Twenty years. It's been twenty years since I left high school, which is weird to think about. I say left, not because I dropped out, but though I did receive a diploma, I never officially graduated. It's a weird and difficult story to retell and I just don't have the heart to do so, for it still leaves me feeling rather bitter. We'll just say that it was decided for me, against everyone's better judgment I believe, and so I was to "graduate early".
This makes it seem shadier than it was. My grades were good, I wasn't pregnant, I wasn't on drugs... my mother just decided to unconsciously do to me what was done to her years and years before; step in and make the future that she wanted for herself, but was denied. So, we'll start. The year is 1998. I had lots of things planned out. The courses I'd take that year, the fun I'd have with my friends, enjoy senior week as the outcast group that we were, and graduate in a ceremony. I'd sent out applications to four schools already. So, I had my real plan, which was to attend the local junior college and then go onto to the local university, so I'd applied to this junior college for the Autumn 1999 semester. The three other schools? They were a lark, just to see if I'd get in, hang how I'd actually pay to get to them or tuitions and the like. Oxford in England, Humbolt in Germany, and the Sorbonne in France. If you are unaware they are some of the most prestigious schools in the world. Germany and France felt it too beneath them to even acknowledge with some sort of rejection letter. Oxford most certainly rejected me, but there was an actual letter and it wasn't too shady or mean. Way to go Oxford for being somewhat decent. We started back at the end of August and by the end of the first week, my classes had all been reorganized by my mother and the principle in order for me to graduate at the end of term in December and nothing I did made a bit of difference to change things back to how they were. It was also decided that I would not be attending the junior college and would proceed immediately to the university. There were vicious rows with my mother about this, but in the end I accepted that this was how it had to be. I did not have enough life experience to know otherwise. To know that while I couldn't change anything about high school, I could have pursued the junior college and no one could have stopped me. But, hind sight is 20/20 and I never even thought it was an option on the table. So what did happen between August and the 18th of December, 1998? Besides the fighting and resisting, I gave up. I was seventeen and then eighteen. Whose not running on emotions at that age? My thought was basically that my mom fucked me over and this was her plan and I wanted nothing to do with it and fuck it all. I was also pissed that I didn't need maths that year, but when she changed my schedule, she added maths instead of something better for me to have enough credits to graduate early. I absolutely detest maths, in case you couldn't guess. No, I was an excellent student (except at maths) in all my classes and barely ever had to study. This was probably my saving grace, because while I wanted to finish my year, I didn't want to be held back. I never skipped classes and always made good grades and turned in assignments, but after this fiasco started up, I landed myself in a lot of before and after school detentions as well as Saturday School. Why? I was coming to school late, skipping classes, leaving early, not doing the work. Very few things stand out from that semester, but a few things do. I mean I know I turned eighteen at the end of September, but I couldn't have told you anything about my birthday. I don't remember. The school hired two security guards who were abusive in their power. If they didn't like you, they made life hard for you. My friends received the brunt of their accosting, even after I left, but only one incident really effected me. I was on my way to school and the male guard was directing traffic. He stopped my line of traffic, with me at the front and I'm assuming he'll let another line go. He motions me forward, so I start slowly moving to clear the intersection, but then he blows his whistle and makes me stop. He sneers. Then he motions me forward again. After the third time of this shit, I just went. I go to my class and immediately some student aid is sent to my classroom to bring me to the principles office. The male guard said that I was driving erratically and wouldn't stop and just flew through the intersection almost killing people. He was standing there in the office gloating at me. "He's a fucking liar!" "Language, Sarah, please." "OK, but he is a liar! That is not what happened at all!" "You do realize that this is very serious. It's against the law to not stop at a crossing." "Look, there were at least fifty people in lines waiting for him to direct. You can ask the entire school and several people, at least, will back up my story. He stopped my line, then motioned me forward, I accelerated slowly and then he stopped me and smirked. He waved me forward again, and stopped me