I Met Nostalgia in an Empty Locker

It was a sad rendezvous.

And as I sat in the final Latin III class, we counted down the clock. And at 12:30 it was over.

I was no longer a sophomore.

In the moment, I thought it was kind of silly--what was more important was that we were home free. Our work was done and now we were headed to a well-deserved break. It was a huge relief that broke like a wave over our heads.

But, of course, there was the undertow.

Today was not only my last day of sophomore year, it was the last day for my sister as a middle schooler. And, like a bunch of other touchy-feely private schools, she had "Eighth Grade Promotion". A faux-Graduation ceremony that celebrated the rising freshman.

Now going back to the final class of the day. I was mildly excited for my sister, but I was much more interested in what I was doing. Every year ultimately culminates in an end-of-the-year party, hosted at the largest friggin' house I have ever seen. Got to love the local billionaire's kid.

So, I had shoved old English books into my messenger back and threw binders full of work I no longer cared about into a large plastic trash bag to haul up to my mother's office. I slammed the blue metal door shut without looking back. Papers I worked so hard on at the time were lying, forgotten, in a bin in the Language Department.

It is only now that I wish I hadn't rushed. Like the weepy softie I am at heart, my sister's promotion ceremony touched me. Middle school teachers took the stage with the sweetest speeches about the kids and then a slideshow was quickly thrown up onto the large projection screen. Photography from throughout the eighth grade's middle school career triggered "aw"s and some tears on the part of the parents.

I barely know my sister's class. But it immediately got me to thinking about my own. We are so ephemeral. I realize that I'm going to miss all those knuckleheads when our senior year draws to a close. So many things that I'm going to remember for the rest of my life. Teachers, friends, and yes, even the actual learning.

And as I'm pining for the past, I have been firmly reminded to enjoy the present and document the memories as they happen.

I don't ever want to forget. I want to remember rolling up to a ridiculous mansion in a sensible Hyundai and walking down those graceful marble steps to an Olympic pool. A bunch of guys sitting on the low walls surrounding the walkways. Shoes were off and food was circulating. I sat down with the girls and greeted my friends, quickly leaping over that awkward silence that pervades a party at the start. We changed into our bathing suits, myself in a ruffled bohemian floral print, and ran down a sloping lawn to where all my guy friends were playing ultimate frisbee.

Shirts v. Skins.

To be honest, some of them should have worn shirts. But as we laughed at their unbelievably skinny figures darting about, we begrudgingly admitted that we loved these guys. I love these guys.

I love a guy.

And as a friend points him out (rather needlessly, as I had spotted him from the start) and remarks with a sigh about his "glorious back muscles" I playfully push her aside with a muttered "mine!". She laughs at me and we continue to watch the boys run.

And then the sky opened up. The game scattered as the guys pulled on their shirts and we jogged back up toward the main house.

And then someone shouted, "To the pool!"

Well, we were wet anyway.

Laughter and steam rose of the surface of the water as we swam in the rain. There were races to be had and bragging over "having a pretty god damn great dog paddle". When the rain abated, attention was turned back out of the pool.

Towels wrapped around our waists, we walked down to the tennis court and the indoor basketball court. We played HORSE while I wondered how loaded this family actually was. Well, the guys played. My depth perception is lacking.

Abandoning basketball, I pestered them into a game of tennis. At least everyone was terrible there. As we lost the last tennis ball over the fence, time was winding down. Back at the pool we said goodbyes to those who had begun to leave.

We lounged about as more parents started to trickle in, taking our classmates from us. We talked and questioned each other's summer plans. We should do a beach day. See a movie. Just get together.

I look up at the terrace above and see my ride waving to me. I hold up a finger. I need a minute. Just a minute.

I stare at my guy with the "glorious back muscles". Technically, he isn't my guy. He's his own guy. But I wanted to be his girl.

I swore to myself I'd say it. It was just a simple question. "Want to go to the movies some time with me?"

But I barely got out, "So, when are you leaving for vacation?" before one of his friends pulled him away into a hug. I chickened out.

I grabbed my bag and pulled on my shirt and systematically went through and hugged my bros. I got to "my" guy, held out my arms and with a casual grin said, "I'm going." As I pulled him close, I could feel his stubble graze my neck. When did these guys get so old?

I let go and looked up at him and said, "We need to get together this summer."

"Definitely."

I smile once more and then it's back up those marble stares and into that sensible Hyundai. I couldn't quite say the words I wanted to. But I'm making plans. I'll have more time in the next weeks to ask him. Plus, a summer blockbuster is always a great excuse to ask. Even if I'm rejected, it'll be worth it.

Walking into my house, I see my little sister looking like a bombshell with her hair in curls and, uncharacteristically, makeup on her face. And then I'm hit with the weight of it all. We're all getting older.

It's night now, and I've just dragged my remaining text books out of the trunk of the car. That empty locker still feels like it's mine.

But memories are always mine, aren't they?

To Dance

Is to live.

Insert Witty Title Here

You know, I was thinking.

Thinking about thinking, actually.

Have you ever noticed how in your conscious thought, you think in English? At least, I do. Native language -- it's natural to bring language into cognitive processes.

But then of course, there's that deeper thinking. And you don't do it in any language. It's just pure thought. When things click. It's not a surface thought and it cannot be brought forth into existence via words.

It just is.

Kind of fascinating, really. A bit difficult to wrap the head around, but fascinating nonetheless.

Anyway, this is how I begin my foray back into blogging. I had tried when I was younger and the result was a rather uninteresting pile of goo and hormones. Oh, and trying too hard to be funny. Way too hard.

I'm not entirely certain what this blog will become. It will most definitely have some of my writing incorporated into it, since I'm conceited, narcissistic, and pushy. But maybe there will be some book/movie reviews, some blasé journal entries, and just general opinions/thoughts on current matters.

So, if you're at all interested in the blog of a teenaged writer with an all-consuming love for the written word, then stick around. If not, well what can I say? You're probably part of a 99% majority.

I'll see you on the flip side.

-- Sparrow