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The RockBy Rob Diaz-MarinoJune 5/97 There was this guy in my school, we called him "The Rock" because he never cracked a smile. He never laughed, or got angry, just a serious attitude the whole time. Sure, he was an honours student. He had honours everything. He always had an above 80% average on his report cards. He wouldn't settle for anything less. Of course, he seemed a little out of place in art class. Me and my friends'd be blabbing away, while he'd be quietly drawing or painting a masterpiece. He got 100% on EVERYTHING! I heard someone had said that the guy was always listening, and could repeat the gist of the whole conversation afterwards. this guy did A LOT of listening and watching, 'cause he hardly ever spoke. Anyway, so one day, our whole art class went outside to paint on these wall tiles. It was right in the smoking area, so my friends'n I lit up. Of course, the Rock didn't smoke. He was too clean. Christy started smokin', which was strange, cause I thought she had quit. "Picasso" there was quite close, silently forming another work of art. He had to awkwardly lean over some other guy who was sitting, smoking. I hear sobbing all of a sudden. It was Christy. The Rock's brush strokes slowed. He gently set the paintbrush down, and sat beside her. "What's the matter?" he asked softly. Christy looked up, kinda surprised for a moment. "My friend, she overdosed on pills. She's in the hospital." I could see it, he was having trouble bearing the cigarette smoke. Christy sobbed, "She'll be okay, my baby's gonna be okay..." "She'll pull through," said the Rock with such certainty and convincingness. Christy leaned her head on his shoulder, and in his eyes, two tears nearly emerged. In all the uncertainty of the world, the rock was like a marble pillar. He could hold it together, and for that, I'll always respect him. |
© 2000 Rob Diaz-Marino. All rights reserved. |