Seventeen and waiting for the twenties with the Great Gatsby in hand.
All of a sudden, it’s three ‘o clock and time to head home.
A film reel rolls back into my mind with groups of friends associating by the glass doors.
Some wanted to be the most important, valued, and recognized.
Others were living out their glory days and counting down to homecoming night.
Some were searching for acceptance that could only be found in college applications.
Others were pushing the less important ones around and running away with a dream they couldn’t hold.
The crowd cheering in the Lincoln High School gymnasium made my head spin as I watched them pretend.
The broken invitations to come sit with them propelled loneliness.
All of a sudden, the next morning, the bell rings with books in hand.
I remember running late to English class with another spot to sit on the sidelines.
Moments before, she stops by my locker and says she’s looking forward to the movie on Friday.
But, Friday arrives — the movie ends — and so does our date.
I recall the frozen drizzle and the sobering moment of driving home.
I guess we’re just friends.
The following Monday came all too quickly.
I enter the doors and no one thinks twice about extending a smile or helping hand.
Each person is submerged in basketball wins-and-losses, American Eagle attire and are nonchalantly uninterested in anyone but themselves.
Seventeen and living the American Dream; not yet realizing that the end of the twenties would come all too soon.
“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” ― F. Scott Fitzgerald