The day will come, the day that you realize that your life is very quiet and very soft.
I would like to go back to Ursuline tomorrow.
I would like to drive there fast, late, swearing all the way in my beat to hell purple minivan, listening to Grace whine about the music until I screech into the last parking spot by the music room door, only to find the theatre locked and trudge to the gallery, where I would force my way down the hall because the bell'd just gone off and most of the sophomores are idiots. I'd like to collect a demerit from Mrs. Bender and hear Doc Stall harass me about my uniform as I throw down my backpack, messenger back, purse and pile of books/crap in the front row of 222. I'd like to scrabble frantically in my binder. I'd like to sprint to the office, surreptitiously fixing my shirttail and wait in line with Mrs. Dehring, terrified underclasswomen and various members of SCB. I'd like to say Good Morning, Ladies. I'd like to listen to Mrs. Iwanusa mangle the birthday announcements. I'd like fold whatever Biology handout I'd scrawled it all on and slip it into the garbage can at Doc Stall's desk before collapsing onto the floor between Godbesl and Jules. I'd like to feel the familiar wash of guilt when I realize, once again, that I forgot my Compassion International money for Kim.
I would like to be the last person out of homeroom. I'd like to forget at least two books. I'd like to pray with Monsieur Harsh and do the AP Francais cheer.
I'd like to be mildly embarrased by my atrocious grammar, but consoled by my pronunciation.
I'd like to be very surprised to find that Mrs. Dietz gave us homework.
I'd like to do some Biology worksheets in Government.
Or sleep.
I'd like to see Mrs. Thaman's face light up in surprise when someone's hand goes up.
I'd like to predict the Bio lesson plan based on Mrs. Dietz' tshirt.
I'd like to laugh when Jess points out that Liz is the only senior turning in an essay on time.
I'd like to try really, really hard to stay as awake and beaming as Mrs. Dietz.
I'd like to panic when Nikki pulls me out of my one-person study.
I'd like to paint my face with lipstick
I'd like to see Father Jack's red vest. I'd like to go to Philosophy, D-Day, mods 10-12, and hear Erin Lange scrap out some obscure, tattoo-related legal issue with Ally Besuden while EtK draws on my arm, and I redefinite the whole proceeding in terms of Harry Potter and Meredith Mock smiles adorably and Kat submits the occasional intelligent comment.
I'd like to feel stupid in the presence of Ms. Schellhous.
In my frees, I'd like to freak out while frantically trying to print with the Senior Copy Card. I'd like to hear Mrs. Burwinkle make a snide comment at the swim team juniors and Mrs. McEwen sing softly to herself.
I'd like the corner to be filled with the Seniors who still belong there, and I want to be vaguely uncomfortable sitting with them due to the sheer force of my own adoration.
In the cafe, I'd like to agree roundly that Slomer is definitely not going to check the homework today.
I'd like to hear Liz and Annie bicker like an old married couple, I'd like to create obscene gestures to accompany Britney's man-related scandals, I'd like to see Beth nugget someone's backpack. I'd like to see Jackie do the FOB dance and the whole senior section belt the chorus to Seasons of Love.
I'd like racial microwave drama.
I'd like to hear Chrissy harass me about my diet.
I'd like to decide that I will learn more from being awake in Calculus than I will doing the homework. I'd like to head for backstage.
I'd like to see the theatre underclasswomen lined up on the left side of the locker hallway, and I'd like to be the first one to say Hi.
I'd like to check Darcy's locker for sustinence. I'd like to not find anything but 3 tupperware containers worth of crumbs and remind myself to bake something to make up for all the truffles I've stolen. I'd like to pause in the gallery and try to remember where I was going.
I'd like to sleep on the blue couch with the board under the cushions.
I'd like Mr. Barhorst to scare the shit out of me.
Tomorrow, I want the old music room back. I want trophies. I want Caylee to be choreographing and Meg to be laughing and Rachel and Tess and Kristen on the couch.
I'd like to be late to English.
I'd like to be shot down by Mrs. Herring every other time I try to contribute to discussion.
I'd like to see Abby and Abby get all excited about beautiful language.
I'd like to listen to Joy.
I'd like Nellie and Grace to send me 17/18 mail, simultaneously, about the ride home.
I'd like to zone out completely in the front row of Calculus, choosing to spend the time instead on cracked-out sketches and extremely morbid poetry.
I'd like to notice that Caitlin Kane accomplishes useful things in Calculus.
I'd like to never once feel guilty about that.
I'd like to apologize again to Earth Action Team about my rehearsal schedule. I'd like to be met with total apathy.
I'd like to run errands and make CCM phone calls and cry in my car from anxiety that seems to come from nowhere, everywhere.
I'd like to forget to eat.
I'd like to attend a completely useless, disorganized rehearsal.
I'd like drive home in the dark.
I'd like to never once understand how my class could be so fond of me.
But I'd like to make it up to them.
Tomorrow, I don't want to be efficient or responsible or professional.
I don't want any middle-aged men to ask me when my break is.
I don't want anyone to ask me if I'm in grad school, or if I have kids, or if I'm a teacher.
I want braces. I want notes from Jessi. I want Claire Ping hugs. I want Likes and OMGs and Basicallys and Obvses.
I want terrible music over the PA on Fridays and concrete under the carpeting.
I want to believe that tracing a routine a thousand times will not carve me into the cracks.
For one more day, I want to know exactly where I am, and exactly where I'm needed.
Before God, I just want to be known.
