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Jan. 25, 2007 The Snob “ I don’t want to be like them,” she said, “not like them…” And he watched her, and somehow knew what she meant. It was two couples sitting on a bench inside the mall after a show that she was talking about. They were about thirty, and the girl who had passed her own sort of judgment on them in an instant, was nineteen years old. “We won’t be like them,” said her boyfriend, “we will be extraordinary. We already are,” but he saw something in the girl that he didn’t like. She was condemnatory. He knew it was not right to not want to be ordinary. She was substituting for something. She was going to do it her whole life. He put people down too, but she did it too often. When was his turn? When would she turn on him, when she ran out of victims? On they walked. The movie they had seen was a remake of Of Mice And Men. It was a good movie, well done, and they had enjoyed being together, sitting there eating popcorn far away from anyone they knew. They made their way to the food court, and sat for a while. It was a mixture of university students, normal mall people, and it was good to sit there at the night, and he felt a good anxiousness in his belly, and that there was something immense to the world, something actually magic, but nobody could see it, and it came upon you sometimes, but if you tried to embrace it, it moved away from you, or through your fingers, like mercury might…he thought of something Albert Finney had said in a movie playing a writer called Malcolm Lowry. The character had said that, ‘ there is nothing more real than magic.’ What a strange thing to say… There was a someone coming through a door. It was someone from his journalism class. A guy who drove a SUV and sat in the front row. The student always took notes diligently and asked questions. He was well dressed, and seemed well adjusted. Even now, as he ordered food, and sat down with it, he seemed like a winner. The boy thought of his girlfriends words- I don’t want to be like them… he thought then,- what does that mean she wants to be like? He thought that the journalism student would have been a good match for his girlfriend. Confident, straight-ahead, with his eye on goals. He probably had big plans. They were mismatched. Soon they ate, and walked after through the mall. The world was the same everywhere, he thought. Why would she not want to be like them, those normal people sitting there? Who was she? It was normal people that made up the world. She was too good for anyone. Why had she sought him out? Later, he waited for her to come out of a washroom. He felt fine. He looked around. The world was the world. There was no harm in being ordinary. People walked around, people went to work, and people bought groceries. What would she do? She was only human. He thought that he had regretted saying that they wouldn’t be like the people she had pointed out. He thought it would have been better if he had said that there was nothing wrong in being like that. She was a snob. It was as simple as that. Nothing was complicated. He had looked into things too much. A snob was a snob. “I don’t want to be like them.” They, he thought, probably don’t want to be like you either honey. ------------------------------------------------------- Sights Crackerjack boxes. Totem poles. Tattoos. Grips and gangs. Floating by the sea. Boats. I had a butterfly knife with a black grip. I spun it around in the air. It was fun. I stole thirty-two milk crates. They were blue, and red. A very few were brown. I made shelving units in a garage. The painting I made was of mountains, the sky, some birds. The mountains were silver. I had an astrology ring form Mexico but I never went to Mexico. Sipping cold water drinks in big glass glasses. Ladybug and mailboxes. The most terrible thing was people. The sky dark. The YMCA track, and running. Feminist teachers. Dropping a teammate off at home, Kenny, - he lived above a variety store. It was raining. It was far away from the suburbs. There was a show, before that, called What Will They Think Of Next, - about inventions, cutting edge things. There was a dog. There was no bird, or cat, or noise, or problem. New Port Ritchie is a boring place. Nothing is really boring, only if you are boring things seem boring. Rented Toyota vans. Taking a pee in alligator alley. Skinny. Like a marathon runner. Old, old people. Watching a tape, it came over me. I thought, - All these people are dead. They are nice, and they are old, and there they are, before the camera. They showered that morning, and the women wear dresses, and seem to limp a bit. The men smile, and wear button up shirts. They are perfect, so perfect. They’re place is cluttered. They have so many little things. They are all dead now. That was years ago. Nobody, on that day, would think, - oh, we will all be dead in ten years, - or maybe they did. All gone. Everybody goes. Even old people who live in New Port Ritchie and are kind… Watching a girl try on a pair of earrings…she looks around with darting eyes. Then she takes the earrings off and puts them in her pocket without paying. That is why her energy seemed tweaked and so alert. Burning newspapers and logs. Jumping off a roof into a pool. A pocketful of nothing. Some black cat firecrackers. Broken cement. Anthony Burgess. The sound of the morning light and the sight of the music playing. Nick Gilder. Hammers. Tennis balls. The smell of cut wood. Visiting army surplus stores. Canteens, camouflage, t-shirts, pants. Sights. The circus. A big tent. Clowns and jugglers. There might have been a wonderful sad lady, a trapeze artist, but I never saw her. Outside it was windy, and there was another time, long before, in a huge stadium, and the lights went out, and that is when you could see those plastic light things with glowing liquid in it. Hundreds of those moving around a bit, some almost still, some fast, some medium, and some, some were still. Green. Green and also pink. There was a small park a far walk down. Tic Tacks. Bananas. Soup. A plastic white horse and a toy cowboy. Electric air. Time moves things away, its like there is somebody pulling a carpet slowly and everything on the carpet is going along. You don’t take too much notice, and go back to what you are doing. Then you look up again and everything is a far, far way away. Toffee, necklace, and pins. Rabbit’s foot, running shoes, and sweaters. ------------ Email Brian Michael Barbeito: Brian1750@Hotmail.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. 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