Choose your own flashback.

Here is the story:

In theory, the past two weeks have involved two of exactly the same thing, but in reality, the events could not have been more different. Both were called “homecoming,” but one was for my high school, and the other was for my college. (Yes! Colleges do indeed have homecoming. Fear not; I myself also have to be reminded of that every year, and am fairly certain I only wrote this parenthetical addendum for my own sake. You were probably already completely aware. If you read the past few sentences in a British accent, you will get to exactly where I am mentally right now. Maybe don't.) In that sense, they were polar opposites. But technically they both were football games attended by people with similar educational backgrounds who paid in small bills for snacks out of tiny buildings.

Perhaps it is only in my mind that they are significantly different, but allow me to proceed.

I despised high school, with a profuse loathing that probably was born out of severe emotional instability and what I did not realize was the need for some level of privacy. It was a small private school, but if you had even the most minor of issues, let me tell you, it was anything but small or private. In that phase of my life, I also found a lot of my worth in things I should not have (appearances, accomplishments, grades, boys...mostly boys. Mostly I cried a lot and was confused as to why everyone else had a boyfriend and I didn’t. Things to consider: probably because I cried a lot.)

Anyway. My senior year I was on homecoming court (I realize that my description of myself does not support such a statement, but the clincher was probably that I also tried very hard to be nice to everyone, which is almost all you can do for the world when you’re seventeen) and I actually think it may have been one of the top ten best days of my life. I feel as if I should be ashamed but that is the honest truth. I wore a sparkly blue dress that my college friends would be embarrassed to have been in the same store as and I got my hair done (!?) (it was also a waste of money), and when my friend won queen we went back to her van and ate Jack in the Box fries with the boys who escorted us. And honestly, I only threw that factoid in there because if you knew me as I am right now you would know I am the farthest thing from a homecoming princess, and am very nerdy and so, so painfully introverted (probably too much emotional scarring from high school, honestly), have recently decided Augustine’s Confessions is one of my absolute favorite books, and am spending Saturday night BLOGGING ON MY COUCH AND EATING MUESLI CEREAL WITH MY HANDS BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO STUDY VIRUS REPLICATION. Whatever. Now you know.

I went back to high school homecoming freshman year of college, and by the end of that school year, when I realized most of my relationships with those people were slowly turning into awkward waves when I saw them at the mall, I vowed never to go back.

This became difficult when my big little brother became a football star. It runs in our family (my dad’s side) to be good at things but to be best known for ridiculous commentary thrown in on the side. But big little brother made it work for him. He played wide receiver (that also runs on my dad’s side), and he caught a plethora of touchdown passes, and then I had to go to watch him catch them, which did not do a lot for my aura of aloofness, but promised to be temporary. Unfortunately, as big little brother ended his final high school season, baby little brother also discovered his talent for catching touchdown passes, which is why I find myself, far more often than I would hope, sitting in some corner of my high school feeling nauseous and angry and mildly supportive of my siblings’ athletic efforts, all at once, even though none of them ever showed any enthusiasm at my choir concerts.

And now big little brother plays for my college, so basically I am eternally tied to my past. I guess it comes with being a trailblazer. Fortunately, college homecomings aren’t nearly as bad. Our marching band wears weird hats, but that’s really the only issue. This year my past roommate Camille was on homecoming court so I attended to support her and my brother standing on the sidelines for their respective purposes.

And thus we come to the meat of the matter. The mention of college homecoming was just to give me a good reason to write this late, and the entire intro was to release some of the bitterness that is rooted in my past (common theme) as well as to prove that I had a very good excuse for attending my high school’s homecoming THREE YEARS after I graduated (talented relatives, familial obligations, etc.). The post I wanted to write last week was “Things you find yourself thinking at your high school homecoming,” and I think that the inspirational ideas are probably still somewhere back there, so…

Things you find yourself thinking (and in moments of indiscretion, speaking) at your high school's homecoming:

(for reference, picture a very nervous squirrel reacting strongly to every possible stimulant, but only expressing it facially. This is what the evening most likely resembled.)

"Why am I here?"

"No, but really, why? I am literally the only person here from my class who is not coaching something."

"Why am I doing this to myself?"

