Tales From Heller

When Harry Met Daisy

CW: Gaslighting

I:

I remember my 8th grade graduation like it was yesterday. A bright day in June where we all stood inside a dark theater and looked for our parents in the audience. We walked up, took our diplomas, and returned to our positions as adults. I felt then that I was ready to conquer anything, and my parents told me the same. High school, they said, would give me freedom to do anything, absolutely anything, I ever wanted.

A few months later, my mom gave me some valuable words of advice that I've been turning over in my head ever since she dropped me off for my first day: "Everyone's as scared as you are. They may act like they're tough, but everyone will be as anxious and tired as you." That made me feel better. It really did. I had expected somebody to greet me when I left the car, maybe someone cheering or giving me an orientation packet, but all I saw were students working and walking around. They all looked very serious and intimidating, so I didn't want to disturb them in case the posters they were putting up were important, but I asked one of them where the theater was and she pointed me in the right direction, so at least that was that. That's another thing my mother told me: "There's no such thing as a stupid question."

I found a whole group of people standing in line outside the theater, and assumed they must have been my people. The new freshmen, just like me. They all had their paperwork, and I had thankfully remembered to bring mine (my mother wagged her finger at me that morning and said, "adults always remember to bring their paperwork!"), so I stood in the right line and slowly moved into the theater. I didn't even complain when they yelled at me or the other students. They yelled at me less, and even thanked me once, so I thought that was promising.

I knew that Heller's school colors were orange and black, but everyone wore gray. The teachers, at least, who were telling us what to do. I had not chosen a colorful outfit that day and was glad I fit in with them. I've heard it's always important to give a good first impression, so I went and did what I was told, and even went to sit in the back of the theater next to a kid in a suit. Anyone who dressed like that, I thought, needed more friends.

I don't remember all of what he said besides that it was very interesting. His name was Frank, he said and I gathered in the assembly, and he was in a way the person running the entire show. I thought the girl on stage leading the ceremony would have been the person in charge, but Frank said that she was only vice president. I almost didn't believe him until his face came up in the slideshow. There was one other thing I asked him during the presentation, I remember now. It was when they were explaining the ranking system, and I wanted to know why I was a Beta and not an Alpha. Frank told me that a Beta was still a very respectable rank, and did not seem to want to clarify until I asked again:

"Well, Harry, you're taking the wrong classes. We have little to judge new students on but what classes they signed up for, and this isn't it. A Beta is a respectable rank. We can all learn a lot from Betas. There are some very smart kids I know who are Betas. It's sad, but not everyone can be an Alpha."

"But that isn't fair," I said.

"Life isn't fair."

I thought, in that moment, that he had taught me a very valuable lesson. I was an adult now. I had responsibilities, and like the assembly said, anyone could pull themselves up by their bootstraps and become who they wanted to be. I thanked him once again when we left, and promised I would sign up for the club immediately.

II:

My mother had always worried I kept to myself too often. She never called me shy, but there was always this understanding that the world offered beautiful things and I chose to look inward. She had told me once, with another piece of useful maternal advice, to join clubs when I was in high school. To do activities. Anything at all that would put me with someone else. So I went to stand in line, with everyone else, waiting to get my club paperwork. I loved the weather that day. It was cold, vaguely foggy, and somewhat like San Francisco. I always had fond memories of visiting my grandparents there, and San Francisco was the sort of city where important people made things happen. It would be nice to be one of those important people, I thought.