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Penelope stands there before us all, reading the names off her list. I answer when mine is called, as I know is expected of me. She says my last name like a question, and I immediately respond, “Imogen. She/her pronouns, please.”
She nods and moves on down the list on her clipboard. I mostly zone out for this part. None of these people seem like the kind of people I’m friends with at home. They just don’t. Then again, several of the people I’m friends with at home have recently rescinded their coming-outs and are straight again, so connecting people there is honestly becoming more and more of an issue by the day. Maybe these people will be my people.
She already got through the whole class roster. I was spaced out for longer than I thought. My classmates all start talking to one another quietly, whether they already know each other or they just now made a connection. But everyone around me is finding people. And I’m just sitting here like the idiot I am.
People, people, people. As much as I love people, I seriously don’t know if I can deal with them right now. My social battery is close to zero for no particular reason. I haven’t truly peopled at all today. So why does it feel like the next person who talks to me will-
“Hi, um, would that maybe happen to be the pansexual flag on your earrings?” A voice from somewhere off to my right asks tentatively. I turn to see a kid my age with curly brown hair, light eyes, and dark glasses frames. Grey headphones sit atop their head, covering only one ear. And they wear possibly the most aggressive amount of jewelry I’ve ever seen.
I already like them.
“Yeah, it is,” I tell them with a smile on my face. My social battery has miraculously returned to normal. “Are you pan too?”
They grin like I’ve just handed them an award. “You know, I actually am.” We laugh together for a long moment, until they finally extend a hand and state, “I’m Everest.”
“I’m Imogen,” I say, shaking their outstretched hand.
By dinnertime, we’re giving each other sapphic book recommendations.
By the next morning, they’re drawing on my hand with watercolor markers.
On Freedom Tuesday, the walk to breakfast with me.
They take a picture of my favorite Percy Jackson shirt (because yes, Everest has good taste).
Wednesday afternoon, we wage war over my little red notebook.
And all I can think is that, wow, I could get used to this.
Pretending nothing outside of this exists.
There are nights here where I feel like I can hold happiness in my hand. Like happiness isn’t a concept or even a feeling, but rather a physical object that can be picked up and toted around in my pocket all day long.
Wearing the ink of their watercolor markers on my hand (and eventually on my face) feels like an act of self-love and an act of rebellion at the same time. Flags grace the features of nearly every child in our class. Even the straight kids have little rainbows.
And it’s all because of them. They allow the world to be awash with color and vibrancy.
One evening, we all sit on the lawn for Hall Meeting before curfew. I lean on them gently, because I’m comfortable there. I look up and the sky is pitch black, dusted with clouds and stars. The moon hangs high above us, its dim light washing over everyone’s faces.
Their markers sit on the ground in their case right next to us. I want to paint the sky. I want to take the markers and brush the stars with colors. The world could use more of JBA’s sparkle.
I want to get paint and put brightly colored handprints all over campus. Handprints in a million different shades of pink, green, blue, purple, yellow, orange, gold… A different color for each of the 200 students. Mine would be periwinkle. A periwinkle handprint.
Why handprints? Why not any other art?
Because after these three weeks, this exact group of people will never be in the same place all at once ever again. Some of them are never coming back.
So handprints it is. Handprints for every child and every staff member. Because our handprints are our own. If they remain, we remain.
But I think they’ll remain no matter what.
It’s the last night. Don’t remind me. I might die if you do.
Page to Stage is almost done with their performance now. They’ve done a wonderful job. I could never get through an entire show in three weeks, let alone take a course at the same time.
Everest sits to my right side; we joke back and forth quietly as the play draws to a close. Both dressed up for the dance which is to follow, I’m mildly uncomfortable in my long-sleeved romper. It’s a nice one, sure. But it feels scratchy and wrong. I’m certain it would be just fine on any other day. But it’s the last night. So nothing is fine. Nothing can be fine. No one can be fine.
We leave the theatre walking too closely together, the beginnings of rain falling on our shoulders. Heading toward the final dance, I can’t help but look at the whole ordeal as being even just a little cheery. Of course, it’s the last night, so nothing is fine. But it really might be fine after all, if just for a couple of hours. Because I have them here. And for just this short time, I think the two of us will be alright.
So bye-bye, Miss American pie. Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry. And them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye, singing “this’ll be the day that I die… this’ll be the day that I die.”
The next morning, as my tears fall fast, they put a comforting arm around my shoulders and guide me out the door. Away from everything. Nothing is okay.
Give me sirens and a cyclops…
But they’re smiling at me. It might not be the happiest smile in the world.
Give me giants and a hydra…
But it’s a smile. And for now, that’s enough.
I know life and fate are scary, but I wanna be legendary.