In high school, the future seemed
Intriguing, I could be anything.
A time when friends were
Abundant like a colorful
Crop for the year.
One, a mature sister with an
Encouraging smile; And Jean,
Shy like me; we became friends,
rescuing each other in the lunchroom:
we sat together for the first time.
High school was comedy central;
Everyday, I laughed, realizing
My personality for the first time.
We told off the mean, ugly
Lunch lady for kicking us out,
A poor little freshman boy getting
Dumped butt first in the trash can,
legs folding over the rim.
The slumber parties were like
Scenes from a sitcom:
The dip fight in our friend’s
bathtub: Jean slipping with a
towel hanging on her like a Ghost.
Carrot Top would be jealous
And impressed.
Songs from the ’80s bring
That time back like a running
Creek, me wanting a piece
As it rushes back.
Like a thumbprint, that time
Is its own, its mark in my
Yearbooks and in me.
Now, the crop has altered:
the color’s pale, there’s less,
the taste is different…
—Maria Adame
