There was a distinct moment in my life when I realized that my life was about to change. It was in late May of my junior year. The windows at SHS were all wide open, trying to catch the slightest breeze to help cool down the building, to no avail.
Just a week earlier it had been my birthday. My girlfriend, a senior about to go to Endicott College in the fall, had thrown me a surprise party that was, in fact, surprising. It was a great time of my life. It was great to have a girlfriend, and school was fantastic.
And then, the next week, I found myself sitting on a couch in Mr. Janiszyn's room. There used to be a couch just underneath the window over by Ms. Coleman's room. I was sitting there, during Journalism class, hanging out with all of the senior writers: my girlfriend, my friend Jenn, my friend Meagan, and others. They were talking about all of their plans for their summer and the upcoming graduation. And, as I remember it, a cool breeze suddenly rushed in from the window and it was as though, just then, it hit me: in two weeks, all of these friends of mine would be gone.
Sure, I'd be able to talk to them, but they would no longer be a part of my daily life. I would have to make a huge transition in my life. And, indeed, I did. My senior year was a blast, but it was nothing nearly so whimsical as my junior year. There was something more serious, more focused about senior year. It wasn't because I was more focused on grades and worried about college, but because something--indeed, part of my innocence--had been taken when my friends graduated.
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