"I came here to see my freaking brother and my brother came to seem my freaking brother but of course, neither of them are even talking to me. He can't even play. He has a concussion. He is sitting on the sidelines ignoring me. Obviously I'm more important than your lame friends who probably only ever talk about lame things...like...Halo...!"

"Do people play Halo anymore?"

"AM I OBSOLETE?"

"HAVE I ALREADY PEAKED?"

"I HAVE ALREADY PEAKED."

"Okay slow down. Half the things that half these kids spend all their energy on I can do legally and they can't. Plus look at them. They're all so tiny. All of them are either continuing or ending their awkward stage, and almost none of them know what to do with their arms."

"Do I know what to do with my arms?"

"Has it only been ten minutes?"

"REMEMBER THAT GUY? WHY IS HE HERE? REMEMBER HOW OLD HE WAS WHEN I WAS SO YOUNG? HE WAS IN THAT PLAY. I NEVER TALKED TO HIM. HE'S PROBABLY FORTY AND HE STILL COMES I CAN'T BE THAT BAD."

"If he was a senior when I was a freshman..."

"(math)"

"He is twenty-four. Or twenty-five. He is in his twenties."

"WE ARE EQUALS."

"Oh my GOSH, how long does it take a mother to buy snacks?"

"Why am I here?"

"I went here?"

"I went to this school."

"No wonder I have so many problems."

"Remember how fun these things used to be? Remember how grown up we felt? Is that really how old we are? This is embarrassing. We were four feet tall. Who did we even think we were?"

"Am I the only person here who didn't bring a date?"

"Who brings a date to their high school homecoming? What would you say? 'Yeah I went here for four years, did a lot of algebra, felt bad about myself, casual.'"

"Is this what reunions will be like?"

"How do reunions even happen?"

"IS THAT MY RESPONSIBILITY"

(I was senior class president (no one else ran), so it is, in fact, my responsibility. I remember this every few months and experience this series of emotions every time.)

"NO"

"I CAN'T FACE THEM LIKE THIS"

"I USED TO BE SO MUCH BETTER"

"I HAVE TO MOVE"

"Move? Hm. That thought was extreme."

"Maybe I could just face the fact that everyone values different things, and that I like myself better now, and that I decided I valued genuine relationships and formative life experiences instead of appearing cool."

"Maybe I could go to grad school and then make everyone call me 'Dr. Lydia'."

"Hm."

"...'Doctor Lydia'..."

"Ugh Mom finally."

"Ugh NO WAIT MOM DON'T TALK TO THEM THEY'LL KNOW I CAME."

"Ugh why is this the worst thing I've ever done."

"Ew, why am I sixteen again. Pull it together, self. You are an adult. You paint your own nails and you pay for things with money you do not have. You are better than this."

"Ugh MOM classic Mom making a million friends and taking forever."

"Hey, that guy! I knew him. Nope, I did not know him. Just went to a tiny high school where you knew everybody and pretended you didn't. Too much."

"Oh, I kind of knew her."

"I should hide."

"Okay, really, I went here?"

"This is ridiculous."

"This homecoming court. So clean-cut. So youthful."

"I don't even go here and I know who's going to win homecoming queen."

"Yep."

"At least the game is interesting."

"See, high school football is so much better than any other kind of football, because everything that happens is more of a surprise. All the other levels are so well-oiled and pristine. An NFL team getting to the Superbowl is just as exciting as one of our receivers actually catching the ball."

"Why am I here?"

"UGH finally over."

"UGH have to sing the song. Have to salute the school. Have to be the only lame person from my class who went to homecoming three years later because everyone else is thriving and successful and turned super hot and I still do things for my little brothers."

"Granted, they are superior little brothers."

"Okay, this song is ridiculous, and no one is singing it. This is so embarrassing."

"I am experiencing a very intense form of sympathetic embarrassment and would like this to stop."

"MY FIRST STRENGTH IS EMPATHY MAKE IT STOP."

"IT'S OVER."

"The game is over."

"That wasn't even that bad."

"I did something brave!"

"I AM BRAVE!"

"UGH Mom's gone. She left me."

"Probably never coming back. Probably forgot I existed. Like everyone else from high school having a vibrant, full life unlike me, just moping around college and making it sound like I did something funny in my stupid blog."

"I should probably blog about this."

"Too bad Mom left and I'm going to die here."

fin.