The Only Truth I Know

There were teachers laughing, curtains swaying, kids dancing and cheering and shaking; it was a high school talent show.

Believe me, there were some really fantastic acts. They emerge clean and bright and perfect, but the evening was so enjoyable because of its abundance of overrated teenaged superstars. I loved seeing kids jumping around on stage, not caring how much applause they'd receive. I loved hearing their decidedly out of tune voice hit notes that made my skin tingle. I died when a dear friend had the courage to stand up in front of strangers and sing and play guitar. That's real talent right there. I'm so proud of him, of them all.

It was beautiful. I forgot about my bad day and the tic marks on my arm. I wasn't falling asleep, I wasn't upset at all. They might not have been the best singer, but they all tried and they all had fun. There was a spirit of hard work and youthfulness, and it was fantastic.

Can be like that?

I Hope They Call Me

I went to Lauren Hafen's farewell this morning, and oh my heavens.

 

That girl is a saint.

 

It was like her farewell was a pilgrimage, a holy site for all those band children and popular kids and perfect Mormons who wanted a chance to hug the woman who has been called "a female Jesus."

 

(I feel really sacreligious right now.)

 

So everyone and their mother (I'm being literal with that) showed up and I sat there thinking of quantity and quality of people who loved Lauren. She certainly deserved it; she was kind, talented, enthusiastic, strong, sweet, hot. Everyone was/is in love with her, and their love was completely founded. She is one of the greatest people I've ever met.

 

But I, being an exceedingly faulty being, grew jealous and scared. I thought of my looming graduation, my possible mission, my inevitable marriage. I thought of the people sending me an apology on facebook for being unable to make it. I thought of empty seat staring back at me and extra food rotting back at home. I saw the people I loved moving on with their lives and being so deservedly wrapped up in their bigger and better accomplishments to bother coming to my miniscule successes. I felt so small.

 

And then I remembered last night.

 

We were coming back from the competition. It had been a rough day; we screwed up big time, everyone felt kinda low, and I had been so exhausted the entire day. I was content to listen to the most outrageous cover and overdose on Cheezits. There was a ridiculous amount of cars and lights when we got back to the school, and we realized that Morp was just about to end. I felt a bit dejected, like I had been robbed of a classic high school experience so that I might be able to leave crap on the floor, but I was too out of it to be too distressed. I shuffled down the aisle, not seeing or hearing or caring about anything, so much so that I was completely and utterly surprised when I heard someone shout "It's Emma!"

I looked up and saw a crowd of the most beautiful people in the world with Cam in the front, beaming in his silly Hawaiin wrap. I jumped into his arms without inhibition and he caught me perfectly, spinning me round in circles and setting me down gently. There were high fives from Treven and Jordan and an enveloping hug from Tony. Taylie and Heather and Gretchen all screamed and hugged and asked questions. There were so many people there, exclaiming how proud we made them and how they were sorry we couldn't come to the dance. I couldn't comprehend the love and excitement they had for us, for me.

Part of me says they were just hyper from the dance, and part says that they wouldn't have been as enthusiastic if they had known how horrible things had gone. But a huge part of me can't help but feel that they would've cared no matter what. Those kids have been there for me for the past year, some of them even longer. They have always helped me out, comforted me, danced and wept and looked at the star with me. They have given me someone to care for, a reason to get up in the morning, a challenge to better myself. They're good kids who love their band and their school and their lives. They're good kids who love me.

I wouldn't trade that for a Conference Center full of supporters.

Good Company

So.

Valentine's Day.

[insert the angry rantings of a single senior girl]

But for real, I don't really get Valentine's Day. We should express our love everyday, without prompting. It's more special and meaningful that way, anyway.

I don't like Singles Awareness Day. People don't need to flaunt their singleness. They don't need to be SAD that they aren't mackin in the halls. I know I'm one to talk, seeing as I bemoan my lack of a man on a daily basis, but hey, I've got issues. I just, again, don't like the idea of devoting a day to specifically feel sorry for yourself.

The real meaning of Valentine's Day was made apparent to me yesterday after school in the band room, as I sat crumpled on the ground, my leg bleeding profusely from where Bradan had scratched me as I jumped into his arms, when him and Chris ran in with armfuls of paper towels and Jacob stood at the ready with a ghetto bandage made out of tape and the paper towels were tossed in my lap and on my head and I sat there surrounded by six of my guyfriends wondering what is life. It was so beautiful and surprising to see as these boys I would never have been friends with in Texas, who weird me out and make me want to back away slowly sometimes, in such a new and perfect light. They cared about me, and I cared about them. Maybe it was from all the excessive blood loss, but I felt transcendent, like I was looking down on this sad, strange little group and seeing only the collective and uncomplicated love they shared.

