Monday, October 10, 2005

Homecoming 2005

This year, Homecoming is changing. For the better? For the worse? I don't think anybody really knows that it's becoming insignificant. Maybe it's changing only for me. All I know is that the majority of the girls and H.S. are going out to Midnite Expressions in the juniors section of Macy's, or to JC Penney's, to buy their two hundred dollar, Cinderella dresses, while the few nonconformists go out and buy unique clothing items that somehow mesh well with the formal attire theme. Then there are the classics; the girls and guys who dress in the classy styles to look like models and movie stars. I would classify myself into this third category. But this isn't how Homecoming has changed. No, this is how it's remained the same. Every year, Katie and I prepare together. Every year, we stay overnight at the other's houses. Every year it's the same music. Every year it's the same dark gym, guys groping girls in every corner. Homecoming is having fun with my friends and dancing to every song. Crazy and I dance the same song together every year. Only this year will be different. This year we will have a monster that goes by the name of, "C.G. screwed S.S. and knocked her up (Crazy, if this offends you, let me know and I'll delete it). Now I feel like we're worlds apart. In essence, it's the final slap in the face that tells me that I never had a chance, that I will never have a chance. I wonder what to say, I wonder what to do. You said once that I have a comprehensive voice... well, so much for that. I wonder how to help you through this but I don't know if I can. Our dance tells us over and over again that we're just friends. Close friends, but only friends. All that's happened to us within the past four years has kept the emotion raw between us.
When I met you in seventh grade, you were a great runner. We shared cross-country and track. You spit in my face and called me "Moddy." I made copies of your flier for that party at your place. Sharing choir in eighth grade; you were one of the only male singers. Still are, come to think of it. :) Rubbing your soft hair after the eighth grade water-slides. High school started and you pulled the group together. You had your girlfriends and I had my beaus. We became friends and shared numerous classes in sophomore year. I'll never forget making my first character and not listening to Mr. T. confuse us about Thoreau. You finally learned to trust me; I asked you everyday. You helped me through my summer in France and at Shane's. I figured S.S. was just another girl who wouldn't last. But now you two are getting married. You told me in an email that you loved me, then having J.M. inform me of you and her in the park (ouch!). I was so angry. Things got better and you told me you couldn't make a choice, if one of us were dying, who to save. That pissed me off, too. I hated yelling at you over the phone, through my tears; I felt so guilty. I found out that you were human, no longer a virgin, making stupid mistakes. I was angry once again. You let me cool off, never yelled back, never got angry. Once again things got better. Then she tells me she's pregnaut (major shock, literally). She plans to keep it and you've ruined your dreams of going into the military. At least she'll keep you safe. Like I said, I have no more reactions. I've run out because I don't care anymore.
This is how Homecoming's changed. We're just friends, and neither of us wants anymore, or from my point of view, anyways. I'll always be here for you to talk, to listen; whatever you need. But promise that we'll always have our dance.