A High School Senior Looks Forward to Her Transition From Country to College, A Retrospective
From Sexy Cowboys to Stinky Bullies
It’s my senior year of high school and I’m taking in all the handsome Oklahoma hooligans before I leave for college. Taking them in with my eyes, I mean. I know there aren’t gonna be cute cowboys everywhere.
No, I don’t really talk like this. Except in my head.
Still.
Gotta get outta this place.
Anyway, this past summer, over at the golf course where I work, we had a regular. And he was a genuine cowboy.
Whatever “genuine cowboy”. Look, it’s red dirt, rednecks here, and we have our fair share of cowboys. They just give off a vibe. Some wear big ole hats and some don’t. Just about all of ’em drive trucks.
Anyway, when I say “genuine,” I think I really mean “sexy.”
Back to that regular from the Country Club?
Yeah, he is a sexy cowboy.
Probably in his mid-30s. Never tried to pick up any of us high schoolers, but he’d always have a tip of the hat and a smile for us after he rolled up to the course in his blue pickup truck, got out with that cowboy hat on his head, and let me tell you, I wasn’t the only girl twirling hair around my index finger. “Tammy, wipe that drool from your mouth,” our supervisor teased me.
I suppose wanting to throw myself at the blue-eyed angel's feet made me realize I have to get the hell out of here before my hometown’s vortex sucks me into a permanent residency.
Sexy cowboys do have a magnetic draw, y’know.
Did I tell you that I want to go to law school, but am mortified of public speaking? I mean I can know absolutely everything about a subject but put me up in front of a crowd, and my mind goes blank.
Really. I’m a bumbling idiot.
My dad, he used to be a political consultant. When I was little, he’d take me to his lectures, and boy did he work those crowds. I ate it up, but still don’t know how he did it.
Still don’t know how.
Everyone says they don’t like going to school, but what could be better? I mean, really c’mon. Just show up.
There’s this kid in one of my classes. He cracks me up. He was telling me yesterday that when VCRs came out, his grandmother came home with two movies, Boyz ‘N The Hood and What’s Love Got To Do With It. He said it was funny to see his Mexican grandmother come home from a day of working at the cantina, grab a beer, kick her feet up on the couch, and pop in Boyz ‘N The Hood.
That’s had me laughing since he told me.
It’s 2:20 PM and I finally finished my European Novel midterm. No one read any of the books. Everyone seemed real worried before class started, so I told them I’ve had Mrs. Banksy before and it really doesn’t matter that we haven’t read the three books we’re being tested on, because we are supposed to be discussing a concept.
Realism.
My hand still hurts from writing and I only wrote about half of what I wanted to. I wonder if our teacher will grade our tests on her vacation in Jamaica.
Yesterday, I regressed back to when I got bullied. Can you believe that? See, I have this class where there are 15 students and we split up into groups of three every class. I ended up with these two guys that smell like greasy beef and onions. I thought that I was the one who was going to have to be nice to them, but nooo.
They talked over me the whole class, ignored me, and when I tried to contribute something, they would say, “Why don’t you write that down?”
Talk about condescending.
High school boys are so stupid. I can’t wait to get out of here and off to college. They say the grass isn’t always greener, but that means sometimes it is greener.
See?