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Ms. Peach to You
Less than two weeks of high school left. I cannot wait to get out of here. Seven final days, the culmination of four long years; one might think I'd be more nostalgic, less ready to leave, not as anxious to move on. But I'm sick and tired of this place, these people. High school isn't real; nothing about it reflects any semblance of reality. Never again will I be forced to associate with people who call themselves my friends and curse me behind my back. Never again will I hold my tongue for fear of causing ripples in someone's pseudoworld.
Define for me the eyes of a thirty-two-year-old single mother who works at a fast food restaurant. Show me the inverse of a human heart. Write for me a thesis on emotion; memorize the meaning of a single moment. Find me the sum of one boy and one girl. Lecture me regarding the ionic and covalent bonding between the atoms of love and hate; tell me why two minus one always equals zero. Do you understand now why what we all are forced to learn is useless? All the extraneous knowledge in the world - but humans still can't understand themselves.
You didn't call me back last night. I called you and asked what was up. You apologized from here to California and said we'd talk in about half an hour. My cute little black phone didn't ring...but perhaps that was for the best. I was so confused last night I don't know what I would have done. I do know one thing, though: I've always loved you and I always will. We have a "thing". I enjoy this thing. I enjoy my reaction when you're close enough to touch. I enjoy your reaction when I sway. I enjoy us...enjoy you.
Sometimes I really detest my theatre director. Why is it so impossible for her to cut anyone any slack, ever? I have to write a speech by tomorrow. (Found that out yesterday.) I have to finish a big project by Friday. My scene, with three other girls, may or may not be due today, despite the fact that our group has had a full day of class together twice, and we haven't yet gotten through the scene once without screwing it up. I'm sick of WORRYING! You know what? I don't care. I'm graduating, and nothing matters anymore. Absolutely nothing.
Shannon D. Sam. Tom. Chris. Abigail. Shelby. Pete. Adam. Justin. Pat. Erica. DJ. Bob G. Brittanie. Tiffany. Ashley C. Zach. Jonathan. Nick. Shannon P. Jamie.
Compiling a list of the people that I genuinely care about, coming out of high school? It's an eye-opening experience. (Of course, this list excludes college students, but that would only add about three more, anyway.) Twenty-one people. Twenty-one opinions that actually matter to me. I'm not sure if the small number is a good or bad thing. Many people say that you should count the number of real friends you have on one hand.
What would our relationship be like if I was attracted to you? You are certainly the best of all my male just-friends. Speculating on this, sitting in the Media, I wish that relationships didn't always have to be based partially upon superficiality. And they definitely do (at least for me). It's impossible for me to be with a person who I'm not at least marginally attracted to. Perhaps it's that very reason which prevents me from finding happiness in relationships. But I refuse to settle for anything less than the best. I'll get what I want - get what I need...eventually.
So I gave you a call, asked how you'd been, asked what you were up to. You said you were at the mall. I said (making conversation, not actually curious),
“Oh? With who?”
“Some friends.” Your voice implied...something. So I gave it a
“Tiffany and [I can't remember the other one's name. I don't really care].”
Cool, dude. Cool. Apparently you didn't take me seriously when I said THINGS WERE NOT OVER BETWEEN US. Well, I guess that they are now. I guess that's how you feel. And I guess that this just really, really sucks.
You make me feel worthless. Things you say, things you write...a million jokes I'm certain I'm the butt of. I hang on to some hope that eventually we'll repair this. Not likely, when you surround yourself with people who like to take petty little jabs. You'll realize eventually that they are small people – just like I've realized you are a small person. I can still remember when you were my world. It's funny how much you've forgotten. Or, perhaps, how much you cover up. Cover everything up because it still hurts you just as much as it hurts me.
How can you do this?
, she roared inside her head,
how can you end our conversations with 'peace' but end our nights with sex? How can you invite me over to cuddle but go three hours without a kiss?
How can you do this?
, he roared inside his head,
how can you let go on the couch but not during conversation? How can you avoid a goodbye kiss but lie forever in my arms?
I don't understand you
, her eyes said,
I don't know where I stand.
I don't understand you
, his eyes said,
I don't know where I stand.
My assignment of the word “YOU” fluctuates. DO NOT ASSUME things when you (look, there it is!) read my words. YOU do not know who they are about. YOU do not even know that they are or are not about YOU. I do not care what YOU think of this entry. I wonder why, if YOU're so upset, that it is impossible for YOU to pick up the telephone and call me to talk about it. This is not necessarily my daily damned diary. Sometimes YOU means YOU, and sometimes YOU means someone who doesn't even exist. Do not flatter YOUrself.