And while I'm at it, I've always kind of wished I could fly.
I would like to drive there fast, late, swearing all the way in my beat to hell purple minivan, listening to Grace whine about the music until I screech into the last parking spot by the music room door, only to find the theatre locked and trudge to the gallery, where I would force my way down the hall because the bell'd just gone off and most of the sophomores are idiots. I'd like to collect a demerit from Mrs. Bender and hear Doc Stall harass me about my uniform as I throw down my backpack, messenger back, purse and pile of books/crap in the front row of 222. I'd like to scrabble frantically in my binder. I'd like to sprint to the office, surreptitiously fixing my shirttail and wait in line with Mrs. Dehring, terrified underclasswomen and various members of SCB. I'd like to say Good Morning, Ladies. I'd like to listen to Mrs. Iwanusa mangle the birthday announcements. I'd like fold whatever Biology handout I'd scrawled it all on and slip it into the garbage can at Doc Stall's desk before collapsing onto the floor between Godbesl and Jules. I'd like to feel the familiar wash of guilt when I realize, once again, that I forgot my Compassion International money for Kim.
I would like to be the last person out of homeroom. I'd like to forget at least two books. I'd like to pray with Monsieur Harsh and do the AP Francais cheer.
I'd like to be mildly embarrased by my atrocious grammar, but consoled by my pronunciation.
I'd like to be very surprised to find that Mrs. Dietz gave us homework.
I'd like to do some Biology worksheets in Government.
Or sleep.
I'd like to see Mrs. Thaman's face light up in surprise when someone's hand goes up.
I'd like to predict the Bio lesson plan based on Mrs. Dietz' tshirt.
I'd like to laugh when Jess points out that Liz is the only senior turning in an essay on time.
I'd like to try really, really hard to stay as awake and beaming as Mrs. Dietz.
I'd like to panic when Nikki pulls me out of my one-person study.
I'd like to paint my face with lipstick
I'd like to see Father Jack's red vest. I'd like to go to Philosophy, D-Day, mods 10-12, and hear Erin Lange scrap out some obscure, tattoo-related legal issue with Ally Besuden while EtK draws on my arm, and I redefinite the whole proceeding in terms of Harry Potter and Meredith Mock smiles adorably and Kat submits the occasional intelligent comment.
I'd like to feel stupid in the presence of Ms. Schellhous.
In my frees, I'd like to freak out while frantically trying to print with the Senior Copy Card. I'd like to hear Mrs. Burwinkle make a snide comment at the swim team juniors and Mrs. McEwen sing softly to herself.
I'd like the corner to be filled with the Seniors who still belong there, and I want to be vaguely uncomfortable sitting with them due to the sheer force of my own adoration.
In the cafe, I'd like to agree roundly that Slomer is definitely not going to check the homework today.
I'd like to hear Liz and Annie bicker like an old married couple, I'd like to create obscene gestures to accompany Britney's man-related scandals, I'd like to see Beth nugget someone's backpack. I'd like to see Jackie do the FOB dance and the whole senior section belt the chorus to Seasons of Love.
I'd like racial microwave drama.
I'd like to hear Chrissy harass me about my diet.
I'd like to decide that I will learn more from being awake in Calculus than I will doing the homework. I'd like to head for backstage.
I'd like to see the theatre underclasswomen lined up on the left side of the locker hallway, and I'd like to be the first one to say Hi.
I'd like to check Darcy's locker for sustinence. I'd like to not find anything but 3 tupperware containers worth of crumbs and remind myself to bake something to make up for all the truffles I've stolen. I'd like to pause in the gallery and try to remember where I was going.
I'd like to sleep on the blue couch with the board under the cushions.
I'd like Mr. Barhorst to scare the shit out of me.
Tomorrow, I want the old music room back. I want trophies. I want Caylee to be choreographing and Meg to be laughing and Rachel and Tess and Kristen on the couch.
I'd like to be late to English.
I'd like to be shot down by Mrs. Herring every other time I try to contribute to discussion.
I'd like to see Abby and Abby get all excited about beautiful language.
I'd like to listen to Joy.
I'd like Nellie and Grace to send me 17/18 mail, simultaneously, about the ride home.
I'd like to zone out completely in the front row of Calculus, choosing to spend the time instead on cracked-out sketches and extremely morbid poetry.
I'd like to notice that Caitlin Kane accomplishes useful things in Calculus.
I'd like to never once feel guilty about that.
I'd like to apologize again to Earth Action Team about my rehearsal schedule. I'd like to be met with total apathy.
I'd like to run errands and make CCM phone calls and cry in my car from anxiety that seems to come from nowhere, everywhere.
I'd like to forget to eat.
I'd like to attend a completely useless, disorganized rehearsal.
I'd like drive home in the dark.
I'd like to never once understand how my class could be so fond of me.
But I'd like to make it up to them.
Tomorrow, I don't want to be efficient or responsible or professional.
I don't want any middle-aged men to ask me when my break is.
I don't want anyone to ask me if I'm in grad school, or if I have kids, or if I'm a teacher.
I want braces. I want notes from Jessi. I want Claire Ping hugs. I want Likes and OMGs and Basicallys and Obvses.
I want terrible music over the PA on Fridays and concrete under the carpeting.
I want to believe that tracing a routine a thousand times will not carve me into the cracks.
For one more day, I want to know exactly where I am, and exactly where I'm needed.
Before God, I just want to be known.
And while I'm at it, I've always kind of wished I could fly.