A glimpse into my life at seventeen. I kept journals and burned them. Need I say more? Okay, so here's a reflection of me and all my...drama, drama, and more drama.
I hated high school. Hanging around with the popular kids--kids who drank, smoked, and who were already "experienced" -- I was the oddball. I was the designated driver. I was the one who made sure they got home okay. I was the ear when they needed to talk. All the while I wanted to get out of dodge.
What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I be normal? One of them. Hell, I wasn't Sandy (Grease) material. I never wanted to be. I just couldn't go there. I couldn't let anyone close. I was okay with being the shadow. I convinced myself of this early on.
Then I dropped out of high school. Home life sucked. Running away crept into my mind and lingered. Then something happened. I met a girl. She looked to be my age, 17, and was sitting on the ground at the bus stop. She looked lost. Homeless.
She asked if I had money. I didn't. I wanted to ask her if she needed help. I wanted to talk to her, to help her. But I didn't. The words wouldn't come to me and I continued on home, though all the while I couldn't get her out of my head. After scrambling whatever money I could, I went back to the bus stop but she was gone.
It's been twenty-three years and I still remember that girl. I wonder what happened to her. Every day since that encounter I regret not talking to her, not helping her.
She saved me from running away.