-Edna St. Vincent Milla
Is it bad to say that I am not missing very many people from high school? Yes. Am I going to explain this seemingly-terrible opening phrase within the following four half-paragraphs? Of course.
It’s hard to forget that I’m not in high school anymore. Friends from the khaki pants and polos still text me and each other with gossip and stories of typical teenaged events, as if we had never left the desks and the white boards and the monks. And I ended up going to the big state school where, relatively, quite a few of my close friends were also attending. So, for the past few weeks of bicycle-riding, laundry-detergent-fueled newness, I haven’t had too much of an adjustment problem, still retaining my terrible sense of humor and frowned-upon sci-fi movie selections in the comfort circle of sheer familiarity. Everything else from the past is drowned in a sea of forgetfulness and, in some cases, indifference.
There are some people I have realized that I just don’t, just can’t give a damn that they are no longer in my life.
But the exceptions to this statement are the ones I truly care about. These are the people that I miss more than the Seinfeld seasons I accidently left to wither away on the family DVD, more than home-cooked meals of my mother(sometimes), more than my bathroom mirror which always deceptively made me look good before a high school Friday escapade. These are the people that I would want nothing more than to talk with face-to-face, rather than through the Skype screen of my blindingly bright LCD monitor. These are the people that I cannot wait to see for brief, probably football-filled hours during Thanksgiving break, the people that are the cause for silent prayers of brisker temperatures and a rapidly approaching November.
These are the people that I need to have in my life, whether through letters being rushed to them or through text messages at one-o’clock in the morning.
And, hey, happy birthday. To one of them.
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