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Anthem for the Class of

Anthem for the Class of

A Story by grayscale heart

The gym looks the same: like a gym. Just the way it did when I ditched volleyball and obstacle courses for skipped afternoons. Now, of course, there’s a banner hanging from the bleachers that reads “Welcome Home” and familiar faces are 10 years older.

We’re all smiles, even those still harboring their little resentments. We’re grown-ups now, and big dreams have been replaced with sensible ones. The knowledge of that silently knocks everyone down a peg or two.

John is in sales. Melissa has three kids. Taylor won’t stop talking about her trip to Niagara Falls.

Blue velvet is scratchy on my arms and this champagne is cheap. It’s a million degrees in here. I’m thinking it might be time to escape when the sea of cocktail attire parts and I'm stunned into stillness.

The suit looks like it’s wearing him, but that’s probably because he’s so much the same. Same crooked smile that lights up half his face. Same fidgety hands getting shoved into his pockets. Then through his hair. Then laid at his sides. Same eyes that do most of the talking.

More years than I can believe have passed since these little quirks crossed my mind, added up to a person who defined my time here. A time that can be chronicled in annuals or made pretty in scrapbooks or reminisced on now and then when the real world sucks. It’s a time that might be attached to a class year but can never be truly labeled because it was more than that.   

It was hacky sack and the smell of boy sweat. It was swimming pools and lazy days and Santeria in the summer. It was dirty shoes and busted knuckles and Breathe in for luck, breathe in so deep. It was sailing down the street with his hands on my hips and school nights with bloody knees. It was locker notes and slow rides and accidental sunrises. It was stealing his heart like he stole his dad’s keys. 

It was Banana Kush before class and red wine kisses on hooded sweatshirt walks. It was catching his breaths between my teeth and telling secrets in our own language. It was Tupac with the windows rolled down and the sound of his smile.  

It was "I hate you" and saying sorry without words in the back seat. It was love like scratches between shoulder blades. It was promising forever when we thought we'd never die. 

We were kings and queens, and we ruled from an ivory tower scribbled with the lyrics to our favorite songs. We danced for no reason and screamed what was in our hearts. We put a name to colors that don't yet exist. 

His half grin turns full when our eyes catch, and it's like we never left town. Every part of me returns his smile. The clocks melt as he makes his way over, and it's silly and it's crazy but my heart can't find its next beat. 

“Hey, you.”

We’re all just kids in fancier clothes. 

© 2016 grayscale heart

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I loved reading this. Very relatable, even if my experience wasn't quite the same. So much nostalgia! It was like revisiting my teenage years, made my heart hurt a little. Great writing.

Posted 2 Years Ago

grayscale heart

2 Years Ago

Thanks so much! Remembering is such a strong feeling...

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1 Review
Added on January 29, 2016
Last Updated on December 31, 2016
Tags: Young Love, Nostalgia, Class Reunion


grayscale heart
grayscale heart


black heart with a soul made of daisies. baby wiener dogs make me cry. my most prized possession is a pair of purple chucks. never never never grow so old again. i like for things to be yellow. more..