graduation

I owe half of you apologies for unkind words or brushy rumors

mostly from junior high

but I've quit thinking about all the times Kaitlyn Conlee tried to help me backflip

and that one liner Maddie Westbrook threw at me in the cafeteria.

We exchanged stools for tiles on a 90's floor.

And people hate the Knight,

but I don't mind watching from the shell of the big-ugly-mural

as the sophomore class tries to love each other.

I slept on the football field Friday night.

There's not an LP in the middle,

and the stars were blockaded by the 2am food truck that fills the vending machines.

We used to complain about crowds,

but the bleachers are far less comfortable when they're empty.

And today I saw the words "Have you discovered your true friends?" and it made me sick

because I have.

I have.

I did it, that journey's done.

No more motionless Friday anxiety that lacks invites,

no more sleeping alone with my interior on fire.

No more sob stories.

No more Monday nights with gelato on the couch.

We have events and eyelashes and pictures to take.

We have bridges to jump off (not a metaphor)

and diplomas to dawdle over,

and top buttons to mock.

We still have cookies that lack maternal perfection,

and all my friends are trying to console me because they're going to college together

and I'm trying to get the hell out of here.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to swear.

But stop comforting me.

So, I owe you apologies.

Apologies on apologies.

For missteps and unpaid lunch dates and the extra dollars you chip in

and all the gas money I succored from friends who drove me everywhere for two months.

Three years.

But I want you to have my thank yous instead.

Thank yous for the kind comments that were trailed by my non-witty remarks,

Thank yous for the listeners, the judge-less, the pedestal-supporters.

Thank yous for the Bonnie Nielsen's in art classes who let words slide that wouldn't have been laughed about in a circle of closest friends.

Thank yous to the Maddi Bishoff's and circle-pushers who force the spaces to grow and fill them with good flavors.

Thank yous to the Carly Goff's and the vitamin smiles that make you feel like the mayday queen.

To the Austin Garrett's and Abby Keenan's who saw a portrait of life and made a mural out of it.

Thank yous for the Zach Frampton's who asked about your day like a child who only knew love.

For the Matisse Streetman's and the paint buckets who fill themselves with so much art, they start looking like rare museums.

Thank yous for the Caden Cluff's who pull you from the steel stampedes of the bleachers (twice)

and then again, in full bulletproof uniform, under the lights of a state championship.

Thank yous for the Tara Johnson's who did everything passionately.

For the Jared Collins's who waited all these years to finally make sense.

For the Jackson Adams' and the Braeden Harris's who are trying and trying and I promise we see you.

For the Sarah Matthews's who are piecing things together bit by bit.

For the McKay Chidester's and the patient ones who spent their lunchtimes looking for good food and semblance.

Thank yous for the Ashlyn Gates's and all the tardies she doesn't deserve for helping people in the hall.

For the Bailey Wilson's and Alyssa Tycksen's whose laughs are contagions.

For those who sucked in a lot of air when their toes got trampled.

For the third wheels

the homework helpers.

The Wednesday mentors who walked quarter-miles in the winter.

For the kids whose hard earned answers got scribbled on everyone else's papers.

For the scantrons we don't see enough of.

Thank yous for the 16 last-weeks-of-term, the extra acne that came with them,

the forgotten ibuprofen bottles

those who still believe in red lipstick.

Thank yous for the people who were all ears.

For the talkers who were all clever.

For the speech-givers who knew the best flavor of humor.

For clear eyes.

For the apologizers.

For the fighters

and even the winged ones who ran.

Thank you,

thank you.