again, and also smirked. The third time I just went through. I don't know what fucked up cat and mouse game he's playing at, but I wasn't taking the bait." "Language, please. *sigh* I'll look into this. You're not known for being reckless and are a good student. Go on back to class." Apparently my principle did look into it. I was never punished and the male guard would just scowl at me when he passed me on campus. Fucker. Harry Potter hadn't been released yet, but really, him and the female guard were the non-sibling, muggle versions of Alecto and Amycus Carrow. You know, from the end of The Half-Blood Prince through to the end of The Battle of Hogwarts in The Deathly Hallows? Yeah, those people. They didn't return the following autumn when the school moved into a new building. I had friends in the grade below me, which is how I know. The next thing I remember is during winter, as we're getting close to me leaving. I always drove the back way to school in my hand-me-down Ford Taurus, which I hated (I wanted to still be driving the red International pick-up). And I was wearing this knitted hat in purple that had braided bits down the side that you could tie under your chin, but I just let them hang down. I was driving to school one morning, with the heater barely working and a great granddaddy raccoon had been hit and was dead. It was sad. I didn't have a class after lunch, so I drove home, grabbed a shovel, came back and buried him with some sort of service in the bushes at the entrance of the community I drove through. Sometimes I still go that way and I always think of this day when I do. I'm sure the people in that fancy community would not like to know that there's a dead raccoon at their fancy entrance, but whatever. I was friends with an older girl that I knew from our coffee house. Turns out she was interested in me and I think she told me this during this time, but I can't be certain. She might have told me the following year. Anyways, she had her tongue pierced and she knew it was something that I wanted done, so, at the beginning of December, she took me to have that done. It's weird to think now that I once had that pierced, but I did. I had seen a documentary when I was thirteen about body modification customs around the world; elongated necks of women in south east Asia, body scarification, lip plates, and stretched ear lobes in Africa. I found it all so fascinating and knew that someday I would have something like this. Only no one was doing any of this. Stretched ears weren't even in "fashion" yet. But I'd read that tongue piercings were a thing out in LA and that seemed as far removed from the traditional ear piercings or the newly popular lip and nose piercings that that's what I settled on. It was in this little building sandwiched between our iHop and what is now a campus book store, but was at the time another small building housing a local hippie store. This building contained the tattoo and piercing parlour and a comic book store where I purchased some Dragon Ball Z action figures around the same time. They've since moved the entire building over across from the zoo and it's a bar. So, that's strange. Anyways, the man made me stick my tongue out and used a special pair of tongs that have the triangle end and held onto my tongue with it. He inserted the needle through the triangle opening then put the bar in and fastened the ball and the entire ordeal was over. It cost me $15. The girl took me out for frozen yogurt afterwards, her treat. That's what her friend had done when she'd gotten her tongue pierced because you can't eat for an entire day after. I was terrified to have my parents see what I'd done. I wouldn't take it out, but they'd be pissed and we'd fight. It was only after I'd gotten my tongue pierced that then people were making fun of me for getting it for the purpose of giving head. I honestly had absolutely no idea that the two would be mixed. It never even crossed my mind. My thoughts were purely on "Well, I can't elongate my neck or do body scarification and tattoos are too expensive (I had one in mind), so I'll do this!" It was probably also a subconscious big fuck you to my parents for meddling with my life, but I didn't see it that way at the time. But I certainly didn't see it having anything to do with oral sex either and I told everyone to go fuck themselves when they said this to me. My dad did end up seeing it when I was working at his jewelry store one day. "Did you get that for that reason?!?" If it hadn't of been for the people in the coffee house alerting me to what "that reason" would have been, I wouldn't have had a clue what my dad was talking about. But I knew what he was implying. It bothered me that he thought I'd be so unrefined as to do something to myself for sexual purposes... then it bothered me that my own father was associating me with sex... then it bothered me to realize my dad knew about sex. I mean obviously or I wouldn't be here, but you never want to think about what your parents may or may not know or may or may not have done in those regards. All my thoughts traveled across my face in