Late last night, I stumbled across a blog belonging to a woman I shared one year of school with way back when. I was stalking other blogs that belonged to people who probably don't remember me when I recognized her name on a blogroll and clicked. I will admit: Because of the genre of people I was busy stalking, I expected the typical Mormon mommy blog with fun designs, automatic music players, links to trendy "modest" clothing stores and grammatical errors galore. You know the type: A few kids already, a successful older husband who bought her a $350,000 house, and tons and tons of photos with other women from high school. At Cafe Rio. Or something.
That is not what I saw. This person probably doesn't remember me, and probably had no more than three passing thoughts about me when we actually attended the same school. But because it was ninth grade, I remember her. She was pretty, smart, quiet, a fellow honors English victim. She had a lot of good, smart friends.
Let me give you my version of ninth grade: Hell.
I had just moved to a new city with new people, new fashions and new teenage angst. A few people in my neighborhood quickly befriended me, although I didn't end up staying friends with many of them. My family had hardly any money, and I know just buying some new school clothes for us kids was a challenge for my parents. Those around me had a lot of money, and it was evident in how they dressed, traveled, partied and acted. It was a completely foreign experience.
I obviously survived the year, but it was by the skin of my teeth. Despite being "taken in" by a popular group of girls, I didn't feel close to any of them. If I managed to be sitting with them at lunch to hear about the Friday night plans, I went. If not, no one called me to tell me. Some mornings I'd make a goal to specifically talk to one person. Being as introverted as I was — and still am at times — I could go through the day with little to no interaction with other human beings if I chose. By making that goal, I forced myself to be social — with at least one person. At home that afternoon, I'd report to myself how I'd done and think about whether anyone else had initiated any conversations. Some days, yes. Others, no. I was very much alone, whether it appeared that way to others or not.
The pinnacle of that awesome year, and I say so with sarcasm, was the week before Christmas. In early December, the girls I was "friends" with decided on having a girls-only formal Christmas dinner party. I was present for the initial talks so I was, by default, invited (although I had no idea what "formal" meant for 15-year-olds). For several days that's all some of them talked about. Who would host the party, what day it should be, what everyone should wear, etc. Then ... nothing. If asked, girls would say they didn't know if it was still on or to ask so-and-so. I knew what was going on, but tried to pretend it wasn't. On the day of the planned event, I made a couple of phone calls, planning to suggest we just hang out anyway even though there was no party. Not surprisingly, not one of these girls answered their phone. A few moms even lied for their daughters. So yeah, that was pretty much awesome.
By March or April, I'd made a few new friends. Some were the "outcasts" — the ones who didn't dress "right" or who weren't LDS and therefore, unfortunately, not accepted by many of the popular kids. Things finally felt right for me. High school got much better, and by my senior year I was so far removed from those original popular girls (most of whom went to another high school), ninth-grade seemed a bit like a dream.
To circle around, this blog I found late last night did not belong to any of the infamous popular girls. This person was in a different, more secure, friend group that didn't easily accept newcomers. To me, they were the "smart people" group. I didn't know much about them, but while they weren't mean to me, I don't think they even knew I existed. However, while reading her well-written, well-thought-out posts last night, I saw one that could easily have been written by me about that horrible year. In her case, she wrote of high school (not the one I went to) and how alone she felt during those years. About the friends who weren't really friends, the nights she spent alone at home or even going to school events by herself.
Ten years ago, I'd never have pegged her as having that problem. Of course, she'd probably never have pegged me for it either. It occurred to me that most in that ninth-grade class saw me sit at the lunch table with those popular girls and assumed I had friends. I saw her with her friends and never in my wildest dreams would have imagined that a year later those "secure" friendships of hers wouldn't be so safe. Most likely, they weren't safe that year either.
I think we would have been friends. I wish I could go back and do things a bit differently. But now, as I sit and think about it, I wonder who, out there right now, is like her. Whose blog will I stumble across in 10 years and think, "I think we would have been friends. I wish I could go back and do things a bit differently"? I wish I knew.
Posts