Didn't see this coming. Several days ago, you asked me to save you a dance, so I did. And after the first dance you stole me away for another one. You and I danced and danced and danced (and loved it). You've...aroused my curiosity. I'd like to know what it was that you were thinking, especially when you kissed me on the cheek. I remember the first time that I saw you. Telling a girl I barely knew that I thought you were attractive was a mistake, back then. I haven't been so innocently piqued in a long time.
Our friendship is over. I'm not sure if you've lied only to me, only to my best friend, or to both of us. All I know now is that you are a liar, and I don't associate with liars. I can't wait until you try to talk to me again; I can't wait to see the tears well in your eyes when I tell you exactly how I feel. You've told two types of lies – trivial ones, and consequential ones. I have a feeling that the ones you told me were consequential. That's how I know you're going to cry.
This is going to be the last thing that I ever write. I'd like to say I'm sorry. I'd like to ask for everyone's forgiveness. I'd like to tell the people I love that I love them. I hope that I'll not be remembered as I am perceived. I hope I've made a positive impact on someone.
I'm not really going to kill myself. But what if I really was going to? What if I really did write something like that? Would someone send me an email? My last words captured forever on the internet...would even one person notice?
In one and one-half days, an era of my life will be over. High school is finally finished after four grueling years which have consisted primarily of extraneous nonsense. I thought that at times like these, revelations were supposed to occur; I'm supposed to feel secure about myself and about my future...but I don't. High school hasn't been completely worthless, though. I suppose I've been forced to go through all of this in order to learn something about myself and about the world around me. Insight is hard to gain unless a chunk of life has been crappy. I'm insightful.
Some things that really annoy me:
Apple peel that gets stuck between my teeth
Having to work past ten o'clock
My dad's endless, pointless phone calls
Stubbing my toe
People that call too much
People that don't call at all
Guitar strings breaking
Being too fat
Folks who constantly reprimand their friends
Getting woken up by my mom's singing
Not having any chocolate
Not knowing if I'm going to college
Not knowing who my real friends are
Having no time to sit down and read a book
Answering endless questions from all of my nosy relatives
Sitting home by myself
How deep does the rabbit hole go? There is no spoon. Some things never change, and some things do. I know why you're here, Neo. I know what you've been doing. I know why you hardly sleep, why you live alone, and why night after night you sit at your computer. You're looking for him. I know, because I was once looking for the same thing. And when he found me, he told me I wasn't really looking for him. I was looking for an answer. It's the question that drives us, Neo. It's the question that brought you here.
We took a walk. I went over to his house at midnight, and we took a walk down to the riverfront. I avoided eye contact, memorized patterns of ripples on the water, wished that life could be simple. I knew that I would cry if I looked at his face, so I kept myself safe by turning away. I wish that I could make everything that hurts me better by averting my eyes. But, if I did that, what of the world would I see? Life is full of pain. That's the one truth I've learned in my eighteen years.
When four different people want to “hang out” with you in one evening, how do you choose the lucky one from the three others? I wonder what my unconscious weighs in making this decision, what makes person X more appealing than person Y. All of us are forced to make judgements about those around us every day. It reminds me of a picture my best friend drew in third grade which ranked her friends; Erin was in the middle, and I was holding her hand. But...Erin always made everyone feel like her best friend. Maybe I do that, too.
I will be the greatest thing that's ever happened to you. I will be the brightest star in your sky. I will sing you to sleep. I will invite you over at one AM and let you stay until five-thirty. I will listen to your music and ask you to play the guitar. When you smile shyly and sing a chorus, I'll write you your own song. I will let you lay your head in my lap and listen to me play the piano. I will always be there for you. I will never keep you waiting on my call.
Tom and I went to see The Matrix Reloaded tonight. It was so, so awesome. If I could, I would see it every day until The Matrix Revolutions comes out. But, since I can't afford eight bucks a day for a month or however long I must wait, I'll buy a couple of posters, put them up on my wall, lay in bed, stare at Neo, and listen to the soundtrack. I think that will be an entirely worthwhile way to spend my time. As a matter of fact, I can't wait. I think I'll wear my leather pants tomorrow.
I don't like this. It doesn't feel good. I have lost control, and control is all that I have. I don't understand what is going on; all I know is that this is not how things are supposed to be. So I'm going to pull out all the stops (Funny. Thought I already had). I'll use your words: You're not gonna call me, and I'm not gonna call. I will not call, damnit, because I'm the strong one here. (That, of course, is a complete lie.) I'll be waiting. Waiting and screaming and thinking and wanting and breathing and hoping.
