Ten years gone, Part 2
While walking down Jefferson Street today, I saw a shitty Ford Escort decorated in red and white car chalk. “SENIOR” was written on the windshield and back window, and I took it as a sign that today was the last day of high school for seniors in IC.
(Okay, I understand how these posts can be misinterpreted as being nostalgic in that “back in the good ol’ days of high school” way, but they’re not like that at all. Sure, high school was fun, but it was also traumatic, annoying, and agonizing. Like for everyone, it was a four-year rollercoaster of emotions for me. Not every day was bad, but not every day was good. My overall memory and opinion of high school probably leans to the favorable since my senior year was badass, and because I genuinely loved high school (the last two years, at least), so I am biased in that sense. But my intention is to mark the 10-year milestone, which seems to be momentous in a way. If it looks pathetic, so be it.)
The last newspaper for the year, featuring the annual Senior Salute, was published May 18 (which I know because I still have copies), so I think the last day of my senior year was the next Thursday: May 24.
To tell you the truth, I don’t remember much about that day. I don’t remember when I got to school or what I did before lunch. I’m sure I handed in textbooks and basked in the congratulatory atmosphere. No class work or learning took place, I am sure.
However, now that I think about it, a few more details are beginning to resurface. I had gym, which was particularly unlucky. Thankfully, though, my girlfriend and Mervgotti were in the same class. We played an indoor wiffle ball game: seniors versus juniors. Us seniors lost. Later in the day, I took a final in my World Literature class. How shitty is that? A final — the staple exam in college — on my last day of high school? Mr. Hartwig kindly graded the tests as we finished them so we knew how we did.
No other long forgotten impression has resurfaced, so I will move on to what has always stayed with me about that day.
For lunch I went to the Wendy’s on First Avenue with friends. I usually spent lunch in the Newslab, and had only lunched off-campus once or twice before, so I have no clue why I tagged along that day. I remember regretting it while at Wendy’s. While my friends enjoyed their spicy chicken sandwiches or double cheese burgers — I don’t think I ate anything — I thought, “What a shitty way to spend my last lunch in high school.”
Though I was aware of the day’s significance, I was unaffected emotionally. I truly loved high school, so I expected to be a sentimental wreck, but I was calm and cool as I walked the historic halls of City High for the last time. It was just another day. However, during the last minute or so of my sixth period math class I looked at the clock, all smiles because my days of parabolas and multiplying by π were over, and thought, “This will be my last Newslab ever.” The magnitude hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks and my smile faded. My heart sank and the bell rang. “Holy shit,” I thought. “This is it.”
Seventh hour, the last class of the day, was my beloved Newslab. (Its technical name was something academic sounding like Advanced Newspaper Journalism, but it was affectionately known as Newslab, much like the journalism suite.) To make a long story short, I loved being on the school newspaper; it made my high school career what I remember it today. Though I knew my time on the LH was ending, just like high school, it did not hit me emotionally until that moment. I left math class and walked to the main hall locker I shared with Mervgotti. (It was technically his locker. Mine was near the math rooms, and I did not open it, just for the hell of it, until that last day.) He was done — sixth hour was his last class — and he was bubbling over with excitement like many of the other seniors in the main hallway. A deep sadness was beginning to well up inside me and I tried my best to keep from revealing it. At some point I was going to cry, but I did not want to do it at school.
My legs were probably pure jelly as I walked to the Newslab. In the journalism classroom, I stood in my usual corner by the door because there were no seats available. I can’t remember what happened when class started, but eventually our journalism adviser began his own senior salute. We had a special relationship with him since he became adviser when we joined the paper as juniors and he was leaving the school as we were; in the history of the LH, we would forever be linked. He went around the room and said something about each senior. It was incredibly poignant and touching. When he got to me, I listened as best I could to remember forever what he said. (I can only recall one thing.) One editor cried when the adviser talked about her. Just seeing her tears sent me into an emotional tailspin. The adviser spoke about our exec last, and after that I do not remember what happened. I think the salute filled the whole period. Right before the bell rang, one of our humor editors asked the whole class if anyone had any plans that night. “No, seriously,” he said. “I have nothing to do tonight.” We all laughed, lightening the levity of the moment, and the bell rang.
High school was over.
The staff lingered in the classroom, talking, hugging, and taking pictures. I was on the verge of breaking down and letting the tears flow, so I wanted to get the fuck out. However, I stuck around for a few minutes, trying to make it last a little longer. Someone has a group picture with me in it, red faced and just about to cry.
At the end of every school day I turned off my Newslab computer before I left. I quit all the programs, shut it down, turned off the monitor, and turned off the power strip it was connected to. Before leaving that day, I wanted to ceremoniously turn off my computer one last time. However, the two junior staff members chosen to take over my editor position were sitting in front of it and the exec’s computer. I didn’t ask them to move. I just left it on, having turned it on that morning, and walked out of the Newslab.
Back at Mervgotti’s locker (we had signed the inside earlier with a Sharpie), I gathered my stuff and talked to a good friend of mine. The hallway was basically empty except for a few people. I could not keep my emotions in any longer, so I closed the locker door, hurried down the hall, and walked out the main entrance. I didn’t look back; I was afraid the sight of the façade would draw my tears. I drove home, laid on my bed, and bawled.
