It feels strange being here after all these months. The last three months of the senior year never feels right as it was filled with unkempt anxiety and short-handed tasks and goals to think about. What will you do? What will you be? All the months spent thinking of a life we're all about to live and not the reality that we live in. Shamefully so, I admit to being the victim.
Ghosted my friends, bailed my classes, tried drinking, foolishly hoping I could make something out of my unconscious. To be fair, no one ever taught me that. But still, it's a shame to admit to being the victim.
The sun was sinking as the house started blinking. The party after the tests has been something I've been looking forward to since forever, the smiles, the frowns, but mostly the friends. The casual "Hey, how did you do? Did you do fine? Fuck I missed that last part!" to the usual "I don't think I'm going anywhere after all of this. Shit happens." Small talk to fill the emptiness. No one is speaking but everyone is thinking about it.
"What happens after this?"
"Will I see her again?"
"What would happen if I break it up to her now?"
"I wish I could have said the things I've always wanted to say since the start of the year."
"What if this is goodbye for good?"
Regrets and longing. Puddled messes that get muddier if you start thinking of the people who don't get to be here. Maybe if this is the part that I am looking for, maybe I'll do it with a temper. Just for the last time. Looking into the windows of the bodies I used to know. Two months pass and I will get to see them again.
Or I could just pull out. Go home. Save the regrets for not getting in touch sooner. Save the burden of failures so I don't have to bear empty condolences.
The skies are getting dark and the winds are heavier. The lights are on, giving a faint glimmer that shimmers about. Thunders giving in and out, weeping in the dying sunset. Raindrops patted softly on the grass and bounced softly on the dirt blocks, her tears marking the yellow walls slightly grey. The oak doors glowed faintly as if inviting a friend for a cup of coffee and some fire.
If there is a time for being too late and too early I would like to think that this is the time. Too late to turn back, too early to go home. The walls are up but the curtains are closed.
The rain gets heavier as the sound gets louder. Loud enough to make my heart pound. I could hear the tearful laughter, the pictures of cries and smiles light up as the speakers give out a faint thump drum.
Hand on the handle, I twisted and pushed. Can't take it any longer, I knocked and pushed.
To say that I have been blinded is an understatement to the fact that I am nearly blind. Lights flashed around as the crowd keeps falling all over the place. Faces flushed you can't tell whether it's sweat or tears or both. Only certain for their smiles and frowns, their curling lips, and their blinking eyes. Strangers I haven't met and strangers, not that I wanted, but inevitably cut out to be.
Bodies on bodies danced through the dim-lit hallways. Pictorial smiles captured and laughter ruptured, as they let loose the worry of the coming days and the pressure of the months that went by. Familiar faces in unfamiliar places. I used to hold myself close and by now I found myself missing the most.
Betsy and Natalia on the couch gossiping. Norman and Dawn kissing up on the wall. Friends that I used to know returned to acquaintances like the time we met three summers ago. Clare and Michael in the middle of a bad breakup, John and Ronald witnessing Pietro's bike crash on Humming Street. Casey, Chase, Malcolm, and Tori double dating in Emporio Plaza. Names, places, faces I could mention and repeat over and over again. The bystander within the crowd but hidden far behind greater walls. Chatted and confided.
