DRAFT: This module has unpublished changes.

Free Write- 12/11/16

There are some people in life who will stay in your memories, with you, forever.  One of these people, for me, is my grandpa.  He was my Dad’s best friend, the family leader, and the only person that I have ever known whose ears can curl every once and a while.  Another person who matches this description of eternal memory is my third grade teacher.  I don’t know if she is still alive or not, as I haven’t seen her in years, but she is the most scientific and life-loving person that I have ever known.  Throughout junior high her lectures and plants filled the room with wonder and science.

The two people that stick out in my memory the most as some of the loudest and most obnoxious people of my high school experience (in their own unique and good ways) were Matt Hudman and Alexa Kylie.  Matt was the type of guy that was intimidating to some, but not me. I remember the attitude he possessed made him seem like a boss, in a get-out-of-my-way-or-fear-for-your-mental-wellbeing type of way (I remember him intimidating someone who was shorter than him in a scenario that stays in my mind, and it looked like he didn’t think anything of it, except for the anger that leaked from the situation.).  I only realized this a number of years after I stopped going to school with him.  Alexa was as loud and obnoxious, but Matt showcased his obnoxiousness through his actions, as Alexa did through language. 

The memory I have of both of them is from one day when we were on a big yellow school bus, I think completely alone.  We were sitting in the back of the bus, Matt, Alexa and I, and I was more the quiet one, though I remember not feeling completely silent while we hung out.  Matt took a colored pen and threw it out of the window and told Alexa to go and get it; this being before or after I partially made a scene in honors English when I threw a pen to someone a number of feet in front of me, and the Greek girl in back of me laughed at me, but in a good way.  Alexa laughed and smiled when he actually threw the pen out the window.  It was one of those moments where I was kind of alone but happy at the same time because the amount of enthusiasm he portrayed made it a good time.  I remember it was one of those times where I saw orange, for some reason or another.  When I was younger I had my moments; when I hit my funny bone sometimes I almost passed out; I could not eat for a prolonged amount of time and be ok; my sister and I had our psychic moments where we communicated in ways that seemingly no one else could understand; and sometimes, in certain situations, I saw orange.  I know some people “see red” when they get angry, but I don’t know what kind of feeling one is supposed to feel when someone “sees orange.”  I’ve never heard of anyone “seeing orange.”  I don’t know if I’m the only person that has ever lived to “see orange” when something re-occurring happens throughout someone’s life.  I remember looking at the back door of the bus while seeing this cloudy orange exhibition. 

The only other time I have ever really seen orange is when I was alone in school one day, I think it was after school.  I think it was one of those days where I stayed after school out of boredom, to take the activities bus home, or some other scenario.  I called my Dad at the payphone near all of the hockey plaques in a certain hallway, and asked him to pick me up, I think, and he started to yell at me very loudly because he was mad.  I was going through that phase of adolescence where I cared what people thought, but I remember walking down the hall crying anyways.  Some people might have called it fake crying.  I might have called my dad’s sympathy towards me throughout my teenage years as bullshit.  But I walked down that hall.  Looking back, years later, I remember the clouds of orange and yellow that displayed themselves, as I reached a certain point walking down that hallway.  I didn’t see anyone there, but I saw the orange and yellow.  Of course, I could see to the end of the hallway, but what lay past, what lay behind the orange and yellow almost seemed something solid and at the same time metaphysical.  Looking back, I wonder if someone was behind me.  I wonder if they heard me cry.  I wonder if someone could hear me cry throughout other unseen-from-my-perspective hallways.  I wonder if the next time in my life when I will see colors is when three will appear to my perspective.  I wonder what really sparks these color-filled situations.  There has to be some type of similarity in the midst of these two scenarios that bring about the necessity to “see” orange, and yellow.   

Another memory that I have is where I was with Matt, and his acquaintances, in detention.  I’m pretty sure it was just me, Matt, and his two friends; I can’t even remember if there was a teacher in the room, if we were all alone or not.  If I remember correctly, Matt was all the way to the left, someone, I think Mike Mionco, was in the middle, and another person was to the right of the other two.  I remember that being the only time I had ever seen Matt ever truly afraid of something or someone, and I am still trying to figure out what brought about the look of fear on his face, along with, if I remember correctly, the aura of fear that surrounded Mike Mionco.  They both looked/seemed scared.  I still don’t remember who was all the way to the right, so I can’t plant some reason on a person, one way or another.  I was sitting in the back of the room, they were sitting in the front, in a row in front of me.  I remember either Matt or Mike (I think Matt) doing the thing where he turned and looked behind Mike to look towards the person to the right, or to see what was going on outside, as the door to the classroom was to the right of the person of who I can’t remember (This was when I caught a glimpse of Matt’s face, along with possibly Mike’s face, because if I remember correctly, I remember seeing, at least, for sure, Matt’s profile).  It is one of those moments that stick out in my memory, as something unresolved.  I couldn’t imagine there being a reason this guy could actually be afraid, for real.  Was there a fight going on outside?  Did the guy to the right say or do something disturbing?  Was it something about me? It was one of those moments where some type of meaning lay further than what apparently happened.  I wish I could go back and understand what the two guys were afraid of.  I can’t remember seeing the guy (he was male, pretty sure) to the right, so I can’t recall his facial expression, but, still: unresolved mystery.  Was there something that was going on, that had just happened among the cool kids, that I did not know about?  Or was it something that happened, that was said, in my proximity?

One of Alexa’s friends that I was kind of friends with was named Kara.  She was Irish, and sometimes she talked to me.  I remember sophomore year, Kara, Alexa, and I had free period together, I think first period.  I was really depressed, throughout the first half of sophomore year, before I had my mental breakdown and things started to really go downhill, so after a while, after a number of weeks, they started to ignore me, before the whole class did.  I remember the free period group starting to not include me, to do the junior high whisper-in-the-ear thing in front of me, and I knew that I was done with that school.  Before that point, though, Kara had her moments with me.  I remember walking the halls after summer vacation with a copy of Spark Notes in my hand, with Kara by my side.  I don’t think I had completed/even started the Spark Notes.  It was one of those times where I was walking aimlessly without a purpose, but people still cared because they thought I looked pretty at the same time.  I had also had another walking-the-halls experience with Kara, wearing a (my Mom’s? pretty sure) white V-neck sweater.  I’m pretty sure I wasn’t wearing a collar under the sweater, and the school dress code required a collar, so, of course, I was playing out of bounds.  I remember Kara made a comment about my sweater; I think, if I remember correctly, about me wearing the sweater multiple times (more than once), as a kid at the third school I went to made fun of me for wearing a shirt twice in a row to school. 

Yup, these are just three people who I keep with me in my memories.  Writing my life story, even if it is mostly about high school so far, has been very therapeutic and relaxing.  I wonder what I’ll write next.

 

DRAFT: This module has unpublished changes.