When we last took a tour along the wrinkles of Billy's mind, he was bemoaning the end of his first love affair. The narcissism characteristic of his age was overriding any semblance of logic or forethought. He was consumed with a relationship that will likely have no lasting impression during his development, and certainly no bearing on his adult life. In the moment though, it was a heart-wrenching break up, but still one that he will belittle years later as a trifling attraction that ran its course, an experience lacking purpose or meaning.
But despite all this, it's very nearly impossible to detach from a present frame of mind, with choices and their outcomes materializing before our eyes, and time's slow procession seeming incapable of relieving what is most pressing. That is, the now. For what can be more important to a young mind?
Seventh
I still miss my lost love. Chance meetings at the water fountain unearth the memories we never had time to make. When I see her in science class, I am ruthlessly reminded of the elbow-nudging and hip-bumping we used to sneak during experiments. Oh, the agony! For naught a day passes free of the debilitating drudgery that living has become. All our plans that will never come to fruition flash before me, a cruel reminder that what once brought me joy is now poisoned.
Eighth
I've met another. It started when our eyes locked in a way grander than casual acknowledgment. It was love at first sight, despite how atrociously cliche that sounds. In that moment, I knew. We knew.
Later that week I rode my bike to her house, my hammering heart attempting to pound its way out of my rib cage. I stood at her doorway feeling not a little unnerving nausea tug at my core. I heard the bustle begin from within after I rang the doorbell, heard her voice sound in a note betraying the same anticipation that I felt. Somehow it soothed me, knowing we shared this anxiety of a first date. When she opened the door, her hair, curled into a hundred twisting spirals, was the most beautiful image my eyes have ever had the privilege to process.
Freshman
I've been demoted despite last spring's "promotion." Whereas I once held the coveted position of being among the upper echelon of scholars, a big fish in a small pond, so they say, I am now in a much bigger pool. Why, some of these seniors have tufts of hair sprouting from their faces! And my boyish testosterone unable to produce even one strand of that elusive man-face hair. Yes, I reside, feel trapped even, in the abysmal place between boyhood and manhood.
It is uncomfortable, but I know this time will pass. What irks me, however, is the air with which the upperclassmen and women carry themselves, as if their superior age is something they earned, something they worked hard for and now get to reap and broadcast the benefits of for all to envy. This is rather comical to me because they completed no difficult trial in achieving seniority but for staying alive–no difficult trial indeed.
Sophomore
I...have no words. An energy expelled, more powerful and pent up than Hades himself. Speaking of whom, was it wrong? Is satisfying what is intrinsic an immoral act? If so, then is one's inherent makeup something that should be shamed and stigmatized?
Despite how I try to repress these graphic images that constantly hover just within view of my mind's eye, I cannot. In Algebra I am distracted by her subtlest shifting. In the hallway I am captivated by her gait that screams nothing but "I need to get to class on time," yet still I am enamored by it. Will this intense yearning cease? Will these hormones prove the bane of my scholarly existence, as I teeter on a totter pitting self-actualizing dreams against sexual, irrepressible desires.
Junior
I feel torn between a desire to graduate this at times elementary-minded body of students and an inclination to wish this school year will crawl by as slowly as a woman on foot walks relative to a man with a below-average-sized penis jetting through an intersection in a Chevy Camaro. To move on, or to stay? Each day my feelings flop. For change is a powerful instigator in human development, yet routine and comfort allow the time and setting for creation. Oh this is difficult, although the conundrum I face is not really one at all, for time will pass at the pace it wishes, and I only a passenger trying to see the sights before they disappear from view.
Senior
I am now among the wisest in this school. I have transcended all obstacles. I have discovered what it is that I'm meant to do. After college, I will easily find a position in the career of my choosing, and I will achieve happiness by way of earning a wage with much discretionary income–at least enough to buy the things that will assist in my contentment.
Then again, what of those things? Will a new suit truly deliver a feeling within of self-actualization? Will an old suit handed down from a beloved relative not suffice the same if not more in that department? Or is a suit even relevant to such a discussion? I've frequently heard the adage, money doesn't buy happiness, but then why do people expel such efforts toward making it? Will not pursuing a passion, one that may be unconventional but is inherently you, create a more accessible path to enlightenment? Of course it will. Now I just need to figure out what it is that stokes my inner fire in a similar way that a drunken redneck adds lighter fluid to a bonfire on a crisp September night with a ring of comrades sitting around in lawn chairs, goading him on. And to that end I now embark. So long, and wish me luck!
