we're fated to pretend

I was driving down the road awhile back when I had to stop at a red light. There was a packed car beside me, the average passenger the age of 17. They were me, essentially, or a version of me that happened 8 or so years ago.

It took me back... 20 feet and years from where they sat, I was in that tacobell drive thru, playing 'TOUCHDOWN!' with my friends. For those of you who weren't as lame as us, 'TOUCHDOWN!' was this entirely wasteful game in which we dropped one of our friends off as we pulled into the drive thru, and had them lurk about as we made our order. We then parked just far enough away from the window and pretended not to hear as the worker said, "Ma'am, your order..." holding it out for us to grab.

In an ideal circumstance, our lurking friend would run between the car and the fry cook's outstretched arms, snatching the food and spiking it on the ground just in front of the car, yelling "Touchdown!" as she did so.

What we didn't account for in this particular instance was the fact that the Taco Bell guy was grasping the handle of the bag, and when A Big Ash went galloping through, he held on tight, clothes-lining her in the process. She lay on the ground, between the car and the building, as he shoved the bag through the window. "Here's your food." He was not amused.

But we were.

Remembering this, I smiled, still at the stoplight. A noise jarred me, snatching away my good ol' memories. The car of teenagers was still beside me, though they were not content to wade through the past like I was. No... no, they were hanging out of the car, barking. At me. At other cars. At pedestrians. Pretty much at anyone and anything. I shook my head. Once upon a time, I was right there with them.

I was watching TV yesterday, tuning into a particularly dramatized version of the high school experience. I scoffed. This is so dramatic, I thought. This would never happen!, I cried. This is sooo unrealistic, I... surmised? I don't know... Actually, I probably stuttered or something, I've been doing that a lot lately :/

But I digress. High school rocked. It was even the topic of one my Creative Writing 205 (or whatever the fuck) discussions in college. The professor questioned the class, "Who of you all liked high school?"

Two, out of 36, raised their hands. One was this boy named Luke, who was super cute, by the way. The other was me. I put my hand down as quick as it had gone up, watching in silence as a girl (who looked like she hated high school... you know the type...) rolled her eyes at Luke, "Well of course you liked high school," she said.

"What's that supposed to mean?!" he asked. But he knew. He loved high school. He was one of those... and, evidently, so was I.

For me, it was magical. People weren't singing in the hallways, exactly, but there was joy. There was friendship, and love, and good times had by all. Our teams always won and our tests were challenging, yet passable. Sometimes instead of giving out homework, they gave out candy and money. The teachers were fair and people were honest, and kind. I had great friends and while we weren't the coolest, we had fun. Kamiakin was the best school in the whole, big, wide world... ever. I loved it so much that I stayed after school, and got there early... anything to be on campus with my bess frans! High school was, in a word, AWESOME.

Every once in a while I just flip through my yearbooks and stew in its sheer awesome-ness. And then, suddenly, as if I'm being thrown into a brick wall, I remember that one time I was at a friends house and got cornered by two really awful girls. And I remember how they threw a Pepsi at me and told me they were going to kick my ass for calling one of them a bitch- something that for the record, to this day, 10 years later, I swear I didn't say. Though, I have said it since.

I'll say it again, now, if you'd like.

YOU FUCKING BITCH.

Ugh. Anyway. I didn't have my license yet, and I was afraid they'd follow me home and throw shit at me if I ran away, so I started crying and hurried inside. I called my dad and asked him to come get me, even though he had just dropped me off 30 minutes before. He asked, "Are you okay?" and I didn't answer. He said, "Liz?" to which I replied, "Mmm hmm," because I didn't want her parents to hear me practically gurgling with choked back tears. Five minutes later, I was in his car, rolling up the window as the girls yelled, "BITCH!" at our bumper.

That particular memory was not so nice... and once I think about it, everything else comes screaming back to me... Maybe... could it be? Was my high school experience less than the fucking parade-of-joy-and-jubilation that I make it out to be?

You be the judge. Here are some other memories, enjoy:

-There was the time freshman year that no one invited me to the party after the basketball game on Valentine's Day and I dubbed it the "St. Valentine's Day Massacre" in my diary. (The fact that I wrote about it in my diary and gave it such a name makes it less sad and more COMPLETELY pathetic, btw...)

-The time Mr. Clark saw my mom at Costco and told her that not only had I failed to turn in my last few assignments, but that I hadn't bothered coming to class at all, lately. I got grounded for that one. Natch.

-The two separate occasions in which I was mocked, loudly, during a (nerve-wracking, pulse quickening, I-can't-believe-I-have-to-speak-in-front-of-everyone) presentation. The first time was sophomore year when in Marketing I was negotiating a higher salary for Reese Witherspoon and played a clip of Legally Blonde. Evidently the 17 year old boys in my class thought that I seemed like the type of girl who could take a good ribbing from those with whom she was infatuated with... I got so embarrassed that I cut off the clip halfway through and mumbled the remainder of Reese's contractual demands while sliding into my seat as quickly as possible, head down... heart heavy :(  The second time was when I was giving a speech about racism... which I guess is super hilarious and worthy of contempt and derision from asshole white kids named Ian and Steve.

-The time I got hit in the face with a dodgeball. I was already out. Sitting on the sideline. Fucking sniper mission, it was... Meanwhile, setting up bowling pins and calling it 'Pinball' doesn't make it a different enough game to interchange it with actual dodgeball in an effort to create athletic diversity, Mr. Rose.

-The time Jevon hacked into my AIM and told everyone who I liked- which wouldn't have been the end of the world but he IMed some of the popular kids, and while they were on my buddy list, I sure as hell didn't actually talk to them. Ever.

-The time Chance told me, "Wow, you're really cool, Liz. I don't know why nobody likes you."

-The time I got thrown in the pool. On my birthday. In my clothes.

-The time I got accused of plagiarism in my freshman English class because my teacher thought I was too stupid to write coherently.


I'm sure there are many, many more, but without actually digging out my leopard print diary (oh, Christ All-Mighty...) I am unable to recall them all. High school must have been one of those experiences that in some parts was so traumatic that my brain did this cool thing where it made me forget how shitty it was, instead amplifying the fun days in which we tee'd off in the amphitheater on Preppy Thursdays. Or when I wrote the script for an assembly that turned out kinda cool. Or the time I got asked to Homecoming with a banner at halftime (by Jevon, which almost makes up for that dick move with the AIM).

A few of us went to a Kamiakin/Kennewick football game last fall, and after I got over the shock of seeing the boys I used to babysit for all grown up and in-high-school-now or whatever, I was thrown by the insane amount of raw emotion that was flying about the stadium.

Girls were crying. Boys were acting indifferent. Girls were yelling. Boys were swearing. Girls were scheming. Boys were standing near the back of the concessions staring really creepily at girls they didn't have the balls to talk to... Girls were pretending they didn't notice the boys doing this all the while whispering about it to their friends as they waited on their Skittles.

Stupid little relationships were coming into fruition and falling apart all around me, and these kids were really into it. They had more passion and enthusiasm for their meaningless, Friday night, "let's go to the football game but not actually watch the football game" assholery than I do for any given day of my life. Or week. Hell, maybe even month.

This is not to say that I think my life is bad. On the contrary, I don't mind my life a whole hell of a lot. On some days it's pretty damn good. I'm just saying that high school... ah, high school. High school was, and is, a complete clusterfuck of bad and good and idiocy and arrogance overlaid with some really great times that tend to make you forget the shitty ones.

And I did it.

And it's over for me.

And I'm so, so glad about that.