I never enjoyed high school. It was and still is a common misconception that I was shy in high school. This couldn't be further from the truth, I was not shy in the least. The popular kids who secretly held conversations with me while cheating off my tests in class could attest (if they actually fessed up to the fact) that once you engaged me in conversation, not only was I a pretty friendly kid, but I was also smart, witty, and surprisingly well-versed in the ways of the great, big, wide world. What most people mistook for shyness was actually disgust, possibly even hatred, for the cliquy highschool society that forced me into the outskirts to fend completely by and for myself. You see, what you have to understand about my highschool experience is the depths of my solidarity. There really was no place for me in that world. There was no real place for a cripple amongst the rich, Morman prom queens, nor the overachieving geeks who all assumed I must be stupid, nor the wannabe loner goth kids who found my genuine freakiness far too threatening. And I was never helpless enough to fit in with my fellow handicap peers, who felt content in the special ed classes where they could revel in their laziness. (I suppose it is only fair to mention as well that I was a bit pudgy back then. And any fat kid is going to find it difficult to fit in.) And the most ironic part of the whole story was EVERYONE knew who I was. How could they not?
Now before you start feeling too bad for my former angsty self, let me reassure you that I had no real desire to fit in. Being forced into the position of a spectator, I got to see all aspects of this fake society for the joke it really was. And even then I knew that after graduation, none of it would matter in the real world. So I figured, why try to achieve greatness in this place? I knew my place was somewhere in the real world, waiting for me. So my teen years became about one thing only: survival. And in a fake world where the satus quo is ruled by a majority you stand no chance in a hell of being a part of, there was only one way to survive: offense. Hence, why I chose to hate everyone.
Highschool is over now, and has been for a while. And I never have to go back. And that place in the real world that I knew was waiting for me is more awesome than I could have ever imagined. Especially when I run into those pathetic sons-a-bitches I graduated with. I love the look on the girls faces when they see me at the bar, on their night away from their boring husband and pesky children, which are really all they have. They still don't know what to make of me, only their lack of prowess over me in the real world has now turned their supposed power into utter confusion. I love the awkward conversation that always accompanies the nostalgic meeting. It is filled with cordial greetings while they try to convince themselves (not me) that we were actually friends back in the day. It usually ends with them condiscendingly telling me, "Well it is just so great to see you out and about, doing your own thing!" Followed by my response of "Oh thanks so much, darling. I do what I can," dripping with apparent sarcasm, afterwhich I return to my table of boys who have another drink waiting for me. And even better than the subtle, yet bittersweet, revenge on the formerly popular girls, is the shock of the boys who spent their time ignoring me. I love the up and down look they give me when the skinner version of myself stands up to give them hug. I love how conflicted they are, staring at this girl in a wheelchair who SHOULD be ugly...but she's not. They are attracted to me, while deep down feeling guilty about it. Some even come right out and say things like "My God! You really do look amazing! ...not that you didn't before...but you know what I mean. Haha. Can I buy you a drink?" To which I graciously decline, pointing to the table of gentlemen waiting for me to return. And then off I go, with them staring baffled at the brakelights of my scooter.
I dare say there is almost nothing I love more than reinvention.
Eat your hearts out, you dirty dogs. Your awe brings me the sickest joy.
No comments:
Post a Comment