Smallville

I didn't grow up in a small town. But, I might as well have. My high school graduating class had about 300 kids in it. Not to shabby. Certainly not my cousin's graduating class of, drum roll please, 9. That, is small town. And not my Dad's graduating class of 1200. (He graduated from Glendale High School, California)

Three hundred students is still small enough to be familiar with almost every face. Considering that we were all compelled to be incarcerated with each other for 7 hours a day for three years. I don't remember every name, and I've forgotten many of the faces, but, I still remember most.

My twenty year reunion is next month. No, that isn't a typo. Twenty years. Yes, I'm old. Enough with the jokes and snicker. The truth is, I'm not relishing the idea of going. Given to my own devices, I wouldn't go. But, pseudonymous hubby graduated the same year, from the same high school. He WANTS to go. (You can't imagine my consternation at his damn self esteem. He's ALL happy and comfy with himself.....bastard)

With the impending get together, looming on the horizon, I've had the tremendous, eye poking, pleasure of running into many of the geniuses that I graduated with, in various places around town. (My stupidity for not vacating this damn state, town and neighborhood upon immediate possession of my parchment.)

I...was not "popular". In fact, I was one of those I like to call, forgettable. As pejorative as it sounds, it's not meant to be. You see there are a thousand labels one is gifted with while in the adolescent years. In my Smallville the more astute were labels such as Jock, Cheerleader, Cowboy, Stoner, Geek, Nerd, Thespian and that "guy". My pseudonymous hubby was a Geek/Nerd. One of those confoundedly intelligent jackasses that also possessed a killer sense of humor. I would call most of those in the above categories people that we would all remember in one way or another twenty years after graduation.

I, was not any one, of those labels. I was a small handful of them. But not good enough at any one of them to be remembered. I always wanted to be popular while in high school. But not for the same reasons that most of us would choose the maniacal mayhem of popularity at the ripe old age of 15,16, or 17. Most of us would chose popularity in order to be recognized. To be remembered. To be looked fondly upon. Me, I just wanted to be liked by the damn fuckers so they would stop torturing me.

You've seen those "types". The classic movie nerd. Eugene from Grease is a good example. Pushed around in the halls, called horrible names, made fun of in gym class. Only, Eugene has something going for him, his smarts. Me, I had nada. I got all the bullshit and none of the silver lining. And one bitch in particular seemed to have a propensity and joy in making me miserable. She was just down right mean. And mean people suck.

I'm not going to bore you with the details, but I will tell you that I stayed home with horrible stomach pains on more than one occasion, brought on by worrying about what threats or teasing she had invoked. I was bullied. Period. Let's be honest, I have an understanding of the horror that kids like. Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris were driven to by being bullying. It, fortunately never occurred to me to do something like that when I was 16.

But this isn't about the misery I had in my adolescence. Please, who needs to revisit that kind of crap. Except that it keeps coming back to haunt me. Yesterday I was the apathetic recipient of news that my most "beloved" high school memory, still lives in my town, (as if this should surprise me, people in this state never fucking leave. But I should talk.) And, even better, she's in my sister-in-laws church congregation and my nephew's Sunday school teacher. Hmmmmm, W-T-F!!!!

Not looking for any sympathy here, just one more reason to avoid getting to know the neighbors.