You Ran So I Could Fly
I don't remember much of my freshman year of high school, except that it was hard. New environment, new people, new dynamics, new everything. I remember taking a geography class from a teacher who, in hindsight, did not teach that class in any meaningful way, but I met a senior guy in there who became a dear friend and helped pull me out of the difficulty funk. I remember him inviting me to sit with him and his friends in the mornings before school, and wanting to slap sense into at least four of them, but it was silly and lighthearted and I learned how to survive high school at their metaphorical hearth.
The end of the year was especially hard, and I remember one day, the second-to-last week of the school year, where I was in an especially harsh mindset. I felt as though I was unworthy of life, of learning, and of anything I had earned, and I was one more hard fucking day from making a plan to survive sophomore year and convincing my parents to let me drop out. I sat in the common area, mind elsewhere and waiting for my dad to pick me up, when one of those guys sat down next to me. He just sat there for a minute, which struck me as strange, because he'd always been the type of guy to make a dick joke or inundate the conversation with weird World War II facts or anime references. Instead, he started telling me about his plans for college, what degrees and programs he'd considered before he picked one, and how he'd worked on it. When my dad texted to let me know he was in the pick-up line, the guy stood up and told me that it was going to be okay, and if he could do it, I could too, before leaving from another door.
I don't know why he waited with me. I don't know if my face or my body language tipped him off that something was wrong, or how he knew exactly what was bothering me. He certainly didn't have to stay: I know with almost complete certainty he could drive and drove himself to school. Instead, he, an eighteen-year-old boy less than a week from graduation, chose to sit with the weird, timid little fourteen-year-old girl one of his friends invited in like a stray cat and tell her it was going to be okay. I owe him my education, my passions, and everything that has come from that. I haven't seen him since that year and I doubt I ever will, but those five little words, "It's going to be okay," are a debt I am happy I will never pay off.
