This video is a song from Matilda: The Musical. The good stuff starts at 0:45. I'm feeling a little dreamy-eyed and musical theatre-y, so bear with me. (Disclaimer: I'm always dreamy-eyed and musical theatre-y.)
I just saw my beautiful friend's production of 13: The Musical. I'm so proud of her; she had a lead role and took every risk she could. She's grown in so many ways since that awkward September day in 2008, and I feel lucky that I got to see it all happen. Aside from the ineffable pride I'm feeling as a result of her performance, I found myself more affected by this show than I expected to be. Let me explain.
13 is about a (shocker) 13-year-old Jewish boy who has it tough at home and finds himself at a new school in suburban Indiana--a completely different world from the buzzing paradise of Manhattan where he grew up. He struggles to fit in, and the show is basically his middle school adventures and misadventures. Other wonderfully stereotypical yet shockingly relatable characters punctuate his monologues. They include: a moronic jock and a moronic cheerleader (who really just means well), a hot girl who is as conniving as she is slutty, a terminally ill kid on crutches who steals the show, and a nerdy girl-next-door who for some unnamed reason is shunned by the majority of the middle school.
While I'm neither Jewish nor a boy, I don't live in Indiana (thank goodness), and I'm not thirteen anymore, I found myself relating with this show on a few too many levels for my comfort.
It's been five years since I earnestly walked the halls of a middle school, and yet I still feel the abuse of those who are what I like to call, "middle-school-mean." I always say that, but only now after reliving middle school do I truly know what that means. "Middle-school-mean" is the girl who strokes someone's leg just to get to you, who lowers her voice and turns away when you ask a question, who plays stupid because she thinks it's cute (or maybe just plays up her own stupidity) and then mocks you for being sharp and smart, who pours poison into the ear of anyone who'll listen, who leaves you alone on an empty stage with a spotlight on you and no script.
A few hours I posted about how sad I am to be leaving this life behind me. That's still true. However, I am not sad to be leaving many people behind me. My aunt asked me today if I plan on keeping in touch with my high school friends. I answered more honestly than I realized; I'll keep in touch with no more than three or four. There is no more than a handfull of people that I will miss as I move forward.
I fervently hope that someday I'll find real friends. The kind that value your wit and sarcasm, who stand by you, who don't let their lives be governed by infatuation but instead by real pasion. Maybe someone in the real world will actually be able to love someone like me. I sure as hell haven't met anyone who'd be willing to do that--love me--yet. Someday I won't have to deal with not-so-silent judgement and chastising. Someday, maybe, I'll be able to just walk away from "middle-school-mean." Until then, though, I'll just sit here with my eyes stinging (half from a torn contact lens, half from loneliness).
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