The boy who sat across from me was trying to eat cookies with his right hand, and finger-paint with his left; he was succeeding maybe half of the time. Between bites of broken Oreos and Crayola Granny Smith Apple Green, he was trying to tell me stories- also only succeeding about half-way. I myself was trying to color, but the kid just wouldn't stop. His mouth worked like a machine, spouting bits of words, pink, blue, and spitty chocolate cookie in all directions- even behind him. "Love is Oreos," he mumbled, nodding like he really made sense. "Mhm. It's mostly the same." I had thrown down my crayons at that point, so I listened, trying not to watch his mouth, and, of course, succeeding about half of the time.
"Do you see the crusty brown cookie on the outside?" He held up a whole Oreo in his fingers. Of course I saw it, and I saw the muddy rainbow coating it, but he wasn't concerned with my lack of response. Across the table, his eyes glazed over. Maybe he was falling into a sugar-induced coma? "The cream on the inside is sooo good, but it's covered by stuff that nobody really likes. And you know what? They don't really make sense without it. That's like people. That's like love." He nodded again, this time looking right at me.
"Boys are gross!" I scoffed, & left to find a new artistic outlet in the sand table.