Monday, October 17, 2011

Closure

I can pinpoint the beginning of my social demise. 

Jenny Radford passed me a note in 8th grade math: “Want to eat lunch with me & Lori?” I glared as I handed her my reply: “You mean the ‘cool’ kids?” She wrote back: “Is there something wrong with that?” 

I must have decided that there was nothing wrong with that, because I ate lunch with Jenny and Lori and the other cool/mean girls every day for the next five years. 

I took smart-kid classes with my old friends and drank warm wine coolers in the parking lot with my new friends. I became a cheerleader. I dated a boy who impressed his friends by putting chewing gum in my hair. (And I gave him a fat lip for it, which also impressed his friends.) 

One afternoon at Lori’s house, I sat on her bed and listened as she called Jenny on her Hello Kitty phone. They made fun of Wendi, another cool/mean girl, because she’d worn glittery shoes to school. Then Lori called Wendi to talk about how lame Jenny was for putting a New Kids song on a mix tape. 

I wondered what they said about me behind my back. I wondered what I was doing there. “I should go home,” I said to Lori. “Noooo, you have to staaaaay!” she whined.

I stayed. 

*

Twenty years after our high school graduation, Lori and I met Jenny at her mom’s house to “pre-party” before the reunion. For old times’ sake, I showed up with a four-pack of Bartles & James piña colada flavored wine coolers (warm). We laughed about the drinks, pretended to gag, drank them anyway. 

I sat on Jenny’s childhood bed and listened as they made fun of our classmates’ Facebook photos while they took forever to do their hair. “Okay, you guys. Be honest,” Lori said. “Are my arms too fat for this dress?”

We carpooled to the reunion. I nursed a beer while the cool/mean girls started downing shots. I switched to water as they got drunker and meaner. I spent most of the night getting to know the friends I wish I’d had in high school—the friends I did have before I gave in to the tyranny of cool. They now work in publishing, education, health care, law. They have well-worn passports and coach their kids’ soccer teams. They do not obsess about arm flab (not publicly, anyway). 

I was ready to go home by 10 p.m. At midnight, when the stragglers were kicked out of the banquet hall and headed downstairs to the hotel bar, I told Jenny and Lori that I was leaving. “Noooo, you have to staaaaay!” they whined. 

I told the cool/mean/drunk girls that they should take a cab. 

I drove home alone. 

Posted at 10:09 AM 50 notes

Notes

  1. lindstifa said: I love you.
  2. steelopus said: Yup.
  3. ohheygreat said: It’s taken me way, way too long to figure out there are different types of cool. I’m glad you’re the one you are.
  4. irreverend posted this