I Hate February Part 1

Tenth grade was somewhat more settled--y'know, as much as you can expect sophomore year, and over inflated ego aside. Besides my bi-weekly appointments (twice a week, not every other week, very important), I was almost always in school. I actually made a few new friends, which is impressive in tenth grade--most all of the cliques are formed as freshmen, if not before. But through the AV club, and, yes, band, I actually met some new kids who didn't stare at me or ask too many questions--even when I couldn't march, or had to sit practice out one day. It was new and refreshing, and I felt whole. Then came February.

I've always hated February. It seems to be shedding Winter, but still fighting Spring--like a naked snake. Isn't that a lovely image. When I was seven, my grandma sent us money to go out for Valentine's Day, which--okay, going out on Valentine's Day is kinda stupid anyway, especially with a family, and really especially if you don't make reservations (DAD), but then, as we were finally eating our meal--at, like, ten at night, I might add--a snowstorm decided that that would be the perfect time to dump three feet of snow all at once. On our heads. We were stuck at the restaurant till five AM the next morning. I still blame February. And Dad.

Then when I was ten, it was in February that my family got some, well, life altering news, though I guess we'd had a slight inkling that it was coming...but then--THEN--there was the February my sophomore year of high school.

Ninth Grade

I got on the wrong side of--well, she wasn't a season, but she was as old as they are. Mrs. Cranberry--no, really. Mrs. Cranberry. Yeah, that was my reaction, too. She was my ninth grade English teacher. You know how terror has a side effect of blindness? I never did learn how to diagram a sentence--I could never make out what was on the board. Mrs. Cranberry must've been--well, she might have been 40, but at the time I was convinced she was at least 90. She used to prowl up and down the rows of desks with her ruler in hand--no, she never hit us, it wasn't Catholic school. But she always reminded me of that--what was that captain's name from Mutiny on the Bounty? That guy. That was like a Disney version of Mrs. Cranberry.

Ninth grade was an unsettled year for me. I spent half of it in school with Em and the rest of my friends, and the other half visiting Nina. Mom and Dad talked about taking me out of school entirely and just homeschooling me or something, but they were trying to keep my life as normal as possible--which I appreciate now, but I think at the time I felt like they were being terribly inconsistent:"Why can't you keep your grades up, are you stupid?" "No, you can't go to school today, you have to go stay with Nina!" Okay, so they never actually called me stupid, but that's what it felt like--hey, I was 14; I was going through puberty; I was allowed to be irrational!

Scotland in the Spring

My parents always told me they'd send me to Scotland. I was really into Scottish history when I was in high school. I had posters of Scotland on my wall, and my favorite Christmas presents were those big picture books of the rolling hills of Scot--I wasn't a geek, okay? I was just enthusiastic. That's what my mother told me. Enthusiastic.

So then when I couldn't go to college, my folks said, don't worry, hun, you'll go to Scotland instead. Great, I thought, a total win on that one. Of course, I haven't actually gone yet. But I will. We were talking about maybe next spring. Nate could go with me, and we'd do one of those tours... Scotland in the spring sounds nice.

Okay this--and pardon my rabbit trail, but spring always seems so contrary to me... and I mean that in the best possible way. It refuses to operate in the accepted pattern: when something dies, we think, it's supposed to stay dead. But the year, every year, against all odds, forces its way back into the land of the living to give the world another shot. Stupid? Or just stubborn? I admire its tenacity, I admit (or her tenacity--I'm pretty sure Spring is too pretty to be a dude), but I think she also scares me a little. I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of Spring.

Burgundy Weddings

Y'know, Emily just got married last year. Not to her prom date--or her first college boyfriend, incidentally. It was actually to her biology TA. (Heheheh...biology...heheheh...) I'd call her a slut if I hadn't met the guy--Kyle. Oy. I'd have failed the class too, with a teacher like that. Can't blame the girl a wit. I wasn't able to make it, but they swung by my place the week before the wedding. They seemed disgustingly happy, so Emily must've worked her cue reading skills out eventually. And I'm really happy for her. Disgusted, but happy.

