The only thing I knew about Scott at the time was that he was an Art Kid. Our school was much like any other (as much as it could be). We had stoners, preppies, burnouts, geeks, jocks.... and Art Kids. That was Scott.
The only reason I was aware of his existence was that he went through regular fashion phases as he attempted to fit in with some clique. He did the skater thing, then the goth thing, then the uber-geek thing before finally settling in with the artsy thing. This was made all that more amusing with the fact that we had uniforms and a fairly strict dress code dictating haircuts, color, jewelry, etc. So any attempt to stand out was fairly obvious (and in vain).
So I was, at best, vaguely aware of his existence when I broke my wrist skiing (not playing football). I only noticed him (and his older cast) when I caught him staring at mine the first morning I had it in class. At first I thought it was kind of strange. he wasn't paying attention to anything else - not the instructor, not the fellow students, not even me - just my cast.
It was only then that I noticed that are casts, altough similar in size and location, were completely different. His had one thing scribbled on it in ballpoint pen, while mine was pretty much covered with autographs and doodles. I'd stopped by my girlfriend's basketball game on the way back from the emergency room and she had all her friends sign it. Then some of my buddies signed it when I got back to the dorm as we hung out in the lounge. But he'd had his on for at least a couple of weeks. Nothing on it.
All of a sudden, I felt like shit.
As stupid as it sounds now, crap like that mattered back then. It mattered how many people signed your yearbook, it mattered how many letters you got girls back home...... and it mattered how many signatures you had on your cast.
I had dozens. He had none.
And we both hated it.
I didn't sign his cast after class to make him feel better. I did it to make me feel better. It's not like we started hanging out together after that or became lifelong friends. But I think it mattered to me and maybe it even mattered to him.
But there are people like him all over the place even now. All they need is a "hello", a smile or even just the smallest recognition that they exist. And I've been guilty of walking on by, not even cognizant of their presence, too wrapped up in my own life and my own stupid problems to even notice.
So hello.
