i really don't. it's difficult to remember the cheerleaders' names, the teachers i had, and what people were doing after graduation. not that i try very hard... i don't really want to remember.
but today i'm thinking about it. my fault. i saw the book on my shelf and thought, "i barely remember reading it... wonder if i liked it?" it was a gift. years ago. i read it partly out of obligation.
but i picked it up. and as i leafed through it, i saw a sure sign that i enjoyed it. that it connected. highlighter. not a lot, but here and there. what did i find some interesting in this book that i had to highlight it?
I walk around the school hallways and look at the people. I look at the teachers and wonder why they're here. If they like their jobs. Or us. And I wonder how smart they were when they were fifteen. Not in a mean way. In a curious way. It's like looking at all the students and wondering who's had their heart broken that day, and how they are able to cope with having three quizzes and a book report on top of that. Or wondering who did the heart breaking. And wondering why. Especially since I know that if they went to another school, the person who had their heart broken would have had their heart broken by somebody else, so why does it have to be so personal?
if you're in the mood for a some vicarious teenage angst, or even some LSD-like flashbacks of your own teenage years, i suggest you pick up the perks of being a wallflower.
oh, this one i highlighted heavily. it really struck a chord at the time. not so much now. but it's still nice.
So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be.
was a good gift.