Friday, December 4, 2009

One Last Blast about Senior Year


Yesterday too many things were happening, and I could not get to the computer until late in the day. By then , tiredness had set in and I did not really accomplish much. Today almost the same. it is now 8:30pm, but decided that could not let two days go by...

I am not sure why so many entries about senior year. I suppose it is the most important year and that, as a “swing” (into adulthood…) year, it becomes that much more important yet. Anyway, the working title for this particular piece really is “Still Senior Year?... I’m Getting Tired”…

When does school drop in priority and other issues become centerpiece? I sit here and look back to those months, from about March through graduation in June. I try to remember different occasions and I know there were many distinct ones… conversations and get-togethers with friends, week end visits to T’s house in West Richland, where she lived with her mom and dad and eventually, after her dad left, with her mom. They lived in an area which was not very populated then (I assume that today it is) and we did a lot of walking along the roads, while we talked about all the things we would like to see happen in the future. I truly hope she did find the right partner with whom to do all those things we visualized then. She deserved this.

There were also the final tests and all the hoopla that led to the end of the senior year and, hence, the end of high school. The long walks (still did not have a car…) to go to the pool in the mornings and on the week-ends. Actually, the pool did become a center of sorts in my life. I do like swimming and it did provide a platform for me to show a dedication which in other areas just wasn’t present at that moment. Afternoons spent at the local shop, with a root-beer float and fries and about another 3-5 schoolmates sitting around the table, having similar feasts. Richland was a young town, having been created some 25 years before with the specific purpose of housing specialty employees. This had a good/bad side effect: on the good side, everything was fairly new and clean, including the school; on the not so good side, there was not much to do for the teens; if one was not involved in some sport or extracurricular activity, one could find oneself with a lot of time in one’s hands and this, at age 17-19 is not so good for one (or two).

Once the conversation with my foster parents took place regarding the choice to be made, the slow process of realization that I would have to say good bye to Richland and all the wonderful people I had met there truly began. One thing is to realize this fact; another is to accept it and live with it. This second part takes longer and it is a deeper, more telling undertaking. It begins somewhere in the back of the head or at the far bottom of your gut and, slowly, it fights its way around to the sentient lobes where, despite one’s all out efforts to silence it, it becomes louder and louder as time passes.

-“You MUST go; there is no choice…” would say a deep, resonant voice somewhere inside…

-“but” a small dissident voice replies -“I’m not sure I want to go again into an unknown…” then,

–“you know you will not leave your sister alone” comes back the other, bigger voice, with a finality that belies no rebuttal… then silence.

Your mind, satisfied that it has had a productive dialogue, shuts down any possible reply and your guts shrink and begin to accept this result which, in the end, you know in your heart is the only possible decision to make. Does it make it easier? No. The main positive short term consequence out of this decision was to be reunited with my sister again, after 3 years. There would be others, but they would come later in life.

We had our graduation; I still have my diploma, that is one of those things which are kept in a safe forever. Despite the many highs and lows (and some have been very low) and many moves from, and to, many places in my life since then, this hard back, green covered diploma is still there. At times I have picked it up, held and looked at it; this releases a flood of memories.

Right around May of that year, there were a number of phone calls, some being three way conferences (today we do this from the cell phones; this was a good show for that time) between my father, my sister and I, and some final decisions were made. My sister would go to San Juan as early as July (when my uncle would be leaving for South America) and I would follow, as soon as the wheels of the commanding bureaucracy would stop spinning long enough to pick me and my things up.

In the meantime, there were many goodbyes to say and a summer job to be had. We knew that it would take some weeks for me to actually leave, but Mr. C. did not want me to commit to something I could not complete, so I was spared the summer pickings. This was OK but, unfortunately, I was also held back from joining the rest of the family on the Oregon coast. This was not so good. At some point in June, T went to visit her mom’s family in Arkansas and we said our goodbyes at the train station. She did not want to be there when I actually left.

Even though we had made all the appropriate promises to write, call, visit and all, we knew that in the end, all these things would be out of our hands. After she was gone, the good bye season began in earnest. The Cuban gang (some of whom would also be leaving) began to be together most of the time. Although we had all made good friends amongst the American classmates, friends who are still there and in our hearts, it was a lot easier to be able to speak in Spanish, and to talk about the many cultural issues that only we understood. We perceived that each day that went by, was a day less we had to be together and to share.

In July, true to the pre set time, my sister called me from Puerto Rico to let me know that she was already there and

–“when are you coming?” she would ask,

–“No sé” I would tell her –“I don’t know yet”…

-“but, You are coming, right?” she would come back to me.

-“Yes, sister, of course I’m coming” I would reassure her.

In August, I was still in Richland. Those bloody bureaucratic wheels were still spinning, although slowing down noticeably. I knew the time was truly coming. One day I got a phone call. It was T’s mom, to let me know that T was coming back from Arkansas and “Would I like to pick her up at the station?” she asked, “It would be a nice surprise for her”. I agreed and went to the station. To say the truth, she was not overwhelmed at my being there to pick her up. Don’t misunderstand; it was not lack of feelings. On the contrary, and as she put it to me, it was more an issue of having already mentally said goodbye. She had not expected to see me again and now she would have to go through the emotional gauntlet all over again. This, I understood. I also understood that, even when both parts feel equally strongly, the part that leaves is going into new things, while the one who stays behind will be in all the familiar places, but alone with memories.

Finally, in September my time came at last, and I parted company with Richland. Perhaps the most important two years in my life were coming to an end. It is easy to wax melancholy, but this is not the case. The people of this town had received a bunch of lost and somewhat scared kids and, with everyone being a part of the process, had helped push them into the right direction to becoming adults.

Next… I don’t really know where we will be going, but go we shall.

Bye.

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