"Attempted Poetics"

Originally posted November 21, 2008 at 5:09pm

First semester of senior year was characterized by a summer breeze in those islands in the stream, by death threats from Carroll, fake infants made from blankets, accusations against my maturity - comparable of that of a simple five year old - saving the cafeteria from peril, wearing homemade bonnets, creating catch phrases, and offering foot washing services to bathroom patrons.

It was characterized by rednecks and situations turned ugly...three times! A hillbilly rap that revolutionized the school and a ridiculous truck line. Tiny ones with their duck stew and skinny ones with their baggage and tall ones who broke hearts without even realizing it. Then Taylor Swift appreciated for the first time in the back of a SUV, delivering wreaths and guided by an automated voice.

It was characterized by decay - decaying morals and friendships and resolve and deer carcasses, laying in front of my car. Best friend crying in front of her car courtesy of a psycho ex-girlfriend. Parking in the same spot, everyday - the jeep that used to park right next to me, but then moved three spaces down. Wishing certain cars would park just a little bit closer so I could scrape them when I opened my door. Tying ribbons and tampons to antennas and using spit on kleenex to wipe off the retaliation written across my windows.

Playing the role of the confidant. Stepping into the place of the secret keeper. Never getting anything in return. Frustrations abound and trying to hard for something that was never meant to work. Realizing the true meaning of the bonds I made with dreams of escaping off to New York City to leave the truth behind forever. Confessions over online messages and feigning innocence as the family fell apart. Wishing and praying that it would all finally be over - that I could just move on.

Threats and faux-restraining orders and myspace wars raged. IMs that incited tensions and changed lives. Overplayed Jason Mraz songs on my iPod, skipping CDs in my car - Shakira’s Fool during the day, Mraz’s Tonight Not Again at the nights, and Justin’s Lovestoned once the weather turned cold. Twisting and turning lyrics so they’d mean something to me.

Oh, the horror of Saw movie marathons and hysterical tricycling clowns and unnecessary blood and gore. The horror of how I felt and what it meant and the horror of secret myspaces full of disturbing imagery of what happened when a girl lost all of her esteem. The horror of reality when the day after I tried to quit caring, I found out who had hit rock bottom and how I could do absolutely nothing to help it. And crying, from the fear. Sobbing at the terror. Weeping..oh, the horror!

Standing in the bonus room, phone to my ear, singing on love, in sadness, waiting in anxious anticipation for the chance to change or ruin it all...

Sitting on the computer the day after, filling out a myspace survey that lead to the ushering in of a new era when I revealed the location of who I now considered my best friend.

High speed chase down Clinard Farm Road, laughing and yearning, revving engines, and receiving vague voicemails from angry mothers protecting over-dramatic offspring. Faking excuses, then officially knowing that it was finally over.

And standing there amongst family on New Years Eve, counting down and not knowing what to expect, but forever glad that I was finally escaping that dreadful year of 2006.

Officially ushering in the year documenting a six hour car trip and watching Hannah Montana date her brother and menstruating, which had to be a bad omen because it was only the first day, and already I was bleeding.

Skipping basketball practice the next day because of excruciating cramps and laying on the couch that night watching an obscure Cameron Diaz movie on HBO with my mother, hoping I’d hear the garage door open and the Beemer drive in and my father walk through, but not getting my wish until hours later as I lie awake pathetically in bed.

Shooting off a text right before I cut off the lights - one that proved my weakness. One that proved that somehow somewhere, I still cared.

Impromptu shooting for the dreaded senior project and having a great night once it was all over and done with plenty of cake and innuendoes from someone you wouldn’t expect. And hearing about that dang party everywhere I turned and not wanting to go, but feeling that everyone else was invited simply to rub it in my face.

Dreams crushed by a 28.5 inch ball, bricking off the rim and slamming into my once hopeful heart. Loyal friends attending games they didn’t have to and former friends showing up for the game after mine when they wouldn’t come at all the year before. Cursing and crying mingling in the locker room. Not being able to love it anymore.

Then it was over. Dreading the next, but knowing it was the last. And amazed at how far I’d slid and how much that had changed in a matter of mere months.