Brook

What do people WANT?

Brook sat on a bench, trying to work it out. It seemed that everyone at the park had matching outfits and hair styles, bright smiles and easy conversation. The clothes and hair had always puzzled him, since he'd only ever had robes and a shaved head. Here, people dress and coif to make statements about themselves and what they stand for: the like-haired, like-clothed and like-skinned each group together. Was it the commonalities that set them so at ease? He looked at the others from the monastery: playing tag together by the lake, they too exhibited free communication and calm comfort. Brook alone sat unengaged.

There is no pre-defined group, no collective, other than what spontaneously exists right now. So why do these groupings occur, and reoccur? How did it form, and why is it predictable when it cannot even be defined?

A child falls from the see-saw while his mother talks on her cell phone, facing away; a nearby woman catches the boy before his head splits open, lifts him upright with words of comfort, then goes back to her conversation. The mother and the group conversing with the savior are all similarly styled: flip-flops, shorts, earth-tones, longer hair, tan skin, highbrow humor, witty pop culture references that escape Brook. They might be in the same group! The woman on her cell phone lets her (lucky-to-still-be-alive) son that his time is nearly up, as if it were a part of the phone call itself: He'll have to fix it when he gets back. Five more minutes Matt! No, we're at the lake right now. Uh-huh, Brent is still in Sydney.... It's all so seamless, like it had been rehearsed.

What is it that she wants? Does she actually get it? Does her son?

Brook tries to stay alone, aloof, but occasionally someone threw an unwanted Hello his way. They rarely notice his answers, and when he doesn't answer there seems to be a pain. Why do they say hello? Because they want to hear how a shaved-head answers? Or because it's the thing to do? A frisbee flies into the lake. A neatly-dressed boy of about 10 wades in after it, returning it to the kids from another group. His socks, damp and green, lie in the sun like fish.