But despite all this, it's very nearly impossible to detach from a present frame of mind, with choices and their outcomes materializing before our eyes, and time's slow procession seeming incapable of relieving what is most pressing. That is, the now. For what can be more important to a young mind?
Seventh
I still miss my lost love. Chance meetings at the water fountain unearth the memories we never had time to make. When I see her in science class, I am ruthlessly reminded of the elbow-nudging and hip-bumping we used to sneak during experiments. Oh, the agony! For naught a day passes free of the debilitating drudgery that living has become. All our plans that will never come to fruition flash before me, a cruel reminder that what once brought me joy is now poisoned.
Eighth
I've met another. It started when our eyes locked in a way grander than casual acknowledgment. It was love at first sight, despite how atrociously cliche that sounds. In that moment, I knew. We knew.
Later that week I rode my bike to her house, my hammering heart attempting to pound its way out of my rib cage. I stood at her doorway feeling not a little unnerving nausea tug at my core. I heard the bustle begin from within after I rang the doorbell, heard her voice sound in a note betraying the same anticipation that I felt. Somehow it soothed me, knowing we shared this anxiety of a first date. When she opened the door, her hair, curled into a hundred twisting spirals, was the most beautiful image my eyes have ever had the privilege to process.
Freshman
I've been demoted despite last spring's "promotion." Whereas I once held the coveted position of being among the upper echelon of scholars, a big fish in a small pond, so they say, I am now in a much bigger pool. Why, some of these seniors have tufts of hair sprouting from their faces! And my boyish testosterone unable to produce even one strand of that elusive man-face hair. Yes, I reside, feel trapped even, in the abysmal place between boyhood and manhood.
It is uncomfortable, but I know this time will pass. What irks me, however, is the air with which the upperclassmen and women carry themselves, as if their superior age is something they earned, something they worked hard for and now get to reap and broadcast the benefits of for all to envy. This is rather comical to me because they completed no difficult trial in achieving seniority but for staying alive–no difficult trial indeed.
Sophomore
I...have no words. An energy expelled, more powerful and pent up than Hades himself. Speaking of whom, was it wrong? Is satisfying what is intrinsic an immoral act? If so, then is one's inherent makeup something that should be shamed and stigmatized?
Despite how I try to repress these graphic images that constantly hover just within view of my mind's eye, I cannot. In Algebra I am distracted by her subtlest shifting. In the hallway I am captivated by her gait that screams nothing but "I need to get to class on time," yet still I am enamored by it. Will this intense yearning cease? Will these hormones prove the bane of my scholarly existence, as I teeter on a totter pitting self-actualizing dreams against sexual, irrepressible desires.
Junior
I feel torn between a desire to graduate this at times elementary-minded body of students and an inclination to wish this school year will crawl by as slowly as a woman on foot walks relative to a man with a below-average-sized penis jetting through an intersection in a Chevy Camaro. To move on, or to stay? Each day my feelings flop. For change is a powerful instigator in human development, yet routine and comfort allow the time and setting for creation. Oh this is difficult, although the conundrum I face is not really one at all, for time will pass at the pace it wishes, and I only a passenger trying to see the sights before they disappear from view.
Senior
I am now among the wisest in this school. I have transcended all obstacles. I have discovered what it is that I'm meant to do. After college, I will easily find a position in the career of my choosing, and I will achieve happiness by way of earning a wage with much discretionary income–at least enough to buy the things that will assist in my contentment.
Then again, what of those things? Will a new suit truly deliver a feeling within of self-actualization? Will an old suit handed down from a beloved relative not suffice the same if not more in that department? Or is a suit even relevant to such a discussion? I've frequently heard the adage, money doesn't buy happiness, but then why do people expel such efforts toward making it? Will not pursuing a passion, one that may be unconventional but is inherently you, create a more accessible path to enlightenment? Of course it will. Now I just need to figure out what it is that stokes my inner fire in a similar way that a drunken redneck adds lighter fluid to a bonfire on a crisp September night with a ring of comrades sitting around in lawn chairs, goading him on. And to that end I now embark. So long, and wish me luck!