Flight B8 to Paris
It’s been nearly three years since our class ended. Three years. This morning, I woke up next to my wife. For whatever reason, I had a dream last night about being back in our class. As the memory filled my thoughts, I found myself back in the auditorium, wearing nice clothes and walking on stage to receive a golden plate, a signed photo of Mr. Nelson, and my Noscar, which read “most likely to get married first”. As Michael handed it to me, I thought about my girlfriend at the time and knew that it wasn’t going to last. I knew there was no way I’d be getting married first, but I accepted the award and sat down.
I woke up, laying in a bed in my in-laws basement, next to the woman I married 4 months ago. I was thinking about our class and honestly, I started to cry. I felt feelings that 12th grade Tanner felt. I closed my eyes and I could see myself sitting in the back of the classroom. I could vividly remember days I spent in Mr. Nelson’s class. I remember feeling alone looking around the room and seeing everyone had a friend or two, but the seat next to mine was empty. I remember not wanting that class to end. The school bell meant a slew of things would happen. My ex-girlfriend would find me and tell me to meet at her house in 30 minutes and when I’d say I couldn’t, she would get upset. The bell meant I would go home to my mom who’d constantly yell at me. It meant pulling out of Lone Peak’s parking lot (yikes). So I would sit in class and soak in every minute of the loneliness that I would feel.
But the thing is, I tell everyone I talk to about high school that Mr. Nelson is my favorite teacher and Creative Writing 2 is my favorite class. As cheesy as it is, I feel like we weren’t building a plane in that class, we were building a family. I remember every single person in our class. The book we made with our poems is displayed in the living room in my apartment in Rexburg. I follow most people on social media and love to see what’s going on in their lives. People are getting married, supporting presidential candidates, working for degreees at universities, getting successful jobs, etc. My little brother is taking Creative Writing right now and says it’s his favorite class. And honestly, of all the classes I took in high school, the class that gave me the most was Creative Writing 2. I’ve never had a dream about my precalculus class or my business management class or my US history class. My favorite high school memories came from the class I’d have at the end of the day where I would sit in the back of the classroom and look around me and see everyone smiling while I felt lonely, but that same classroom was my safe haven, my escape from the world. I remember seeing everyone and feeling lonely, but I always felt lonely, and this kind of lonely was different. This lonely was a safe lonely. A feeling I got when I knew that the world could be crumbling around that classroom, but we would all be there to hold the walls and ceiling up.
And three years later, I can still vividly remember our family vacation to Paris.
I woke up, laying in a bed in my in-laws basement, next to the woman I married 4 months ago. I was thinking about our class and honestly, I started to cry. I felt feelings that 12th grade Tanner felt. I closed my eyes and I could see myself sitting in the back of the classroom. I could vividly remember days I spent in Mr. Nelson’s class. I remember feeling alone looking around the room and seeing everyone had a friend or two, but the seat next to mine was empty. I remember not wanting that class to end. The school bell meant a slew of things would happen. My ex-girlfriend would find me and tell me to meet at her house in 30 minutes and when I’d say I couldn’t, she would get upset. The bell meant I would go home to my mom who’d constantly yell at me. It meant pulling out of Lone Peak’s parking lot (yikes). So I would sit in class and soak in every minute of the loneliness that I would feel.
But the thing is, I tell everyone I talk to about high school that Mr. Nelson is my favorite teacher and Creative Writing 2 is my favorite class. As cheesy as it is, I feel like we weren’t building a plane in that class, we were building a family. I remember every single person in our class. The book we made with our poems is displayed in the living room in my apartment in Rexburg. I follow most people on social media and love to see what’s going on in their lives. People are getting married, supporting presidential candidates, working for degreees at universities, getting successful jobs, etc. My little brother is taking Creative Writing right now and says it’s his favorite class. And honestly, of all the classes I took in high school, the class that gave me the most was Creative Writing 2. I’ve never had a dream about my precalculus class or my business management class or my US history class. My favorite high school memories came from the class I’d have at the end of the day where I would sit in the back of the classroom and look around me and see everyone smiling while I felt lonely, but that same classroom was my safe haven, my escape from the world. I remember seeing everyone and feeling lonely, but I always felt lonely, and this kind of lonely was different. This lonely was a safe lonely. A feeling I got when I knew that the world could be crumbling around that classroom, but we would all be there to hold the walls and ceiling up.
And three years later, I can still vividly remember our family vacation to Paris.
this warms my heart, tanner
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