1200 Miles

I hated high school.  H.A.T.E.D it.  Not for any particularly original reason--I was a nerdy, broody adolescent who was at once  insecure and imperious.  I was sure there was life beyond the new, artificial southern city I called home, and I had nothing but disdain for the people who seemed happy where they were.

I moved away as soon as possible, choosing a small northeastern college my guidance counselor had  never even heard of.   I went back as infrequently as possible--the summer after my sophomore year in college was the last time I was there for any length--and when I looked for a place to live after college, I wanted to be as far from that high school and that city as possible.

Eventually, I wound up in New York.  I was more than 12oo miles away from my high school so I didn't think much about it much, but I was sure that I was living a life totally different from THOSE people.  But then I ran into one.  About a decade ago, one of the pretty, popular girls I couldn't stand submitted a resume for a job I was leaving.   It gave me no small amount of satisfaction when she didn't get the job.

Then I ran into another one.  Improbably, he was a resident in the ER I visited when I had my first miscarriage.  Mercifully, another doctor handled my care, but I met him again when we visited the ER for other reasons a year later.  He recognized me and expedited our care then showed me pictures of his children.  It pained me to admit it, but he was competent and kind.

Today,  I ran into someone else.  Back in the day, she was the poster child for my high school: perky, pretty, and (to my surly adolescent self) impossibly vapid.  Now, she's a mom at my local playground with a son not that much younger than The Boy.  She introduced herself to me, and I about fell over--so much of what I like about where I live is that it is the antithesis of the place I grew up.  But here this person was.  And she was me!  We both had Thomas the Tank Engine trains in our pockets.  We both had goldfish cracker crumbs in our hair.  Yes, she was thinner and better dressed than me, but somehow that didn't seem as threatening  as it had in high school.

1200 miles doesn't seem as far as it used to.

Comments

[cat, galloping]

I hated high school, too, and swore I'd move far away. Sadly, I'm right back where I started. So I guess it's good to know I couldn't have escaped even if I'd moved 1200 miles away! :)

[Amy]

The farthest from home I've ever lived is 80 miles. I still kind of regret that I've never lived farther away, or out of state for that matter, but now I'm glad I'm close to home for my kids.

[Heather]

I also had the same attitude when I was in high school. I haven't had all the run-ins you have though, so I am blissfully thinking I'm living a better life than them.

This is too funny.

[ali]

I just checked the miles from my high school to NYC (where I live now)-- about 2,500. Thankfully I have not run into anyone from high school. Aaack. That would blow me away. My husband, however, has come across countless people from high school and college (417 miles). Lucky him.