The High School Dance

Sweaty palms. Clumsy feet. Earaches from standing too close to the speakers. I remember all of it. The anxiety I felt over going stag again with my closest friends. The tedious time spent in shopping malls fretting over what outfit to wear just in case the guy you were crushing on would for some miraculous reason ask you to dance. It was all about impressions and statements and everything in between. The dance was where you either conquered the momentary love of your life or failed to be even slightly noticed.

As much as I despised all of it, I made a conscious effort to make appearances. But secretly, I didn't want anything to do with it. High school dances were nothing but a self-indulgent event for all the people who loved high school, who considered it the "best time of their lives." It was all too forced and fabricated for me, personally. I always knew I'd get over that crush and the fact that he never did ask me to dance. In fact, I knew I'd forget his name and that none of it would even matter ten years down the road. Some people saw high school as the pivotal point in their life. I saw it as a small stepping stone, an insignificant event I had to put up with until the real important shit came along. I didn't want to be another hamster in a wheel.

If it hadn't been for my less-than-impressive GPA or the fact that I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, I would've been on a plane somewhere far from here. I wanted to start over, be anonymous, be forgotten and never look back. But it didn't quite work out that way. When you stay in Santa Ana post high school, the dance never seems to end.

For as long as I've stuck around here, I've done a pretty decent job at dodging awkward run-ins with people I'd like to forget. I don't care if so and so had a baby or that once popular cheerleader put on 50 lbs. It never comes as a surprise. Half of those girls were already banging a guy or two in high school and getting knocked up was inevitable. And once the cheerleader stopped cheering, the Cheetos she consumed on a daily basis finally caught up. Natural metabolism can only do so much.

My best friends call me a snob for declining Facebook friend requests from people we went to school with, but let's just say I'm "keeping it real." I don't care to impress anyone who attended that concrete slab we all called Century Penitentiary. I don't make any conscious efforts for anyone but my closest friends and family. For me, the dance ended my senior prom back in 2002. I can't control the fact that I'm still somewhat stuck in Santa Ana, but I can control who I keep in touch with, who I choose to share my life and future plans with. For some people, Santa Ana is where they were born and it's where they will die. The dance will continue. People will stay superficial and pretend they're all great friends unified under a school mascot. They'll convince themselves that Santa Ana is the best place on Earth. As for me? I want to be the hamster that escapes. Fuck the wheel.