I'm not sure if it had more to do with the way you glowed in the fluorescent porch lights or how I wondered how I looked to you, but tonight as you spoke to me, it sent me spinning back to four years ago when I first met you, being so intimidated and awestruck. And how if someone had told me then how we'd be close friends, and I'd write you a letter every single day you were gone and you'd dye my hair and we'd read in bed to each other before we slept and how we'd see each other all the time -- I'd be destroyed by disbelief. Totally blown away.
And I'm thinking about the potential for how something I'm not even aware of at the moment, could be my entire world four years from now.
Unimaginably amazing things from the future shouldn't scare me.
But I'm fucking terrified.
Today I was playing guitar by myself in the choir room at Jesuit while my friends were onstage rehearsing for "
Nine Lives," Lauren's cabaret-esque show of her life -- (which by the way, is this Friday and Saturday at 7:30 at Jesuit; all are welcome, and it's free) -- but anyways, I started playing "Tears in Heaven" and was remembering how Miko played it at Brett Davies's funeral the summer after our freshman year, and suddenly I glanced at my phone and realized it was June 11th, 2006 -- exactly two years after he died.
With unexpected sensitivity I started crying. I thought about how, for me, an immeasurable amount has changed, and how, in that time, I've learned to love life. I was crying because I just know that if Brett had lasted through that time in his life, he would've been okay, and someday, he would have learned to love life, too. I spoke out loud to Brett about hoping he has found a way to somehow live, and continue to love, and for his family, that they're still able to feel his care. I put down the guitar and started playing "Konstantine" on the piano; it was one of my favorite songs around the time of that summer. It's a passionate and vulnerable song, and as I played and sang, the lights began to flicker, almost in rhythm.
It didn't seem strange to me, though, partially because I was so wrapped up in the song and feelings and partially because I figured that my friends onstage were somehow accidentally tweaking with the building's electricity. I played on. There's this climatic moment in the song because it's a beautiful nine minutes and 36 seconds long, and it goes "did you know I miss you?" seven times. On the third or fourth time, the lights went completely out.
The thing is, my beliefs about what happens after people die are largely undefined, but if I pay attention to my gut, I feel like that
was Brett, telling me in a way that he'd heard me and that he still feels everyone down here. It was strange but it was a calm sort of amazing, and I sat in the dark a while just to be.
"It's hard to stay mad, when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst... and then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life."
[American Beauty]It's summer. And miraculously, it was a beautiful day.
Dear Ms. Festine,
You should know that last September, I intended to hate Junior year and everyone in it. This was largely due to bitterness over my two best friends going off to college shortly prior to the beginning of school, an ongoing riff between my mom and I, and stale annoyance and general dislike towards my class and Jesuit as a whole.
Now, in June, at the end of my Junior year, things are entirely different. Rather, I see everything in a completely different light. A lot of the change in my perspective has to do with circumstance – situations I’ve found myself in, and previously unfamiliar feelings and concepts that I now experience on a daily basis. Throughout the year, I’ve collided with people and things that have aggressively challenged me to seize the immense risk of being honest with myself. It sounds so simple, but I suppose a part of the perpetual fear is that everything in life is so much more simple than everyone wants to make it out to be. Now, overshadowing the inevitable annoyances, I appreciate both the greatness and shortcomings of my class and Jesuit High School. Somehow, I’ve come to love life.
I can’t claim that our Fourth period English class was solely responsible for this drastic change, but I will be the first to explain that it played an essential part.
Through class discussions, creative writing, and the interaction that began to grow beyond room 42, the individuals in our class opened up in their respective styles to reveal parts of their own true selves. This surprised everyone involved, but because of the trust we all invested, we grew to become an unlikely but strong community of friends.
I’ve accepted the fact that I will never find a place where I like every person around. But this Fourth period English class showed me the deep value that exists in the journey of finding the beauty that resides within everyone. I truly believe this – that beneath logistical differences, disagreements, and other pettiness – the core of peoples’ existence is composed of a simple yet radiant love. Fourth period English has affirmed my belief that the human race is not necessarily doomed for destruction.
People are good. And people are what make life worth living.
So thank you, Ms. Festine, for being such an integral part of this experience. I wish I could provide a less overused adjective than ‘life-changing,’ but why complicate things? This class made a huge difference in my initially doomed Junior year, and therefore, a meaningful impact on me, myself.
You have been a part of this class in helping to shape who I am and to change me, hopefully for the better. And isn’t that the point?
With sincere love and gratitude,
Allison
