life goes on. so why am i still stuck here?

i wore a black sleeveless dress with suns and moons all over it. it was my grandmother's and i picked it that day. it was her beach dress. i wore a beach sundress to graduation. my high school didn't believe in caps and gowns. we moved away from the norm and decided to have it in a posh hotel with our own bar despite everyone being underage. it was a class of 12 that year, we had started with 17 but we lost some -- drugs, pregnancy scares, laziness. we sat down in a prearrangered order having nothing to do with the alphabet. in the front row was gunnar's girlfriend, lori. it's hard to forget a name like gunnar. he had a tattoo around his calf and was a professional wakeboarder. his girlfriend used to get shots instead of taking the pill. funny the things you remember about people you hardly knew.

everyone in my class got silly gifts from the administration. kim, front office secretary, told me that she had wanted to write billy corgan to come speak at the graduation or get me rare bootlegs, but instead they decided on a can of pumpkin pie filling with a ribbon and the cover of the mellon collie album glued to the front. i still have it.

i can't remember the speech i gave and i can't remember anyone else's either. my crush read a poem. afterwards, i told him "good job" and he said "thanks" and we never spoke again for the whole graduation. he sat at the bar and smoked cigarettes with his friend. my mom gave me this cow stuffed animal that everyone was supposed to sign. "hi, could you sign my cow?" it sounded like sexual innuendo. at least it took my mind off of shawn.

there was a dance at the graduation. my high school's sorry version of the prom. steven asked me to dance. rumor had it that he had held someone up at gunpoint while high on speed and stole their car. he drove a vintage mustang now and turned me down as a "prom" date. shawn was too busy chain smoking to remember that i had asked him.

my creative writing teacher bought me a present. she whispered in my ear, "you're the only student i got a present for." then it was my turn, "you're the only teacher i got a present for." we exchanged boxes. writing down the bones was under the wrapping. i can't remember thinking of a more appropriate gift. the teachers were the best part of graduation. my old history teacher came back just to see me graduate. i hugged all my teachers goodbye and i remember brushing my lips against the neck of my math teacher. it was an accident but it almost seemed right. i could never look at him in the eyes after that. but i wouldn't have to.

i didn't grasp onto much at my graduation. i wasn't leaving friends, i was leaving texas and there was nothing i wanted more than that. 
¶ 3:19 AM |