Each
morning, depending on where I train my eyes, I can see in the distance
at least 17 17 year olds, walking to St. John's Preparatory Academy in
uniforms. The uniforms start from the bottom. Black shoes; these are
usually a simple affair, handled with a flare for the boring and a
tendency to look somewhat “orthotic” in their general appearance.
Below-knee stockings for girls; a sometime fantasy for sock lovers,
topped by a feltish gray short skirt. Same shade of gray slacks for the
boys, industriously pleated to gain maximum seriousness. The tops are
navy blue sweaters which snuggle white dress shirts. The girls general
appearance is an iconic fashionable encryption of a carnal set of datum,
accented in some anime-specific way to exaggerate a sexual dawn already
underway. Some of these girls are turning into what will later be
beautiful women. But for now, most of them are beautiful in the
potential way a chrysalis reminds us of a future butterfly. Or moth.
Some of these girls are definitely moths. The boys also have insectual
traits, praying mantis arms, chameleon fashion sense in regards to their
chosen cadre, and some have small beady eyes like social spiders,
cocksure of the strength of their webs. Most of the boys are too long
for their faces and have a smug awareness of themselves as they
ungracefully slice through the sidewalk traffic. A selfish time for them
containing the first cracking of the crab shell of their egos,
unwittingly anxious to be dipped into the clarified butter of manhood
and devoured by the eventual and thankless life of the common 1st world
adult. Of all of the things these high schoolers are, it’s really what
they leave in their trails that stays with me, the olfactory traces of
their emergent, proud and self-centered worlds floating on the clear
morning air in Queens.
This is a time of flag planting. This is a time of cologne spritzing. This is a Cosmolopolitan time of ripping and rubbing sample pages of perfume on your wrists and neck. This is Axe body spray. This is what dad smelled like, this is what smell The Body Works girl sold you, this is smelling exactly like a candy store, this is freshly washed and conditioned hair hanging in tight, heavy, clean tentacles, this is heavily applied deodorant spray, gel, powder, roll-on, this is Aqua Velva, this is Brut, this is second-hand cigarette smoke, this is unwashed hair smelling like skin and dry grass, this is fruit spray, this is Tommy Girl, this is pineapple shisha, this is mango splash, this is the smell of a lintscreen. All of this is what trails behind these budding adults and collects on the motes of the humid morning air in my neighborhood in western Queens County.
This is a time of flag planting. This is a time of cologne spritzing. This is a Cosmolopolitan time of ripping and rubbing sample pages of perfume on your wrists and neck. This is Axe body spray. This is what dad smelled like, this is what smell The Body Works girl sold you, this is smelling exactly like a candy store, this is freshly washed and conditioned hair hanging in tight, heavy, clean tentacles, this is heavily applied deodorant spray, gel, powder, roll-on, this is Aqua Velva, this is Brut, this is second-hand cigarette smoke, this is unwashed hair smelling like skin and dry grass, this is fruit spray, this is Tommy Girl, this is pineapple shisha, this is mango splash, this is the smell of a lintscreen. All of this is what trails behind these budding adults and collects on the motes of the humid morning air in my neighborhood in western Queens County.