You did not have to turn off your phone. All you had to say was “Do not call.” And I would not have. But instead, you said, “Yes, please call me.” And I did. And your phone was turned off. I am not sure if I am overanalyzing (I do that a lot) since it is almost midnight and most normal people are asleep, but.... I do not know. I thought that I knew. Please, god, please, do not let this be another mistake. That is all that I need at this point in my life. Why can nothing go right?
....Whoa. What just happened? Someone, wake me up.
Two in the morning; let's hang out. All right. All of a sudden, the sun's coming up, and you're holding my hand.
Um, am I dreaming, or something? I'm a bit confused, here.
I never imagined this would develop, not in a million years. I never imagined that I'd be lying here with you, talking about nothing, talking about everything, letting you run your fingers through my hair. I feel like I've been knocked over, or knocked out. Maybe I'm hallucinating. Or maybe this will simply be an incredible change of pace.
You have a beautiful heart. I am so happy that you and I have become friends; like I said, it seems as though times have to become pretty bleak for something as wonderful as you to hit me over the head. From observing you on a day-to-day basis, I would never in a million lifetimes have guessed at the complexity behind your simple face. This is such a good time, this is such a good feeling, you are such a good person. Everyone likes to surround themselves with friends who build them up. You, dear, are such a welcome change.
The only constant in our world is change. Ever notice that? Nothing stays the same, because change always comes. Sometimes our worlds change slowly, so slowly that we can't see the moments moving by; sometimes circumstances change millions of times in one blink. Apparently I've blinked. I met you, truly met you, and I'm still rubbing my eyes...what is going on? Piano, hair, eyes, hands, heart, I'm lost. Things like this are not supposed to happen. Things like this never, ever happen. But, I guess that's presupposing that “things” are a constant. And nothing is constant but change, right?
It’s humorous to me when people ask me “what’s going on” between us. Would you really like to know? I could try to spell out for everyone the incredible and unexpected connection between two people who, a mere few weeks ago, shared nothing more than the occasional “hey” in the hallway. It’s funny how I can’t hide my happiness. At last, at last I have a group of friends who love me at all times, who don’t wait for me to leave the room before they whisper behind my back. What’s going on, you ask? Don’t think anyone could understand.
When spies came out of the water, I felt bad, but they’re just spies. Everything’s so yellow…ever notice that? I never meant to cause you trouble – in fact, I never meant to do you harm – and if I ever cause you trouble, just remember that I never meant to do you harm. Despite the fact that we are sinking like stones, we live in a beautiful world. There’s nothing here to run from, and it certainly seems to me that there is a lot to live for. Everybody’s out to get you – but don’t you let it drag you down.
You are going away on vacation and I already miss you. Tonight, at the party, you decided not to come and get ice cream, and I was sad. You and I started joking around and laughing about it – eventually I wrapped my arms around your waist, picked you up, and carried you to my car, hoping you’d change your mind. No, you said, I’ve got to go, I really do…and we laughed so hard tears leaked from our eyes. These are the moments that I love the most, I think...laughter that feels so good our bodies get the emotions confused.
The fact that this is still an issue irritates me. We are leaving for the beach in less than a week, and this is unresolved. If you gave me an hour, I’d have it fixed…but, of course, I’d probably use little tact, which isn’t a good plan. I wonder why it is that she has to complain in order to get attention. I prefer to get attention from my friends because they actually want to spend time with me, not because they’re having to “deal” with me. I guess we’ll all just have to “deal” with her on this trip.
My father took me bathing suit shopping for my vacation, and I bought three suits, despite that I’m so fat it makes me ill. Well, that’s a slight exaggeration, but I’m approaching the truth, trust me. I remember the days when I was that trim swimmer with really nice legs. I had a six-pack, damnit. I’m going to have that sucker back before the summer is over. That’s my solemn vow. Pretty soon, I’ll have to be in shape, in order to maintain a job. Sam offered to run with me, which will be pretty cool. Sam’s a great guy.
The Fast and the Furious was a cultural phenomenon. From that single movie, a legion of eager posers was unceremoniously spawned. I’m pretty embarrassed for some of my friends who buy into all of that nonsense. When you slap a cold air intake on your Festiva (my favorite example, use it all the time) it doesn’t make your Festiva cool. For the love of Valvoline oil, get that through your motorheads. Don’t try to install a body kit yourself if you haven’t the faintest idea what you are doing – you’ll end up ripping off your front bumper. And underglow sucks.
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