I only ever went to one wedding--a friend of my brother Nate's. He took me as his date, which would have been much sweeter if he'd had other options. It was fun, though. I helped him pick out a tie; he helped me pick out a dress--apparently black is frowned upon for weddings. Shame. We found a pretty nice burgundy number, though--I was up to a 5.2 by this point, which helped. I tried to twist his arm into wearing a burgundy tie, but I think he was already regretting asking me to go, so I didn't push the point too hard.

It was an indoor wedding, which was good, 'cause it poured all day. I've never really understood why someone would even risk planning a wedding outside--talk about stress. I mean, seriously, isn't there enough on your mind?! My wedding plans always included a castle in Scotland, though, so perhaps I'm not one to talk about crazy wedding locations.

First Kiss Clarification

I used to think that a girl always knew when a boy wanted to kiss her--that there was an intuition that came with age about such things--so I'd always blame the girl if she missed the moment in a book...or movie...or when I was spying on people in the park. But then Emily told me about her first college boyfriend...maybe I shouldn't use Em as my measuring rod for relationships, but I don't have a lot of input here. Unless you want me to go off of my parents, which just strikes me as a terrible idea.

Anyway, it turns out that Em couldn't read this guy, and ended up going in for the kiss when he was trying to blow his nose. Which is just gross. So maybe Teddy wasn't thinking about kissing me, maybe he just had a sinus infection, maybe I'm a pathetic loser who will ultimately die alone...but that's the last time you'll hear me admit it.

First Kiss

I never was kissed. In high school, I was the resident 1.4, and after...my social life never really picked up. All the cute boys went to college, and I...didn't. No--that's not true. Chad didn't go to college. Chad was gorgeous. He's Nina's older brother. He used to come visit when we got a room together after high school. And after she...left, he still came to visit me. Which was sweet. He didn't have to...he was always so sad...but very nice. He'd sit and talk with me for a half hour every Thursday afternoon for 6 months and 3 weeks. Then he stopped coming. He never kissed me, though. I never expected him to.

Teddy almost kissed me once. Teddy was...Teddy was sweet. Teddy was sad. He was new--he was young. He always came to visit smiling, but always left about to cry. I swear it wasn't because I was a jerk. Well, I half-swear. Tact has never been my strong point. Once my parents were visiting when he stopped by, and when he got all sad, they asked him to leave--but I told him to stay. (I love being an adult.) I liked that he cried.

My parents cried a lot, too, but that was different. My mom would get all clingy and my dad would shut himself in the garage with his beer. ...he never gave me one, which I just found insulting--I could've commiserated, I could've been that daughter. Instead I listened while they fought in the hallway.

Once Teddy came while they were fighting--they must've been so focused on each other that they didn't see him or they never would've let him come in alone. But they didn't, and he did, and he came in and sat by my bed, and looked at me--this was when he almost kissed me--and...it took a while for him to speak, 'cause I think what he wanted to do was cry, but he took my hand and asked if he could turn on the TV. To drown out the sound of my parents fighting. I mean, he didn't say that, but that's what he meant. That and that he wanted to kiss me.

Junior-Senior Prom

I was on the tech committee for the prom--every year since freshman. I was the AV geek in the back--I told you: buttons and wires! But not that year. Not the year I actually had a date. Nina didn't have a date either. We sat in a room together and swapped "I have no life" anecdotes. She says she won, but she's wrong. I totally won. ...yay me...

Em had a date, which she rubbed in my face from the start. Of course Em had the whole blonde hair, blue eyes thing goin' on. Which she never failed to remind me "everyone says is the prettiest." She was really pretty in her pink and white gown--all...princessy and sparkly. Her date was kinda cute, too. I only met him once, he picked Em up after a class we had together a few weeks before the dance. His folks had money, and he had the most amazing backpack...

Neen and I were on diets, so prom night we made a list of our favorite ice creams and then spent an hour imagining eating them. Best Rocky Road I ever ate.

You know, Hank actually smiled when I told him I couldn't go. I think he went with Karly Fisher--a 3.9. The jerk totally traded up. Emily reminded me of this the night before. She and her date were supposed to double with me and Hank. They still went with Hank and Karly. Em called after and said it was the best night of her life. Of course, she'd just had her first kiss, so maybe I shouldn't take it too personally.