OYM Day 85: Loneliness and Leaving
I remember my very last day of high school. It was a beautiful day in Indiana. It was high 70’s, full sun, and smelled like hot grass and freshly washed cars. It was a big day, a big deal, at least in my mind. The last chapter of my adolescence was coming to a close. I was 18, with plans to leave my hometown in the fall. While most of my friends were headed to big state schools, I was headed to the southwest with no plan, but to see what would happen. I had applied to a school in Maine and another in Australia. I didn’t get into either. So, I took the path of least resistance, or really…the path that was being shown to me, but I was unsure as to why.
But back to my last day of high school. By the time my senior year rolled around, I was feeling lonely as ever. Most of my friends were either out of school or running in circles where I was just an extra. I spent my spare time fantasizing about having a dreamy boyfriend, going to college in a foreign country, and becoming a famous movie director. In my dreams, I would be tan, acne free, and wearing distressed denim and effortless t-shirts. I’d have chunky blonde highlights and maybe my nose pierced. Better yet I’d have had a nose job. I’d wear trendy Tiffany jewelry and drive a Jeep Wrangler. I’d vacation in Greece with my parents that saw my blinding potential and they’d let me drink white wine because I was really mature for my age. I’d have a part time job at the mall, but I’d get fired for having too many friends come to visit me.
I imagined my last day of high school being something like an early 90’s beer commercial: me and a group of people all slightly out of my league hopping into a convertible and driving to the beach, to throw the football around and gossip about cute boys and what we should all be when we grow up. I’d get thrown into the water by someone popular and find out they had a crush on me, but I’d tell him only for the summer, because I was moving to Paris on a modeling contract.
In reality, I spent the week leading up to the last day of school asking around to see what people were doing. The last thing I wanted to be was left out on such an important day of my life. But I couldn’t get a straight answer. Some friends had no idea what they were doing and the rest said they’d figure it out and let me know. All I could hear was that these people didn’t worry about being included, because they always were. Or that perhaps, I just wasn’t invited. I would find something, or someone. Yes. I would.
But instead, I left high school the same way I went in: alone and pretending that I had somewhere to be. The last bell rang and kids threw papers and folders out of their lockers and into the halls. I hurried to my locker, smiling ear to ear, and grabbed my backpack. I walked quickly through the parking lot to my car, like my social life awaited me and I couldn’t be late. I turned up my music and rushed to beat the long line of cars that would ultimately clog the school exit each day.
I made it home in record time. I quickly changed and touched up my makeup, waiting for the phone to ring. Any minute now, my friends would think of their last day plans and remember that it wouldn’t be the same without me.
20 minutes crept by. Then 45. Then an hour. The window where I could be included in any memorable plans was closing. I made a few phone calls, grasping at straws. But Cory wasn’t home. Amanda was at Kayla’s, and I wasn’t friends with Kayla. Ali didn’t didn’t answer.
I sat numb in front of the television, deepening the wound by watching old episodes of “Saved By The Bell.” What I would have given for a group of friends…a groups of friends that felt incomplete without me.
The day was likely insignificant to most, but to me, it was the culmination of 4 years of trying to belong. Through force, through proximity, through drama club, band, and student council. I had many friends throughout my 4 years of high school, but I hopped around a lot, and when my senior friends graduated and left for college, I tried to mix back into an old group of friends in my grade, but couldn’t seem to break through into their high walls of inside jokes.
My best friend senior year was Kris: a quiet, thin, perfectionist with a sense of humor so dry it took me a good 3 months to realize he didn’t hate me, but actually wanted to talk. I first met Kris in my sophomore math class. He sat behind me.
“Your thong is sticking out,” he said, without whispering.
We changed seats to sit next to each other shortly after. Kris didn’t care about anyone at our school. He had been thinking about life outside of high school for a long time. I’m not sure what he did the last day of school, but I’m sure he was the the first person I asked. I doubt he thought it was as monumental of a day as I did. I should have tried to be more like Kris.
But I was 100% Cassie Jean and I would spend my last day of high school watching reruns of “Saved By The Bell” and eating sliced cheese. I’d dart to the window to see every passing car. Passing, not stopping for me.
The sun started to set and I walked down the street, barefoot and sticky with humidity. Cicadas hummed like a live wire and the green trees looked almost neon against the hazy summer sky. I anticipated every crack and bump in the uneven sidewalk, leaving the pads of my feet unscathed. I reached the end of the street and hooked my toes around the curb. I had reached the end of my tether. I turned around to look back home.
And I knew, it was time to get used to looking back, seeing home grow smaller and unfamiliar with every step in the direction of who I really wanted to be.