the span of mere seconds and then I replied in distaste and shock. "Dad! Geeze, of course not. What do you take me for?" Only he didn't seem convinced, but I suppose felt that he should stand there and call his own daughter a lying whore. My tongue piercing faded into legend. Sometimes my sister will say, "Woah, do you remember that you had your tongue pierced once? That was weird..." and then it will be forgotten again. I kept it about ten years and then just removed it and threw it away and that wrapped up an entire chapter in my life. On my last day of school, I drove the same way, wearing the same purple hat. The only thing I had left was an English exam first thing that morning. I sauntered in twenty minutes late. My teacher drank a lot, though it couldn't technically be proven. "Sarah, you're late. You won't be able to take the exam." "Yeah I'm taking it. Hand it over." And she just did. I finished the exam and did pass it with flying colours. The bell rang, I walked outside to hang out with my friends one last time. When the bell rang, they all shuffled back into the buildings to go to various classes, and it was time for me to leave. Somehow I left everything behind that grey winter day twenty years ago, and yet never left anything behind at all. It was something very much unfinished for me. I wasn't the popular kid who continues to live their high school glory days well into middle age, but I didn't absolutely hate high school. I just watched Romy and Michele's High School Reunion again after not having seen it for a very long time. Really, if you were going to peg me as someone in high school I'd be Janine Garofalo's character, Heather. Dressing in black, acrimonious, and a total nerd. However, I felt like the character of Michele. I kind of had fun in high school and don't think badly of my time there. Sure there were dark times, but really I enjoyed learning and my friends were there and it was an escape from the worse times at home. I never remained mentally in high school, but there was a lot of difficulty for me to move on in life. It was like someone was standing on me and I couldn't move. I wanted to because no one wants to be stood upon, but it just wasn't happening. But, somehow part of me is still lost in that cold, grey, winter day. I've moved on, but I still feel like part of me is still back there unable to find the parking lot to gain her car to drive away and on. She's trapped there on the faded and chilled grass between C and D buildings watching her friends wander off to classes that ended so long ago. That's not to say that the other portion of me hasn't moved on. While I may have not accomplished a great deal by societal standards; a college degree, a great steady job, world travel, a husband and kids, loads of money, etc., I have accomplished a great deal that is, to me, more important, but really doesn't mean much in the grand scheme of life as viewed by humans. I've worked on myself a lot. I've grown as a person by leaps and bounds. I'm in no way perfect, but for me, I'm pretty alright. I've helped people, I've helped animals, I've been selfless, I've made memories, I've had some terrible experiences that I've learned from, I've had wonderful experiences to help shape me as a person, I've created things, I've shared, I've been kind, I've experienced tragic deaths and come out the other side, I've forged through it all the best I can; the best I am able and I'm still here. I'm trying not to let the events of that week in August pain me, I'm working on letting the entire ordeal go, and I'm trying to set my eighteen year old self free. It's not easy, but this type of work never is, but I am trying. However, unlike Romy and Michele, I did not attend the ten year reunion that my graduating class student body executed. I would have, but it didn't seem worth it. They made it fancy, so it was $50 for a single person, to cover the cost of the space and all the alcohol said person would consume. It was $35 if you were married or dating someone. I'm sorry, but there are better things to spend $50 on than people I'm no longer friends with, because I'm no longer friends with anyone from high school, not entirely of my own doing and some well, it would be sad for me to have once super BFF's shun me. I'm not paying money for that. Plus, I don't partake of alcohol. In May of next year will officially be 20 years for my graduating class. We'll see what kind of shin-dig they put together. If it's $20 or under, I'll consider it. If it's more than that, then I'll end up being the elusive weird girl they sort of remember from high school and perhaps they'll wonder why they never see me at these functions. I know my sisters graduating class kept orchestrating elaborate and expensive reunions and no one would attend, so someone just said, "Everybody meet at my house, bring beer." and that was their 20th reunion. That's more my speed, honestly.
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AuthorA girl from South Mississippi who finds herself in exploration. Archives
November 2019
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