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.