Hello August, Please Be Good to Me

Chapter 1 - New Beginnings

MAY

The first question family members seem to ask at family gatherings will be one of the following:

1. I haven't seen you since you were this big, Lyric! (reaches out arms to demonstrate). Where did the time go?

2. So, where are you going to school again?

3. What are you going to major in?

4. Are you dating anyone? (Peers deep into your soul with their eyes to see if you're lying).

5. What are you planning to do after college?

And sometimes, it's all of these uttered in one breath. My answers however are muttered under mine, the better to skirt away and forget the conversation. Bonus points if they don't hear me at all!

1. I don't know...away?

2. University of Central Florida (because where else would I be?)

3. The heck if I know

4. Haha. Hahahahaha. BAHAHAHAH. I'm crying. I'm gonna pee. No really. Ha!

5. Refer to question 1, please and thank you.

I've reached the end of my high school career and it's...weird that it's all over. Inside the packed gymnasium, I scan over all my classmates and see that graduation really has been four years coming. I feel their restlessness in my bones and relate to their excitement. But May 21th, also known as the official last day, marks the end of that joy. By then, summer will have started, and I'll have to view myself as a college student. "You are a college student dummy," my brother says, and doesn't hesitate to brag about his new high school senior status. I swear things were much easier when they fed us goldfish crackers and grape juice in Vacation Bible school...and Danté couldn't talk. Good times.

My invitations have all been sent. My red and white cap and gown have been placed on a hanger for safekeeping. My honor cords for Magna Cume Laude have been placed over them with care. My well-meaning but obnoxious family members have showered me with cards and money, and my dad has at least a dozen photographs of me on his desktop from my senior photo shoot last summer. Everyone is ready but me I suppose. College is supposed to offer new beginnings and a chance to start over fresh, to show the world who you really are, but I don't think the world is ready for that kind of awesomeness.

Just kidding! I'm nothing but a socially-awkward, nerdy, too-light-to-be-considered-dark-skinned black girl, with stellar grades and no friends, and hair so thick I had to invest in a "good comb". Expensive, but worth it. Maybe the "no friends" line is a bit harsh. I do hang out with a group of friends who I've known since eighth grade, but I still haven't decided if they like me or pity me. Possibly both. I'm the only one staying in-state it seems, as the rest of them are headed farther north or are west-coast bound. I'll miss them, at least that's what my yearbook farewell says. It's sad that I can recount birthdays and sleepovers and school field trips, but nothing that strikes me as what I think counts as a deep friendship. It's a little late in the game to wonder about these things, but they cross my mind all the same. 

But me? A college freshman? It could almost be the punch line to a lame joke. The kind that no one sticks around to hear. My dad is convinced I'm the most pessimistic woman to ever walk the planet. I always reassure him though that that title rightfully belongs to Aubrey Plaza from Parks & Rec. And this is most definitely why question number four from the list is a joke. I'll date my left toe before I think about the opposite sex. And it's been through some things, no thanks to my clumsiness. I finger the DIY toe splinter I made and stare blankly at my computer screen. I think I've lost my creative vision. I had this great idea for an indoor-treehouse concept, but thoughts of school ending and summer beginning and college on the horizon have essentially chased them away. I sigh and close my eyes, trying to coax them back, but I doze off instead. The sound of my phone awakens me and I reach out my hand to snatch it up and answer. 

"Lyric! We're still meeting later at Domino's right?" I blink my eyes a couple of times, rubbing at my face, hoping that understanding will come to me. "Oh yeah. Yeah! I'm kinda hungry right now," I tell my friend Lindsey, and I hear noise and commotion in the background. "Okay cool, I'm gonna call Madison and Abby and the rest and make sure they don't forget." I laugh in reply and we hang up.

I look at my computer screen which has gone into sleep mode and check the time. I have about two hours to kill before I head out for pizza so I shut it down and pull out my sketchbook. It takes me a second to realize there aren't any blank spaces left, and as I reach for my new sketchbook I sing the Taylor Swift song of the same name. "But I've got a blank space baby...and I'll write your name." This sketchbook is a blood-red color with gold-tinted pages and from my brother of all people. "Don't ever say I don't buy you anything," he'd stammered as he slipped the wrapped package in my hand nervously. I thought it was sweet of him, and remarked how he has good taste after all.

My floor design comes back to me as my matching red pencil flies across the page with quick, short lines of my hand up and down. Just as I begin to shade and add in little details it's time for me to go. I leave everything as it is and grab my wallet. "I'm going out, Dad!" I yell as I pull the car keys off the bulletin board and ignore my plastered graduation invitation. Everyone says how pretty I am without my glasses and my hair framing my face but I just feel as if I was thrust into the spotlight without knowing the script. And frankly, I like my glasses. Even if they slip off my nose constantly. And leave awkward sun marks from where the sun can't reach my face. I still prefer them to a naked face.

I take my time climbing into my new-old Camry and wave to our neighbor Mr. Wallace who gave it to me. My eighteenth birthday just passed weeks ago, and fate would have it that I finally got my license weeks ago after having my permit for years. No, that isn't an exaggeration. I'm a bit of a procrastinator. Danté pulls into the driveway just as I pull out, and I'm off. But not before I hit our mailbox. "Damn Lyric! Watch it," I hear him yell as I cringe and keep driving like nothing happened. As far as I'm concerned, that mailbox has always leaned to the far left.