Every day should be Valentine's Day.

The Lost Solution

I don't want to sleep tonight because I don't want to wake up tomorrow because it's not going to be a good day.

My mom says I'm being over dramatic. I say say I'm being optimistic (and then laugh because I know how ridiculous I'm being).

I have quiz in Latin on the one concept I can't seem to grasp. We're starting out ten-page research papers tomorrow. I have to find a time and place to practice/totally perfect my quad. I have to console myself for being a terrible human being. I have to go to my job that grows increasingly more confusing/boring/lonely every time I go. I have to hope that my Latin group is meeting to film our movie or else I'm screwed. If we do meet, I'll have to deal with that bucket of fun. But the absolute worst part of tomorrow is that I don't get to go to jazz band.

In itself, it's probably not the worst thing ever. But jazz band used to give me such hope. I used to sit in there, soaking up the music, smiling when they'd hit a certain note, giggling if there was a certain section that gave me goosebumps. Seeing my friends work so hard to make something fantastic was so brilliant, and adding Clint and Miller in just made it fun for me to watch. When they'd finish early or have a homework day, I'd chat with Cameron, laugh with Logan, get to know Natalie and Jacob and Brayden better. I'd walk with Sabrina on the way to Latin, absorbed in their Latin song that would be stuck in my head for the rest of the day. Being in that class made me forget my troubles and focus on the talents and beauty of my friends and their music.

I've lost that bright spot in my day, and what's worse, I lost it to stupid Fitness For Life. That class makes me hurt, physically and emotionally. It is the exact opposite of the therapeutic jazz band. I am this close to seeing if I can just get a GED in order to not need to take PE.

Obviously, I read Edgar Allen Poe to make myself feel better. I am in such a good mood now.

Clearly.

The Awkward Children

I hate the cold. I despise it, I loathe it with all my heart. And yet, I stood outside as it started to snow for an hour after the pep band game, just talking with band kids. I can't even remember half of what was said (though I know it was a lot of me and Logan yelling and trying to one up the other and us and Caitlin laughing far too hard at jokes nobody else got). It didn't matter though; nothing mattered.

We had places to be and hands to prevent from being frostbitten, but we were just having the time of our lives. We could laugh as hard as we wanted and be as awkward as possible and it was all okay. We didn't all know each other very well, but we were the best of friends for that hour, sharing the cold night air and our endless stories and fat pictures with each other. We were tired. We were happy. We belonged.

Everyone should become friends with Whitney Ireland because she is the coolest.

Janelle Made Me Cry

I had my last family show tonight, unless I do Wasatch. I doubt I'll do Wasatch.

But how do I know what will happen? What if I don't get any more scholarships and can't go to Utah State? What if I do? How will my life have any sort of structure when I don't have lunch in the hall to look forward to, where I don't actually eat and laugh til I might cry and shirk all responsibilities? What will I do with band and guard long behind me? How will I occupy my time? Someday, I'll be married and have children and no other friends and what will I do? I love just dancing and playing video games and acting like an idiot with my friends. Mothers don't do that. Adults don't do that.

And what will happen when I forget everything? When I forget screaming about the Lizzie Bennet Diaries and Once Upon A Time and Doctor Who? When I forget about the chinabears? When I forget what is was like to cry with Cam or dance with Tony? When I forget Gretch's sweaters or Erin's faces? When I forget all the talks I had with Caitlin and Sabrina and Breanne? And what about Bradan's hugs? Or how kind Davis was to me? Or Sam's hair and laugh and heart? Logan will still love sushi, but I won't care. The guardies and gingers and jazz band will continue even when I can't recall their names. Next year, the band will go to Grand Nats, and it won't matter to me. Everything will be gone.

What happens to my world, my life, my soul when this happens? Does it fall apart? Does it end? Does it slowly sink away into loneliness and anxiety as I realize that I have lost the things most important to me?

Janelle just had to go and link to John Denver.

Thee Best

Guard competitions are rough. I love them, but they are always hard for me, what with the inability to breathe and the emotional instability that follows. Tonight was especially difficult, and I texted Janelle a bit. She later promised to bring me a treat, and I expected just a soda.

When I got to the school and met me with two sodas, two candy bars, Phineas and Ferb fruit snacks, a box of tea, and a handwritten houndstooth card. I really didn't expect it all to be mine, but she just gave it all to me. She said I had a hard night and deserved something nice.

I certainly don't deserve her. How can I have such a wonderful, lovely, perfect, bestest friend? It is a miracle to meet such a beautiful person, and I am infinitely lucky.

Thanks for noticing I wore matching socks a year and a half ago.