Adulting

     I sit here in this classroom in complete and utter disbelief. How can someone as ingenious, charismatic, and diligent as me tie with Wesley Russo, a weak, scrawny, cowardly nobody? A bottom of the barrel underdog on the decathlon team for goodness sake. He is a complete loner, but somehow his valedictorian speech is equivalent to my work. In what world is what he has to say more important than my senior year wrap-up? I lost elbow grease while writing this speech. Wesley has nothing on me. I'm popular, idolized even, but I presume that's no longer valued in the world, or rather Kinleigh High School English Department. Apparently now is the time to take pity on losers or put more formally those who can't evolve. Wesley has been second to me since kindergarten; he placed second in all the elementary spelling bees, weightlifting contests, and even in class debates until today when we leveled. 

    Miss Kwenton tells us both to rethink and polish our speeches which will be judged again on Friday, and she suggested that one of us should even think about dropping out. I sigh and run my fingers through my tousled hair with frustration. Clearly I wasn't discreet enough “something on your mind,” Wesley asks. I contemplate being passive and responding with “no” for roughly 5 seconds, instead I go off the handle saying “How is an oration about your Grandfather worthy of discussing on one of the single most significant days of our young adult lives?" My snarky yet valid counter earns me an eye roll from Wesley who averts his coppery eyes and sways to Miss Kwenton to say “I appreciate you making me aware of my competition. Are we done here?”. She nods after picking up on his uneasiness. Kwenton turns her head and meets my gaze, giving me a piercing look of judgment. “What?,” I mutter unremorsefully, shrugging my shoulders. "It's not like I lied. Nobody wants to hear him ramble, and I just can't wrap my head around being overshadowed by him". Miss Kwenton interjects. “It's a shame to see one of my most promising students behave like such a child”. 

    After she leaves the room, I realize it would be pathetic to wallow in my sorrows and decide to head over to Vince's where I happen to do my best music writing. I stroll in like I own the diner which I practically do since I close the place every night. A worker walks toward my booth and asks “What can I get for you, youngblood?” “Nothing I can buy from here” I claim. He looks puzzled. To my surprise, he tucks his order pad in his shirt pocket, raises his eyebrows, sits down, and replies “Hmm, humor me” I told him… well everything we discussed my Type A personality, my fears, and I somehow managed to divulge my two massive current dilemmas being my rocky relationship with my father and how I'm tied for the graduation speech. He made a cackle in his gravelly tone “You sound just like me at your age. I was the black sheep of my family, but managed to outgrow my family's traditions”. “That's easier said than done. My dad went to Harvard Law, graduated at the top of his class, and gave a graduation speech that's still multiplying in views on YouTube after going viral decades ago. How can I top that?" “I never tried to beat my old man at his own game, I only tried to master mine. I might've lost some of his respect doing so, but that's ok because I gained my own!” 
 
    “You said earlier you want to go to Julliard right?" I give a shy nod. “Does that make me a dilettante?” I probe “No” he affirmed, “That would make you authentic, and being genuine is a lot better than putting up a facade so you don't disappoint others around you”. “I see you in here every night writing up a storm and it's clear there's more to you and you're not some cliche, so be your own person.” “You don't need your peers or your daddy to tell you that you're exceptional, especially when you're on a distinct path”. Our therapy session suddenly gets cut short by his nasty cough. I lean over to my side of the booth and ask him if he needs a sip of water. He shakes his head muttering that he is “fine” and collapses on the ground. I shout for help and begin dialing 911. The paramedics arrived in 6 sluggish minutes and he was pronounced dead at the scene. 

    Two weeks after that bizarre experience at the diner, I decided to listen to the man who lost his life trying to teach me how to mature. Over the course of these two weeks, I made several decisions. I decided to not shrink my presence to appease others, to confront my father about his vision for me, and lastly I decided to drop the speech. Confronting my dad did not go as anticipated there was shouting, cursing, and some crying, but I can faithfully say, come graduation day, I am content. Today, in my cap, and gown I feel at peace with everything as I walk to my seat to listen to Wesley share his revised speech. I find myself sitting in disbelief once again after hearing Wesley’s initial remarks “In honor of Grandpa Vince..”.

                                                                            The End