The Current of Junior Year
Based off an anonymous contributor
Junior year. The year where it all matters. The year where everything comes to an end. The year where all my hard work sees recognition. The year it all becomes real.
The one year where school waves engulf you and don’t settle down. They get bigger then smaller but they all come crashing to the shore. But when you look back at the shore, what do you see?
I see little kids running. I see mothers yelling out to the sea. “Don’t go that far!” I see cans and bottles laying around, soon to be picked up by a girl scouts troop. I see the sun and smell sunscreen. But I’m looking back. The waves keep coming and I long to be on the sand with volleyballs and sand flying everywhere. But some people are braving the current. Maybe I should too.
I dunk my head in and swim off. There are no fish, only seaweed that keeps grabbing my feet, trying to pull me back, to scare me. But it won’t. I kick it off and keep going. I look forward to everyone swimming. Some have snorkels, others have goggles. I need those. But I don’t have them. So I swim and I swim and I swim until the balloons in my chest deflate and I find my body forcing itself back to the surface. Air. Sun. Wind. Breathe. Fill the balloons. 5 seconds. Keep going.
The beach was my favorite place. I would stand on the shore and watch the calm waves. I would smell the fresh air and run into the blue. It wasn’t usually blue though. Maybe green-gray. But to me, it looked blue. Sometimes I’d find shells. Sometimes I’d jump in, no matter how cold the blue was.
But now the cold blue surrounds me and I don’t feel at peace. I feel like I’m drowning even though I know how to swim. Can someone teach me how to swim again? Can someone throw me a life vest? Can someone swim next to me?
I can’t stop. I have to keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. If you turn back, you’ll be stuck on the shore. If you stop, you’ll drown. So what choice do I have?
Meeting after meeting. Project after project. Test after test. Party after party. Exercise and eat. Shower and sleep. Text and work. Breathe and bleed.
There’s others, though. I know that as I swim, there’s people in front. They may be closer to the light, but I’m getting there. What if they drown? I can catch up, or I can simply understand. There’s people behind me. Are they waiting for me to drown or watching me to succeed? We will get there. Together or separate. Less seaweed. Less waves. Less drowning. Less bleeding. More breathing.