I meant to write this last night but ran out of brainpower. Then I wrote it today and got fucked over.
Yesterday was a bad day, but that’s another story. Seventh period rolls around, the end to a long day. Very late in the period a girl comes into class with a note. Her first names were Marie Antoinette, I thought that was clever of her parents. About five or ten minutes after she comes into class, while I’m reading my book and the rest of the class is doing a worksheet not necessarily quietly but peacefully enough, she starts talking to me, or talking at least.
“This school sucks,” she declares. “I want to go to Notre Dame.”
“Oh, really? Why is that?” I ask.
“Everyone here is a slutty tramp or a snobby prude,” she says.
“There is no one who fits anywhere in between?” I inquire, prodding her.
“No. Even I go between the two,” she insists. “I know I’m a hypocrite, but at least I can admit it.”
I continued the conversation by making her defend all her statements, asking questions, making her reconsider her reasoning. I think I do that a lot, especially when people make generalizations. I knew it would not bother her because she is the one who started speaking so frankly in the first place; she wanted to talk. She was going on about how people were all followers and she didn’t like how everyone fit themselves into a category. Then she started talking about how it bothered her when everyone made racist jokes and whatnot. I told her about all kinds of things I hear at high schools everyday that disturb me. It bothers me when people classify individuals by “accidents” (in Aristotelean terms) of their beings. Race, gender, place of birth–these things cannot be controlled, cannot be chosen by an individual and therefore completely out of bounds for criticism, or as the basis for anything really. She agreed. I could sense a strong individualist within her somewhere.
“But I’m just a sheep also though,” she claims, “I like Mary-Kate and Ashley movies just like everyone else.”
I tried to explain that simply having a preference for something that other people like as well does not make one a “sheep” as she put it. A person is free to like anything he or she wants, but if one only likes things because others do, rather than it being a personal preference, then of course that person is just a follower of the crowd.
“Do what you like, like what you like, don’t worry about others,” I tell her. “Making yourself happy is the most important thing you can do.”
That was about all there was time for because the bell rang. It was odd, she shook my hand and said it was nice to meet me. Although she had a very negative outlook on things, I could tell she was a thinker. I was 15 or 16 once, I have the journals to prove it. It just goes like that. There is someone real in there though, I think she’ll emerge from adolescence just fine.
(This was better the first time.)