Ended up sitting beside George on the bus today.
He wrote his own concerto once, sometime when we were 17. I've never heard the entire thing come to fruition but he played an excerpt for me on his violin. George always plays lead violin, always wears a suit while doing it. Don't let the suit fool you, though. There is something that happens somewhere in the combination of his fingers, strings and catgut that is a tad magical. It's someone else that sings out, someone who has no words, just feeling.
George is very soft-spoken. I'm not sure exactly how long he's been living here, but his English is flawless. Every word carefully chosen, exact, to the point. Nothing out of place. He's not one to say rash things that he doesn't mean, because everything has been quietly preconsidered. He must have memorized half the dictionary to be able to speak the way he does.
Give him enough time and he'll figure out any puzzle, or formula, or equation, or concept, or text. He will present the solution to anything to you in layman's terms with as much diplomacy as anything else. He's clearly better than you, but he doesn't care to mention it. It doesn't even register.
He got an internship, of sorts, in a lab over the summer, where he counted worms.
He counted worms. He measured worms. He catalogued worms. He disected worms. He modified and spliced the dna of worms.
If only George could find it in himself to give up science for arts, he could save the world. I really believe that.
note: at my school arts is economics, sociology, anthropology, psychology, criminology, history, political science, linguistics, philosophy, humanities, english, foreign languages, women's studies, history, community economic development, labour studies and dialogue
ie. the study of people
Though, I'm cooler than all those people because I'm a communications major, which is an applied science. :)
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