Chapter Text
Everything changed during our junior year.
I have always found it fascinating how everything seems to slow down during a catastrophe.
Like when you see someone drop a glass of water, and that single second it takes for the glass to reach the floor, the whole world seems to fall into slow motion, and you can see the individual droplets of water that's dancing through the air before crashing to the ground. Like when you slip, and you have time to calculate how and why you made the wrong step before you even start preparing to cushion your landing. Or like when you are watching your high school burn down to the ground, with flames slowly reaching high up into the sky and ash dangling all around you.
That Friday afternoon was just one long slow motion scene.
Trost is a small town quite in its own.
When you grow up in a small town like Trost, with only endless fields of wheat and corn and tallgrass surrounding you in a radius of only God knows how long, you learn the importance of both independence and community spirit from an early age. You need to be able to stand on your own two feet if the rest of the world would fail you, but if there's one thing you are going to put your faith in, it's the community of Trost.
Officially founded in the late 19th century, Trost has a sterling and proud history. We celebrate Founders day with pomp and circumstance and a grand parade in the height of summer, and six months later we don the entire town in Christmas decorations for the annual market. In the autumn the downtown streets are filled with red and golden leaves, and the spring is known for its vigorous downpour. But everyone knows that the sun always shines the brightest after a devout storm.
Trost is the perfect town for raising a family. A small, reliable community outside of the city bustle, a small and child friendly downtown, with crime statistics far below the average and an educational system far above.
The public secondary school was founded in 1909, and Trost High School has ever since been the crown jewel of the town. An impressive building in the center of town, just across the contemporary library, with a massive entrance carved out of marble, the school’s crest delicately carved into the timber above it and slate shingles weaving a scattered roof pattern. As one of the oldest, still in use schools in the county, it was already in the center of attention. But thanks to several generations of dedicated and hard working faculties, Trost High School was among the best scoring High Schools in the entire state.
So with a high community spirit, an impressive educational system and a safe environment for raising a family, Trost has been the home for many generations of certain families. And as you can imagine, we are quite tightly knit. And newcomers are quite the spectacle. In Trost, first impressions are key, and new arrivals will be on everybody’s lips the first few weeks, bringing either praise or condemnation.
And the Leonhardts were no exception.
Annie Leonhardt was a thunderstorm like no other. A lone wolf with the brightest of smiles and too much weight on her troubled heart. A New Yorker with no connection to or desire for a small town life, she was initially frowned down upon by the community of Trost. But behind her secluded expression she hid a pain too great for anyone to carry alone. And because of that, she raged her way through the town and changed it forever.
Annie Leonhardt changed me too. She pushed a frightened dreamer out of his sheltered nest and I have been soaring ever since. During a turbulent and fervent year, she opened my eyes to the ephemerality of life and this world we live in. And of the importance to make the best out of everything we can. She guided me through pain and darkness and light and love, and I will always be grateful for her part in my life.
Trost will never forget that year. Time is both evanescent and eternal, and the events of that year passed all too quickly and will stay forever.
I, yours truly, was a part of the 104th graduation class.
And this is our story.