It's five fifteen. I'm dressed and ready, I've eaten, and I'm sitting down to play SimCity. There are traffic problems. I'm building avenues to rectify the problem. Katie is bitching about Karl, until I manage to redirect her anger by telling her I bitched him out. I'm such a great friend. We're arguing until five minutes after I'm supposed to leave. At five thirty, I go to pick up Karl. There are traffic problems. Brilliant. It's 96 degrees, according to my car's thermostat.
It's six forty-two. We're standing in the stairwell by the Science and English wings. I'm thinking a little about how I wish to be remembered. At one point in this whole experience, I admit to someone that I'm far happier that I'm remembered in a large way by a small amount of people than in a small way by a large amount of people. I let out a few KHAAANs as a big up to my Digital Imaging class.
I had been looking for DIona earlier. I was talking to her, then turned and she wasn't there. Everyone was dressed in these identical uniforms. Is this our bookend? Your individual contributions mean nothing, but you're about to become part of a soulless international machine, so you'd better look the part? Do they really think the only thing in our life was a nigh-identical high school experience?
I guess it was.
Yeah.
It's six fifty-three. Everyone's outside, behind the school. I'll never see you again, and I'm happy. I have no interest in my alphabetical section. What happens in your one moment? Your brief moment where you're up there, getting your diploma? Do you milk it? Do you just pass through? How do you want to be remembered, for your last moments? What's the point? They're passing out bouncy balls to hand to Lalley. You think they could be more subtle.
It's seven. Game time. The cheers are deafening. This is what 1400 people looks and sounds like. If I'd cared, this is what Pack the Gym night might have been. Times seven. It's like some sort of sporting event, I had no idea it was like this.
Randy's speech is decent. So is Lalley's. Everyone's pretty pleased to see Mather. I spend most of these moments browsing the booklet. We've got four kids going to Harvard. I should be more proud, really I should. I remember, a few days ago, I told my parents, "I know I'm smarter than most of these people. I just don't give a shit". Since sixth grade, I sacrificed my chance at greatness for one at happiness. I think that was more worth it. And while I would have loved to have the final word, have the last speech, I didn't have the work ethic. So long.
Diplomas. Habib gets a shot from a blowhorn. Moss gets a scream from Josh, letting everyone know where he is in the whole fucking gym. And, of course, I give Karl a "HOW ARE YOU?"
So what do I do?
I go up there, chat a little with Healy, and walk up to him. I tell him, "I'm keeping my ball," and keep on going, with a few words for Malueg. And if there's anything to respect about this school, it's the teachers. Not the goddamn wishes of retards, bent on making a scene. Most of the decent people who go up there keep their balls. Good fucking riddance, Northside. Foiled by the faculty - using your hat to keep balls in? Genius.
Eight. We're out.
It's genius, socially, to give out the diplomas in the second floor atrium. We have our private celebrations up there. I'm looking for Diona, but can't find her. I get my shit (C in psych? Thanks, Healy.), and after lingering longer than necessary, go. Talk to my family, whatever. We want to make plans, me and Karl. We get Ian in on it.
I talk to TOC about keeping in touch. I converse with a few select Juniors and Sophomores. I'm too turned off to talk to a few of them, and many of them snub me. That's fine. I'm done. I tell healy that the hole will be appreciated in the future - they didn't get us now. The hole, it's eternal. Or at least, until the engineers fix it. We need a plaque.
The teeming masses amaze me. I have a few more people I could talk to, but we hasten down to the theater, where Karl kept all his shit. Me, Ian and Karl, all half-dressed, hang out there for a while. It's therapeutic, ending in the control room. I give out a few KHAAANs. We take photos around wherever, get a few good ones. I take the camera, get one bad one. Whatever. An hour at PC zone whilst wasting time, and then to Blue Angel. We tell the waitress stupid stories about what we've done to school property, and the five of us - JP, Heather, Karl, Ian and I, all fart around in our last moments. Probably the last time the five of us, for better or worse, will be in each others' simultaneous presence. I drop Karl off around midnight and go home and talk to Diona before nigh-falling asleep on the phone around 2AM.
It's 7:30 and here's a throbbing headache. I'm woozily talking to my mom about the whole experience. I take a pill that has "Do not drive" appended to the side effects. I go back to sleep for a spell. I don't get up until noon, and I don't get to school until 2PM. I went back to fix a program, to get some money, and it really hit me. Part of it is just that the school seems amputated, part of it is just that there are teachers, classmates, friends still there. I'll never see most of them again. It's lonely.
I'm ending my school career fixing programs, post-graduation. As far as graduation goes, it's an utter high followed by horrid realization. It's over. I'm not much one for change, and while it's not much of a KEEP IN TOUCH issue, it's definitely an issue of environment. There are only a few great people who I should keep in touch with, but there are lots that establish such an environment. The last couple days... The environment shattered. I'm not pleased. I miss it already. I don't like change, and for better or for worse, everything I knew of life is being disposed of. Whether that's comfort or fondness, I don't know. But it's over, and it hurts.
High school was unremarkable until this year. I grew up, and I formed friendships that I don't want to lose. I will lose many of them. I hate myself for it. I can't be allowed to hate myself for it, though. It's natural, I think, especially about growing up so much later as a guy. But I grew up. And... well, it's over. I'll have to deal. I just don't know how yet. Goodbye, Northside. I hated you, but I miss you oh, so dearly. I'll visit.