This story was actually written in a math class two days before it was posted.
On that day I woke up feeling shit, much like I did today-scared out of my wits, sleep deprived, and emotionally rug-burned/whip-lashed. Christina called early and woke me up, asking if I wanted to volunteer at the animal shelter with her. I said yes because the fear of staying home and perseverating overcame my laziness. The drive over there was fun because Christina and I were swapping autobiographical porn-themed horror stories.
The animal shelter ranged from mildly to extremely entertaining depending on the species. Prince was a dog that looked out of Zelda: Twilight Princess, but that was far less interactive than any video game. Still, it came as no surprise that a canine of such radiant dignity was a guest at the animal shelter for about half an hour. Fiona, on the other hand, had been there for only God knows how long. She was this rottweiler the color of muddy army camouflage. Christina's and mine logic was that she would be very grateful for some attention. But when we took her out to the yard, she acted much the same as Prince-unreponsive and untrusting. Christina and I resigned ourselves to hanging out with cats for the rest of our time. They were gorgeous, cute, funny, feisty little things, and to every one of them I became attached. Especially two whom I dubbed Jim and Tom after the beloved brothers who built my house.
After the animal shelter came the symphony. By then Park had joined with us and all were glad on it. Walking to the symphony, Christina was bein' a bitch, takin' a long time to cross the street. I said, "Bitch, if I was in them cheap-ass heels, I could keep up with the boys." From previous experience, Christina and I knew that we had similar shoe sizes, so we traded on the condition that I would have to stay inside her heels for the rest of the night. Not only did I accept her challenge, but after putting on her heels, I immediately tucked my tight-fitting shirt into my tight-fitting jeans. Boom: insta-gay. I told them that I would keep up with them, and when we realized we had to sprint to catch an approaching trax, I stuck to my guns. That's how I ended up running down the median on the train rails in heels with a train gaining on my ass. Ok, maybe I thought the train was a lot closer behind me than it actually was, but I was still running like I had just made one of the most ridiculously retarded decisions of my entire life, because hypothetically, I had.
At the symphony, I got a lot of looks-a lot of rich middle-aged white people giving me the up-down. A couple of the ladies glared like cunts, but it was really cute the way most of the men pointed their pupils up into their skulls like they were surrendering their powers of judgement to the gods. It's funny how in a crowd of people, you never notice others' shoes, but it was the way those heels propped up my ass that made people notice. I didn't mean for people to notice. I meant to join with those middle-aged white folks in the spirit of music, but my heels made me feel like I was selfishly distracting from the art these musicians had worked so hard to pull off. That feeling passed with the music, and the only thing I was really embarrassed about was how I clung to the hand rail after tripping on the stairs like a real tranny noob. And for the record, my feet were ass by the time we walked back to Christina's car. I will never take her walking pace for granted again.
The final phase of the night was undoubtably the best. Earlier that week, I finally finished my application to Oberlin, and I did a good job. Also, Kelsey had finished her finally finished her application to whatever graduate school that week as well. My parents were in Antarctica and it was time to rock. So in a hot tub with two of my best friends, a plate of Costco veggie-rolls, and a pyramid of empty beer cans, the three of us deconstructed our past four years of high school. My take pretty much consisted of my legitimately perverted relationship with my girlfriend freshmen year, my self-loathing relationship with Christina sophomore year, my masochistic obsession with a girl who kept leading me on junior year, and Hannah. Even in my drunken, ego-driven state, I had the least to say about Hannah. She was hot. She was German. Her sense of humor could fry an egg, and her kindness was as gentle as falling snow. How could I not be in love with her? A just moment of reflection: Hannah was the reason why I had felt so miserable that morning and this. But in that moment I caught a glimpse of how it all works, and I wouldn't have changed it for the world.
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