I sacrificed my senior year to save myself from the darkest hole that I have found. I scrambled to the edge and hauled myself up with cruel words from a quick-tongued ‘friend’. But I was a Senior for a day, if even not a complete one, I was a Senior for one day. I’ve been able to enjoy this year with Days Of Our Lives and empty malls, sleepless nights and endless days and all in all, Ginger Time. And hell, it’s felt GREAT.

But there have been things I’ve missed. Things that have been killing me. Things that tears can’t simply wash away, or that a good nights rest can heal. Things that this time, even my writing or some hair cannot patch. My friends. My senior year. My transition into adulthood and college. My Prom. My diploma. All the people I once saw everyday turned into infrequent callers… or simply screenames on my buddylist. I see a few of them once in a while, one or two quite often, but not having lunch with them was a killer. Not being able to see their familiar backpack in the hall was sad. I wanted to walk into a classroom that the 7th grade Ginger would be so intimidated by when delivering a note that she wouldn’t look at anyone and rush out when she had her first chance. A room that looked crowded by the big people – a room where the students took up more space than their desks did and gazed with a million eyes when someone walked into the room. I wanted to walk into one JUST like the ones I feared and plop down in MY assigned seat, turn around and talk to Leslie about her license or to Annie about her libido. I wanted to tease people and think up a hundred new nicknames (my specialty) and improve the ones that I already had created in my eccentric madness. I wanted to roll my eyes at all the losers that were somehow ‘cool’ even though no one really thought they were at all. I wanted to ride Splash Mountain on Grad night, or reserve my senior yearbook. I wanted to worry about buying my class ring, or getting my prom dress the same day with Ariel. I wanted to go to prom and dance the night away, and applaud for that prom Queen, no matter who she was, and probably make fun of her dress later. I wanted to ride crowded in that limo and worry about crushing my too- expensive but all-too-perfect pink dress. I wanted to come home at 5 a.m. that morning and wake my mom and tell her all about it. Then, on graduation day I wanted to see my family behind the rope bearers and walk my way down the row, hearing everyone I knew and loved cheer for me. I’d walk steadily, with my head high, I would as they called my name, in a good way, this time. Then after I carefully tucked my hat away when everyone threw theirs, I would push my way through the tearful crowd and join them in their sorrow. Give hugs to all the people that held my hand, that said hello to me for the first time, that sat next to me in History and talked to me about the 80’s and helped me release my tension. And I would even give hugs to the people I hated, because I would be happy I wouldn’t be seeing them anymore and in thanks for teaching me what not to become, or who not to trust. And I would gaze at the sky free from responsibility for a day, because I finally did it, I finally achieved my goal. And I would hug my Grandma with her little camera and my happy-but-uncomfortable Grandpa, then pose in a picture with them in my little blue cap and gown with the tassel adjusted for a graduate. Ginger The Graduate. And I would bounce home for my little graduation present. Something ecomonical but special… something I could put on my little knick knack shelf or hang on my wall when I have my own little family. And I would hop in my VW with my closest friends, shift into 3rd and zoom into the sunset of adulthood, leaving Eagle Rock High and all that went with it in the dust… where it belonged all along.

And not graduating or going to prom or having people wonder about me kills a part of me that I will never be able to revitalize. Instead, I have to shift gears and take the other road. The road I chose knowingly, with a few more bumps, but it promises sleep and hair. And it had peace. And it had simplicity that my life needed. And most of all – it had ME. So I suppose there is a silver lining to this darkened cloud that so gloomily rides on my heels. I’m finding myself. I’ve matured in many ways. So maybe it isn’t exactly ‘killing’ me. Perhaps it’s just what everyone is feeling – the loss, and I felt it first all alone on my special day when no one else in the world was graduating but me – when I broke down in tears thanking the school counselor wishing I could say just one more thing. When Coach Kato wished me the best of luck, and told me that I was a good kid, but needed to go to school more. When I got those hand shakes from the ‘enemy’ that wasn’t so anymore. That was my graduation. So I’m really not ‘missing’ anything. I’m not left out. I’m not unaccounted for. And I probably wouldn’t like that 10 year reunion letter in the mail. And I’m not dying. And nothing should be killing me.

But it is.