(no subject)
Blah... today was... (in one word) atotalwasteoflife. I didn't do anything, but run my ass off at practice. I'm so sore... Got up this morning at 10. Got bitched at for it. God forbid I get up later than 9. I'm not allowed to sleep in on weekends or (obviously) Christmas break. Pisses me off. Bad. Alot of shit pisses me off lately. Like the weather. Why is it so damn cold, yet there is no snow. I miss snow. Then Ashley was sposed to come over but she didn't. I wasn't pissed, just kind of let down I guess... in a way. Got in a fight with my mom last night and she was so shallow. I couldn't BELIEVE the things she said. They were incredibly low. I could have slapped her. Seriously, and the worst thing was that it was about one of my best friends. But I ain't sayin nothin here, or at all. It was bad. Not that anybody reads this dumb thing but Sloan (love ya babe!) so who cares, but still. Some things are just meant to stay in my mind. I miss my old life. I miss being happy.
My Last Steps
June 1st, 2004. The stiff, freshly ironed, bright blue gown slips over my head without much persistence. I had only two hours left as a grade school student.
My horror and excitement diffuses itself throughout my body with each new thump of blood from my chest. As I walk through the doors, old memories and feelings overcome me, as well as teachers and friends. My classmates and I exchange nervous smiles as my teacher, Mrs. Johnson, calmly lectures us for the last time. My best friend Nicole, who is like a second sister to me, gives my hand a tight squeeze and tells me the same thing she’s been telling me for the past two years, “High school will not break us apart. I promise.” Then we do our best friend hand shake that we made up in sixth grade when I first met her. I become conscious of how much I am going to miss her and take time to say a small prayer to God, thanking him for a friend like her and asking him to strengthen our friendship. We wish each other luck and she wobbly walks to the other hallway in her red high heels. I reassure myself of her promise and concentrate on not tripping.
Jacey, one of my close friends who will be graduating this year, begins to play the processional. I wait patiently for my turn to walk out of the hallway and into my future. My childhood buddy Luke reminds me to watch my step in the joking way he always talks to me. I think to myself that soon we won’t have daily conversations anymore and my twenty-four steps to my future become blurred.
Four. Three. Two. Walk. I take my first step into the gymnasium of my dear old school. Another wave of memories hit me in full blow and I stagger a little. To my left was the basketball hoop in which we had won our championship game in seventh grade. In front on me was where our volleyball net had stood in second grade and my friend Dywane and clothes-lined himself. Reality sets back in and I have nineteen more steps left and BAM! The millions of tiny flashes of soon-to-be memories taken by friends, family, and unknown strangers blind me for a minute. Thirteen more steps and I remind myself not to lose track. At step number ten, I meet in the middle, turn to my left, and proceed the last nine steps side by side with my friend Kathy, who had been walking in from the opposite side. I make eye contact with her and offer a little smile, which she returns nervously. I focus on the stairs that are now six steps away because small amounts of people in the audience already have their emotions streaming down their face and I know it is to early for me to do the same.
I make is safely up the stairs and take my place in front of the third chair from the wall in the last row. This is my chair, which will soon become the chair of another Milton Pope graduate. Soon, but not tonight, because my butt has worked its way here, to this chair, and this is where I belong. We receive the nod from Dr. Bauer, our superintendent, and sit down. She begins to blabber on about us, basically saying the same things she says every year in her seemingly fake voice, and I unsurprisingly lose interest. I look at Jeff, my friend sitting on my right, and remember the day he came in fifth grade. I look at how much he’s changed, then my whole class in general. The physical changes in each and every one of us are obvious, but not as much as the changes inside. We have all matured and are now recognized as young adults in the community. I realize how close we are and savor the moment. I know in my heart I can count on any one of them at any given time and they will always be a part of me.
A sharp flick from Jeff interrupts my deeps thoughts and I snap back to the present. He jerks his head towards the piano where the chorus students had been signaled to go. I mouth a quick “thank you” and follow.
The chorus risers and I are good friends as I remember the bruises it gave me last year when I fell off. I smile at the thought and watch my step. The music sheets we don’t need get passed out and are used for the sole purpose of covering our faces to hide our feelings if they decide to start pouring out. I have come prepared and have a pack of Kleenex in the inner elastic band of my skirt under my pocketless gown. As we are singing, I receive a sharp jab in my ribs and look to my left. Megan and Katy, two good friends of mine who now to go Seneca High School, are crying hard but quietly. The site of them makes me laugh since we had all bet I would be the first among us to lose control of my emotions. I understand the meaning of my poke and begin on my search for a Kleenex. I bring out an extra one, just in case. I did tear up for a while, but held them in with everything I had.
I steal looks at my music teacher, Mrs. Mitchell, who has taught me so much in the nine years of my life I have known her, but dare not catch her eye. As we hit the last notes in our graduation song for the last time, I feel a lump in my throat and mouth the last words, “We will still be friends forever.”
Up the stairs again and I’m sitting on my chair which I can only call my own for the next twenty minutes. Awards are being announced and my chair sits vacated multiple times. After everyone is seated, Mr. Maierhofer, our Board of Education President, takes his place at the podium and the first name is called.
“Johnathan Jacob Behrens,” echoes against the walls of the gym and my head as well.
Johnny walks up to him with a spring in his step, the class clown, and receives his ticket out of Milton Pope. Unlike me, he welcomes the thought of high school and currently attends Ottawa. Six more names join Johnny in my mind until I hear the one I have been dreading.
“Anna Rose Elzer,” Mr. Maierhofer says. I rise from my third chair in the last row and walk at a slow, yet stable pace. Seven steps lie between him and me. When they are behind me, I stick out my left hand, accept my diploma and shake with my right, just as we had rehearsed earlier that day. Mr. Maierhofer has a strong, firm grip and hands of a working man. He says “Congratulations,” and I return to my chair for the last time. I stare at the deep navy blue object with the words “Milton Pope Grade School” engraved into the top that I am holding in my hands. I open it and remember the first time I held a textbook. I thought it was so cool that all I had to do was write my name in this big book and it was mine for a whole year. As I look down at my name on my diploma, I know that I will not be returning this.
I walked out with my head held high, the same twenty-four steps that I had walked in. This will always be my school. These will always be my friends. And these will always be my last steps as a grade school student. -english exam paper
"No one's a virgin. Life screws us all."-anna