Misfit. Misfit is a word that instantly reminded me of him when I first heard it. It described him perfectly and beautifully. Because something about him was outwardly; different. Something about him made him seem like he did not belong from around here; like he did not quite fit in or stand with the crowd.
He was what modern day people called “punk rock.” But “punk rock” did not quite fall into place with his identity. Thick black eyeliner lining almond-shaped ice-blue eyes. Blue the colour of the sky in December with specks of ocean blue around the iris; piercing and intense. Full lips with a small silver ring hooked onto the fuller-lower lip; a lip piercing. A straight perfectly carved nose and high cheek bones making him look like a mythological God; a Greek God, maybe. Tousled hair the shade of the night sky with blonde streaks scattered around the thick locks.
The first thing you would notice about him are his rings; so many, on each finger. Thick and narrow, all a collection of silver and black. Slim fit ripped jeans and a band T-shirt stretching over a well built body; broad shoulders, narrow waist and thick muscles rippling in his biceps that were always on display because of the way his shirt’s sleeves were always ripped away – intentionally, I suspect. A careless jacket hoodie thrown on over his shoulder; worn out and faded. A snapback concealing his messy locks. High tops resting on top of another as he leaned back; his chair swinging backwards.
His personality? Always partially hidden like the moon. His eyes always holding a knowing glint; like he was aware of an inside joke the rest of the world was not. The corners of his lips always turned up in a small smile. He was a mystery and he was art. As the saying goes,”Not many understand art, but those who do never forget it.” I happen to understand him.