I made the best of friends
HIGH SCHOOL. I guess I should go over it.I don’t think people know how complicated it is to understand adolescent social hierarchy and group dynamics. I sure didn’t. Coming from an Eighth grade class of 28 to a freshman class of 2000+ was kind of a culture shock. My fears of being alone, the nervousness of making friends and fitting in. I mean, it was tough for young ass Mig.
I spent most of my high school lunches wandering the school and joining clubs to feel welcomed. I joined a Catholic club for fucks sake. We prayed during lunch! Like, how boring! I wasn’t even completely sold on the whole jesus thing, but fuck, it beats being a loner for an hour. I think it wasn’t until senior year that I finally started hanging out with a core group of friends. There was 5 of us. Adam, Ryan, David, and Alex. God damn these are some generic ass names.
Ryan was white, 5’5, played Diablo, asian fetish, and made weird sounds when he described things.
Adam was your typical white guy that listened to KORN and Limp Bizkit. I do stalk him on Facebook from time to time and he hangs out with a bunch of young korean kids. Go figure. These guys have small bios because just like their names, they are equally as boring.
David was half white and half vietnamese. He played guitar during sing-a-longs at saturday evening mass. Saturday’s at 5:30 was when all the “cool” catholic teens went. They called it the “Life Teen Mass”. LAME. They had prayers and meetings and this guy named Rob lead the youth ministry. Everyone had a crush on him. I mean, he had really nice skin so I don’t blame them. He was like 25 and he started dating this girl who was SIXTEEN. BAUHAHAH. NICE ONE ROB! They were in love? I don’t know. I think they had a kid. It caused some controversy at the time, and he wasn’t our youth leader for very long.
Oh yeah, David. He was a prick. I don’t care for him. He had this air of superiority about him that rubbed me the wrong way. Fuck that guy. I hope he looks back on his deathbed and he has like, plenty of regrets. Haha, like, as he is laying on his hospital bed laughing and playing with his grandchildren something strikes him. He pauses, and he has this strange feeling like all the air inside his body is slowly escaping. The room falls silent...and this weight, this immense sense of fear that you were suppose to accomplish more than you lived just overtakes him. He tries to smile and hush the feelings away, but he can’t. His eyes frantically scans the room for something, anything… a reprieve, an exhale from the gravity of helplessness that is slowly crushing him. He looks to his wife and his child as they hug and envelop him in this brilliance of love and affection, but it’s too late, and that glowing emotion is lost on him. Right before he passes away the sense of truly living is lost on him too. Lost....like the warmth of the sun, nurturing a stone.
Ummmm….That was weird, but so was Alex.(another killer transition) Alex is my favorite really. We tried to stay close after high school, but he was kind of a lone wolf. Alex’s dad left when he was young, and I don’t think he ever really got over it. I think he always wanted to to be his own man, to finally find himself, but your father leaving you at such a young age can have devastating ramifications. He was weird and rebellious, but that's what made him so interesting. He took all that frustration, abandonment and anger and lashed out against the world. He regularly didn’t show up for class, and when he did a newly painted swastika would be on his back pack. He was half filipino/half black and dressed liked dylan klebold. No one is fucking with him, and he's the farthest person from being a racist. He was the type of person to say” it's a religious symbol, the ancient celts and buddhist use it”. Whatever bullshit that is, but Alex was fuckin smart, and he knew what he was doing. He wanted attention and comfort in this unforgiving world. I don’t blame him. He was the homie. Haha, during class he refused to sit on a chair so he sat indian style on his desk. HAHAHAH. He always carried a knife and I knew that if shit was ever to go down, he would relish the feeling of plunging that knife into someone's chest. It may not have been because he was saving me from harm. He’d probably do it to finally have an excuse to do it, but hey, he was the homie!
