Week 1 Theme part two

I Got a Bit Older

Before I knew it, Santa and the Easter Bunny weren't real anymore. I didn't say hello to strangers anymore. The small elementary school I went to became a memory. 

Once I got a bit older, I had an epiphany. I realized that at any given point in time in my life, there was always going to be something to worry about. 

I joined the Civil Air Patrol and learned almost everything I know about respect. I went to Arlington National Cemetery and watched as kids not much older then me thought I was a soldier; I saluted men and women with a face too stern for a teenage girl. 

"It all clicked." My grandmother told me, "You were silly before that first meeting. But when you were up there, saluting Major Murray," She shook her head and paused, "It was like everything clicked. You grew up, right there." 

Drama club taught me not to be nervous in front of large crowds, and it also taught me that glue-on beards smell and itch. Band taught me to appreciate music; chorus taught me to sing. Art club taught me that I don't have a steady hand. Photojournalism showed me how much I love photography, and how powerful I felt when I wrote. The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier showed me how proud I am to be an American. It taught me I could do just about anything I wanted. With some hard work of course. 

When I got a bit older, I learned about disappointment. 

Things didn't always fall into place as I had told myself they would. High school wasn't as easy as I thought - hell, it was nowhere near as easy as I thought it'd be. 

The job I held in the local grocery store for two and a half years through high school helped me learn to manage money, and it forced me to learn how to be good with people. I learned what it was like to not be able to do things because of work. 

I knew what it was like to be bullied. I knew what embarrassment felt like. 

"Look at that huge nose!" Someone once yelled as I stood in front of the whole school. The comment was paired with cruel laughter. 

"Who the fuck just said that?!" I yelled back. 

Just like that, the laughter stopped and all wide eyes were on me. 

And then, I ran off crying. 

Alone in the locker room, I sat down on a bench and covered my humiliated face and my huge nose with my hands. 

I was at that awkward age where everything was going in different directions and everything was changing. I had acne and I was overweight; my hair was frizzy and my eyes seemed far too small for my round face. 

I sat alone in the locker room and the lights were off. I didn't want to look in the mirror and face myself. I wanted to be left completely alone. 

I was in there for a few moments when I heard someone open the door. 

I fought every urge to tell them to go away. But deep down, I knew I wanted someone in there with me. 

I kept my face in my hands and I felt someone sit next to me and put their arm around me. 

Through my sobs, I heard a soft voice say, 

"They're cruel, aren't they?" 

I looked over at the person and realized it was a teacher who taught freshman science. She was overweight and the kids never left her alone about it. Earlier that week she had a milk carton thrown at her in the hallway. 

I didn't say anything and continued to sob into my pathetic fat hands. 

"One day, Holliann, they're all going to be stuck in this town and you'll be somewhere doing well." She said softly to me, rubbing my back, "You can't let it get to you." 

Soon after she came into the room, more people came in too. My closest friends were in there now, and many other faces that passed me in the hall. They were all huddled around me, saying kind words. Some people were in and didn't say much, but looked at me with eyes full of emotion. 

But I'll never forget who was the first person to come sit next to me. 

The one who knew how cruel they could be all too well. 

Sleepovers were filled with laughs and no sleep. When we all got licenses, we started carpooling to Calais for adventures and we didn't need our parents to take us to the movies. Many of my friends at boyfriends. I always had a crush on someone I couldn't have. Things seemed to be in constant changing motion, and I had a hard time keeping up with it all.
When I got a bit older, writing was still something I enjoyed. It wasn't something I did as often, but it was something I still sometimes had to do. I became a better writer as I got older, but the dream slightly started to dim. I wanted a more exciting future then being a writer. 

As I got a bit older, I had a hard time staying as enthusiastic as I was when I was a child. 

But, I still had just as many dreams.