“You are atrocious. Absolutely atrocious.”
That’s my mother, saying those things, those things about
me, her daughter. Her eleven-year-old daughter. Fast-forward a couple years and Alec Baldwin’s calling his
tween kid a little pig. Parents, you’re awful. That said, I’m sure little
Baldwin was being a little oinker, and I know I was atrocious.
Now I’m the same, but different. Now I don’t care, or
rather, I try not to care. Why care when you don’t have to care?
There’s too many people in this day and age who care too much
about things that in fifteen minutes will be forgotten. With this quick paced,
go-go-go, atmosphere, it’s as if nothing gold even is gold because it loses its
fucking shine nearly immediately.
I tried to explain this concept to my idiot of a math
teacher this morning when I allegedly “failed to complete the assignment”
assigned. Well, fuck if I care.
One thing’s for sure, I’m getting out of this city after
graduation. Fourteen days.
Fourteen hell-ridden days, but just two weeks. I’ve got to
change my perspective if I want the time to float past.
“Hey, Karry!” That’s Lindy, she’s a friend of sorts. I’ve
known her for most of my life. She’s my neighbor and has been since the second
grade. She’s one of those girls who’s just nice. It’s just innate. In her. She
can’t not be a kind-hearted soul. Brunette, average height, smiley. You know.
“Hey, Karry.”
“It’s going to be so weird next year, well, like three
months from now.”
She’s referring to high school being over and moving on to
college, for her, and for me, she thinks college, but I know I’m flying to
France. I haven’t told my mom this, or anyone really. I’d like to Irish exit
the country. Fly the coup without anyone even realizing I felt caged.
“Yeah, tell me about it.” I didn’t want her to though, she
would though. I always forget how literally she takes everything.
“Well, with me at UC…” She’s talking about Urbana Champaign,
the University of Illinois at. You’re not supposed to end sentences with
prepositions. “And, you at – where you going, again?”
She put her book bag down on the ground, as if deciding to
stay a while.
“I’ve sent a letter of acceptance to UC in the city.” I was
talking about the University of Chicago. And, I’m not lying. I said I’d go
there. But, I don’t intend to. Sort of funny, sending a letter of acceptance, a
letter of intent, for all intents and purposes, and just, well, bailing.
“That’s great. You’re gonna do great.”
She said it, convincing herself, probably wondering how I
got in. I don’t even know. I’m smart, not a genius, but I wrote a solid letter
when applying. It was pretty standard for me, actually. I barely tailored it to
each school I applied. The only thing I changed was which school I addressed it
toward.
Karry sounds a lot like my mom, but she wears a smile
instead of a frustrated grimace. Grimace is my favorite cartoon character — so rotund
and jolly. We’ll see how I do in France. Honestly, I’d just rather not be here.
It’s not like I hate my town or the people in it, it’s just, everyone is in an
assembly line to their deaths. It’s not like they’re going to have bad lives or
anything. It’s just, their lives are going to be pretty standard.
And, I don’t want to be standard. American Standard. College
Bound. Wide Ruled. Times New Roman.
Given the choice between atrocious and jovial – I’d pick
atrocious. Not because it means I’m bad news, but rather because I’m ferocious.
Savagely fierce. Ready to take anything on. And there are less people like
that, less people ready to take on the world, less people willing to see what’s
beyond their yard, or neighborhood, or town or anything that defines who they
are, where they come from and where they might go.
I hadn’t noticed the lull in our conversation.
“Well, cool. I’ll do great too. Yay, Illini.” Her hand went
up for a high-five.
“Yay, indeed.” And, then we high-fived.
