The Last Hoorah

By: Jeff Lagasse

Why did the man throw the clock out the window?

So he could watch four years of high school fly.

Okay, maybe that's not quite how the old joke goes, and granted it's probably a lame interpretation at best. But it feels right. If it wasn't for the fact that I have senioritis-- an infliction which causes extreme sluggishness and apathy in regards to schoolwork and school in general-- this year would not feel like senior year. How could it, when I was a wee freshman only yesterday, my voice an octave higher and a finer beard on my face? How could it, when I look back and see so much more things that have to be done, so many more things that need to be experienced?

And why stop the memory train at freshman year? Why not reflect that it was last week I was passing notes at the middle school? A month ago I was taking a spelling test in my sixth-grade classroom. A year ago? Kindergarten.

Well, maybe I'm taking it a bit far. That would mean that two years ago I was nothing more than a fetus, and I distinctly remember taking chemistry two years ago. My point is that high school has just been water slipping through my fingers. The problem, I think, is perspective. When it's the middle of your sophomore year, you can't wait for the days to slug by so the weekend and the summer can finally be yours. The anticipation is always there, and that makes the year seem to go by on a rusty conveyor belt: way too slow. Switch perspective, though, and you realize how fast the year went.

You get the same feeling every year. The end of the year approaches, and you feel two things at the same time: excitement for the summer, and a kind of melancholy at having to wait three months before you once again share each day with certain fellow class members. Being a senior, it seems, brings more melancholy than excitement. It's supposed to be the most promising time of our lives: going off to college to be independent at last, honing the skills that will make up the rest of our lives. It's all supposed to be special. It's supposed to be grand.

So why am I so sad?

Because the end of this year is different from the ends of countless years before it. After school closes this year and the echoes of footsteps fade from the hallways, everyone is scattered. John is going to Michigan State, Becky is going to Syracuse, Dan is going to Orono... the list goes on. These remaining few days are the last that I'll be able to see all of these people that, over the course of four years, have always been there, have consistently sat behind me in government, in Latin, in math, in English. The people that have organized pep rallies, Spirit Week, and after-school clubs will all be gone, their presence a memory, their impact ephemeral. We all start anew. We all learn new faces. We never forget.

Anyone who says they will not miss Lewiston High School when they graduate is either lying or has no heart. Sure, it's not always fun to be here. Sure, the word "school" tends to trigger students' peristaltic reflexes (the ones that make you puke). But school, especially over the past four years, has defined who we are. I for one will miss the place Ispent learning my passions, my hates, my emotional extremes on both ends of the spectrum. I'll miss the place where I grew up.

Soon I'll pack my bags and leave all this. I will step out of the building one last time, takea look back, and drive off into the sunset, heart heavy and mind numb with memories. Soon I'll be reflecting on my triumphs, my failures,my successes, my mistakes. Soon I will be growing up.

Melancholy will be almost unbearable that last day. The endpoint of my struggles, the finish line I've been racing to for years. That last day will be bitter sweet.

And I will do what I should have done for the last four years. I will savor it.

Jeff Lagasse, signing out.