My high school reunion is coming up soon. I’m kinda nervous. I haven’t graduated from college yet, and I’m afraid they’re gonna look at me funny. Some of them will be married. Some will have plenty of money to take trips and vacations, buying expensive things. I’m still here, hoping this dream grows wings. And, I wonder what they’ll say behind my back but not to my face because that’s how most of them were. I’ll stop there because I don’t believe in talking bad about people with negative souls. I prefer to keep mine pure.
Some days I wake up sad and pretty mad with myself for not doing what was expected. All I had to do was graduate in four years and my destiny wouldn’t have been subjected to all the twists and turns that it has taken thus far. I stay awake some nights and can’t even work because the thoughts overtake my mind. I’ll be honest and tell you that it does make me cry. To hear other people tell it, I have it pretty good. Things could be much worse. At least I didn’t grow up in the ‘hood.
Is that what it takes, though, to be allowed to stumble? Is that where you have to come from to feel like everything around you could crumble at any moment? Nothing in this life is guaranteed. You have to work for everything no matter where you were brought up. From welfare to rich and food stamps to trust funds, everyone has to put a little work in to get some. True. Some people have to put in a lot more work than others, but does that make their struggle any less worthy of support? What about the kid in the middle?
Growing up between older sister Wealthy and younger brother Broke, Middle is just making it, surviving on Ramen and Coke. Yea, Middle can eat and has a house over her head. Middle even has a job, but it doesn’t cover her rent. It doesn’t pay all her bills with money to spare, but she doesn’t qualify for the benefits of welfare. Middle makes too much money to get government support, but she doesn’t wanna sit at home and not work. Stressed out on a daily basis, Middle learns to hide her pain because no one wants to hear the same sob story. Over and over again the tales of public transportation woes, the irony of working in a place where she can’t afford to buy the clothes. Her troubles weigh heavy on her shoulders, but if she goes to her family all they’ll say is, “I told ya. You should have just studied harder. You had nothing to worry about but your books. Other people can graduate in three years, what’s wrong with you?”
What’s wrong with me is that I’m not everyone else. I’m just me. Your misguided attempts at encouragement fail. Yes I’m sensitive. Yes I needed you to just listen to me and not judge, but I learned quickly that you couldn’t be that for me. I had to follow myself and be my own diary. Wealthy and Broke couldn’t understand me because neither had been where I am. One thinks I’m a whiner and I should be happy where I am. The other laughs and walks ten paces ahead. My high school reunion is coming up, and I wish I could say I had a story to tell, but no one wants to hear a sob story again.
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