(Okay, I understand how these posts can be misinterpreted as being nostalgic in that “back in the good ol’ days of high school” way, but they’re not like that at all. Sure, high school was fun, but it was also traumatic, annoying, and agonizing. Like for everyone, it was a four-year rollercoaster of emotions for me. Not every day was bad, but not every day was good. My overall memory and opinion of high school probably leans to the favorable since my senior year was badass, and because I genuinely loved high school (the last two years, at least), so I am biased in that sense. But my intention is to mark the 10-year milestone, which seems to be momentous in a way. If it looks pathetic, so be it.)
The last newspaper for the year, featuring the annual Senior Salute, was published May 18 (which I know because I still have copies), so I think the last day of my senior year was the next Thursday: May 24.
To tell you the truth, I don’t remember much about that day. I don’t remember when I got to school or what I did before lunch. I’m sure I handed in textbooks and basked in the congratulatory atmosphere. No class work or learning took place, I am sure.
However, now that I think about it, a few more details are beginning to resurface. I had gym, which was particularly unlucky. Thankfully, though, my girlfriend and Mervgotti were in the same class. We played an indoor wiffle ball game: seniors versus juniors. Us seniors lost. Later in the day, I took a final in my World Literature class. How shitty is that? A final — the staple exam in college — on my last day of high school? Mr. Hartwig kindly graded the tests as we finished them so we knew how we did.
No other long forgotten impression has resurfaced, so I will move on to what has always stayed with me about that day.
For lunch I went to the Wendy’s on First Avenue with friends. I usually spent lunch in the Newslab, and had only lunched off-campus once or twice before, so I have no clue why I tagged along that day. I remember regretting it while at Wendy’s. While my friends enjoyed their spicy chicken sandwiches or double cheese burgers — I don’t think I ate anything — I thought, “What a shitty way to spend my last lunch in high school.”
Though I was aware of the day’s significance, I was unaffected emotionally. I truly loved high school, so I expected to be a sentimental wreck, but I was calm and cool as I walked the historic halls of City High for the last time. It was just another day. However, during the last minute or so of my sixth period math class I looked at the clock, all smiles because my days of parabolas and multiplying by π were over, and thought, “This will be my last Newslab ever.” The magnitude hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks and my smile faded. My heart sank and the bell rang. “Holy shit,” I thought. “This is it.”
Seventh hour, the last class of the day, was my beloved Newslab. (Its technical name was something academic sounding like Advanced Newspaper Journalism, but it was affectionately known as Newslab, much like the journalism suite.) To make a long story short, I loved being on the school newspaper; it made my high school career what I remember it today. Though I knew my time on the LH was ending, just like high school, it did not hit me emotionally until that moment. I left math class and walked to the main hall locker I shared with Mervgotti. (It was technically his locker. Mine was near the math rooms, and I did not open it, just for the hell of it, until that last day.) He was done — sixth hour was his last class — and he was bubbling over with excitement like many of the other seniors in the main hallway. A deep sadness was beginning to well up inside me and I tried my best to keep from revealing it. At some point I was going to cry, but I did not want to do it at school.
My legs were probably pure jelly as I walked to the Newslab. In the journalism classroom, I stood in my usual corner by the door because there were no seats available. I can’t remember what happened when class started, but eventually our journalism adviser began his own senior salute. We had a special relationship with him since he became adviser when we joined the paper as juniors and he was leaving the school as we were; in the history of the LH, we would forever be linked. He went around the room and said something about each senior. It was incredibly poignant and touching. When he got to me, I listened as best I could to remember forever what he said. (I can only recall one thing.) One editor cried when the adviser talked about her. Just seeing her tears sent me into an emotional tailspin. The adviser spoke about our exec last, and after that I do not remember what happened. I think the salute filled the whole period. Right before the bell rang, one of our humor editors asked the whole class if anyone had any plans that night. “No, seriously,” he said. “I have nothing to do tonight.” We all laughed, lightening the levity of the moment, and the bell rang.
High school was over.
The staff lingered in the classroom, talking, hugging, and taking pictures. I was on the verge of breaking down and letting the tears flow, so I wanted to get the fuck out. However, I stuck around for a few minutes, trying to make it last a little longer. Someone has a group picture with me in it, red faced and just about to cry.
At the end of every school day I turned off my Newslab computer before I left. I quit all the programs, shut it down, turned off the monitor, and turned off the power strip it was connected to. Before leaving that day, I wanted to ceremoniously turn off my computer one last time. However, the two junior staff members chosen to take over my editor position were sitting in front of it and the exec’s computer. I didn’t ask them to move. I just left it on, having turned it on that morning, and walked out of the Newslab.
Back at Mervgotti’s locker (we had signed the inside earlier with a Sharpie), I gathered my stuff and talked to a good friend of mine. The hallway was basically empty except for a few people. I could not keep my emotions in any longer, so I closed the locker door, hurried down the hall, and walked out the main entrance. I didn’t look back; I was afraid the sight of the façade would draw my tears. I drove home, laid on my bed, and bawled.
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