knock, knock

obama lists bob dylan and the fugees as two of his favorite musical artists. perfect.

san and i are building some sort of relationship, i think (see -itis). he comes by my room more often, at least once per day. he tends to walk in during that time just after the bell when nobody has arrived yet for the next period, hands tucked into the bottom of his pockets, eyes averted to the floor or nearest wall. but now he speaks ... usually it starts with a "so, what are you doing?" (which is usually picking up after my previous class and getting ready for the next) and then a limited exchange follows. i try to make meaningful conversation in the minute before he decides he has to run to his own class and it usually ends awkwardly.

what i've gotten from our brief meetings; san spends most of the time alone at his house, with his family working at a chinese restaurant in town. he wants to make friends but doesn't think he, nor they, can relate to one another. he "was trained to feel no emotions" and i'm trying to make sense of this without asking too many questions. he is very intelligent and articulate, but extremely closed. i've been encouraging him to come to a drama club meeting since i tend to have more time to really get to know those kids in the hours after the final bell rings, but he hasn't shown yet. i found him in the pacing in the hall near the auditorium after school last wednesday and, thinking he needed a little encouraging to come on in, went over to talk to him. i wish i had written down what passed between us, because it was one of the most peculiar conversations i've ever had. he asked what i did for run, and i told him teach. as always, i was doing most of the talking but he was listening and would occasionally ask the floor another question. at one point, i think he mumbled "we should hang out" but i couldn't really hear him. when i asked him to repeat what he had said, he turned and hurried away. i followed him out the front door of the school apologizing for not hearing him clearly and soon realized that whatever door was opened had closed, for now at least.

earlier this week, he came in my room after school while i was helping a senior write his research paper and told us a joke.

"what do you call a potato with glasses?"

... a spec-tater.

i almost fell out of my chair laughing. more so at the absurdity of san, sans any emotion (save nervous agitation or strained indifference), telling such a simple joke straight-faced and the unexpected delivery of afternoon humor. he told another one, which i can't remember right now but wasn't as funny. then left.