So I'm sitting here searching Xanga, and I decide to do a blogring search for the words "Valley Center." (Being the stalker, um, I mean 'detective' Aquarian that I am,) and I come across several journals belonging to the kids who were freshmen when I was a senior in high school, all of whom have graduated now.
First of all, it blows my mind that people who were born in 1990 are in high school right now. That's insanity. I mean, ask me how old I am, and I'll be like, 'seventeen. Um, I mean... twenty-one--what the fuck...?' Damn. It's just so weird.
Second of all, I'm reading this one girl's journal, her name is Wendy and not only was she a freshman my senior year (she played 'Rapunzel' to my 'Witch' in Into the Woods) but she and I were neighbors when we were much younger, I guess she was about 9 and I was 11 or 12. I think, I don't know, my brain is in such a time warp.
Anyway, I'm reading her journal, and other journals, and there's always the eternal mention of 'drama'---both the subject, as it were, in high school, as an elective art form, and, of course, as we all more commonly know it, in its noun form as that annoying shit goes on everywhere. And more elaborations about ITS 'drama' (ITS was the like, drama club thing that was official and a nation wide sort of branched organization for high school drama clubs and troupes; standing for International Thespians Society) and Mr. Ward drama, some of them singing his praises and some cursing the very name (I was more inclined to do the latter; as he was the failed-wanna be-actor-turned English teacher-type) and of course all the wonderful juicy drama that always seems so pivotal and life-altering at the time, most often occurring in drama rooms and black box theatres in high schools around the nation. There is drama in drama, yes it's true.
But let me tell you.
It was...it was something, to sit and read and feel such a sense of deja vu reading about all the things that went on with these kids because it was almost IDENTICAL to the experience my age group had when we were their ages, in those grades, in that drama room with that teacher and those clubs and that play and that town and that school. The same drama, the realization of SELF! Of sexuality first and foremost, I truly believe those with the expressed flair for the dramatic arts are much more sexual at an early age, whether it be experimented with alone or with another person--or persons, in my own case--the same hope and aspirations, the same sad truths, the same fear of not even graduating but still waking up in the morning to go to school because you could go hide in the safe, dark, black confines of the little, little theatre. I mean, this shouldn't be a shock to me, and I wouldn't even call it a shock exactly, but it touched me. That inveritable truth of knowing that it will go on, and on, and on. And I know its just high school and I know it's 'typical,' but still. It really took me back, and aback.
And here I was reading all of this and I just felt like I was transported back into that time that was so excruciatingly exciting. I would never go back, but my heart longs for it sometmes. And it's the lame things like smelling the oranges in the bin of the produce section in Wal-mart, or craving a carne asada burrito at 3 in the morning, or wanting to walk outside in the middle of the night into the wonderfully fresh valley air and feeling the fog and the mist and looking at the stars with the big (little?) dipper in the far far left corner of the sky. (It's in a different position here; more upside down, closer.) It almost hurts. But why? And I sit here lost in the past and then I look at the clock on the computer screen and its past midnight here in Oklahoma. And I remember where I am and look back at the sight of my sleeping boyfriend and it shocks me, but god, he's beautiful, so beautiful I could cry. And I get up, still thinking about that high school and the deaths and Bang Bang Your Dead and how MY generation was the beginning, how WE started it, how WE made the change and good god, I think, I DID DO SOMETHING GOOD! I DID CREATE CHANGE; make good, improve something for the better in this giant world. And I'm sitting there in that cold little bathroom in the middle of America, peeing and staring at the door and wondering how I got here? How on earth did I get transplanted from that eternity into this place (of all places?)
But the biggest shock of all... visiting that place in my mind thinking about it all, standing in Seth's bathroom washing my hands; staring at my chewed up fingers and chipped pink Old Navy nail polish, and finally, finally, looking up--
and for those year-long milliseconds our brains sometimes cause us to have (you know what I'm talking about)--
there was aboslutely no recognition.
But it was me.
This life with all its pain and sorrow and beauty will just keep on.
(And now with strong belief)
I'm not referring to mine.
I've got to go kiss my boyfriend. I've got to...