Reconciling Saints

I trudge through halls of my high school clutching my hall pass waiting to shove it under the nose of anyone who might dare to question why I’m not in class. I clutch the strap to my ruck sack hoping it doesn’t break for the umpteenth time under the strain of a few (but heavy) books that will get me through the last few periods of the day. I won’t make it, so why do I expect my ruck to? I clutch my tears to my eyes hoping to god that I make it to the counselor’s office, the only place that I can shed them and unload the heavy ruck, the heavy thoughts and my body which seems to weigh more than anyone could imagine.

I don’t always remember what it is that I have to say to Anne. I don’t even remember to call her Miss Spinner because to me she’s just Anne. I sometimes have to wonder, how does she have the infinite patience to deal with all this, with the heaviness that I unload here in her office?

I remember the outside of her office very clearly because it was the place that I had to sit to wait while she had a conference with my parents. It was torture and I memorized every bit of it that one time that I had to sit outside of it because I couldn’t cry there, it was too public. The tears could only be allowed to spill when I crossed the threshold of her office. From time to time I could hear terms like “over dramatic” and “typical teenager” come through on my parents’ voices. From Anne I heard the “maybe you should”s and the “perhaps she would benefit”s come through.

Mainly I tried to tune it out. I didn’t want to hear what she tried to convey to my parents. I had already tried and they would not be budged. They didn’t want to hear about how brilliant I was and or that there were miracles that happened every day in the rising and setting of the sun.

Hell, it’s a catholic school so I rolled my eyes at what I thought was catastrophic and remembered there were children starving somewhere in some war torn country. I felt a little bad that what I couldn’t live through was simply one full day in class in high school.

I wondered what was wrong with me that I couldn’t get through a day without gasping my way to Anne’s office to unload and feel like I never wanted to leave it, my sanctuary. All I knew was that I couldn’t.The difference was that unlike a couple of my cousins, I didn’t want to end it all, just the parts that made me cry.

There was nothing wrong with me, I was just having a hard time getting through the day… and I don’t know why. My mom said it was just nerves and it happened to her all the time so she would ask me if perhaps some wine would help and pour me a glass.

“Sometimes I get like that,” she would say, placing the glass in front of me. “I’ll have a glass of wine and it takes out the tension, let’s me relax a little. Sometimes that’s all you need.”

I’d take the glass gladly, feeling the lethargy flow through me after a few sips. Maybe it was the ballet company and the AP classes and my choir that made it all so heavy - so many commitments. Once the wine hit all I could remember was the lightness of it all. I smile easily and I think about what it is that keeps me trying to get through those times when it’s not the books that are the heaviest things that I’m carrying.

There’s never enough wine, though. I’m amazed I’ve never tried to put any in the thermos. I blame the fact that it’s way too early as I try to make it to 0 period chemistry. I am not a morning person and I remember one day I put 2 different shoes from 2 different pairs of black 3 holed shoes together. In the dark, like it is when I’m trying to get ready for school at stupid o’clock in the morning, they look the same. Once the sun comes out, though, it’s very apparent that they are two VERY different shoes, including the fact that they are half an inch different in height.

I’d like to add that the new added contacts make me have to wake up super early. Yes, where vanity never succeeded before, I am now stuck waking up at least an hour early so that I have enough time to try and try and try until I get my contacts in my eyes. Vanity 1, Me 0. Fuck the glasses! I didn’t have to wear them before and I didn’t want to wear them now, so I will take the time to make sure that I can get these fuckers in my eyes.

This must be what it’s like to be one of those girls that so desperately needed to get their hair just right and their make up flawless.It’s a good thing that I didn’t have that need.

Here’s the way I see makeup: if you need that to enhance who you are, then you have issues. There is nothing wrong with the way I look and everyone looks a bit clownish at 16 with makeup. That's just my opinion, though. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll throw some on if I’m off to a show or something but it’s definitely more for theatrics than to make myself look prettier. In my opinion, I'm fine as is.

Somehow, though, the contacts did it. Pathetic.