervous. It looked as if it had taken a lot of time, for him to build this sentence. “Good Morning.” I said back. Congratulations, I thought of saying. You have been able to say hi. Now, keep the conversation going and explain, please and thank you.

More silence. But he moved around a little, in that same position. Though I wasn’t much of a patient person, I waited. My hands started sweating, and it felt like years. I felt like if I was about to blurt something, anytime.

The pins in his shirt were shining right into my eye, like if he wanted to make me uncomfortable. I wondered if the cookies were melt-proof. They looked okay. Though I didn’t really want to, I fixated on his face. His eyes were blue and small and his nose was both pointy, but round. He was thin, or his face was. It looked like if he never had tried on of those cookies. Like all he did was cook and sell them, but never try them. Did he even cook them?

“I—I just wanted to see if you were, like interested in buying some of these. For funds and stuff.” he said. He beamed a bit. Like if he was seductive or something. I rolled my eyes. What funds and stuff did a teenager have? And why would he want to cover these funds by selling cookies? Weren’t there more decent things that a guy to do for money?

“Hey, you’re like 15 years old and you’re selling cookies in those.” I was referring to his clothes. “What is up?” I blurted out. I had to. I’m usually not mean but might get desperate until I have my answers. It’s like he hadn’t realize, that is was just weird for him to wear girly stuff and walk around normal people’s houses. Say, mine.

I hoped, then, I hadn’t hurt the kid. Then again, I was being mean to a teenager, not a Girl Scout. He chuckled nervously. “Yeah, about that…well, it’s a bet.” he said reasonably. As if it was self-explanatory. “A bet?” I asked. I didn’t know whether I was interested, but I did wanted to know why had he ended up in my door—and not Ms. Gibbs.

“That I have to go sell cookies, like an embarrassing bet?” Now he was thinking I was sort of stupid. “Yes, yes, I know what you mean. Why do you do it? It’s not like you have to.” I was logical. Well, he didn’t have to. Not like his life depended on selling cookies. It was not implied or written or anything in his destiny. And those teenager games, like Truth or Dare, it was all just pathetic. They felt they had to, unless you were like a loser.

“You know, I would much rather be like a loser than hang around this neighbourhood in funny clothes. What is it that kids do for status these days?” This last bit I said to myself. I thought about my past. God, had I really been that stupid? I hoped not.