The Plague of Popularity

I stood up on the stage in our high school auditorium, staring out into the sea of faces before me. I noticed all of the cliques, their ring-leaders in the center. I could feel numerous eyes on my form—what’s a kid like me doing up on stage?

They’ll find out in due time—in due time. I felt two hands rest on my shoulders, a small smile escaping to my lips. I’d always have them with me, my two favorite guys—always.

I noticed our principal walk up to the podium set off to stage-right, the sniggers throughout the audience as he spoke empty words of welcome. I felt a small breeze—the screen is down, the pictures are in view—everyone is silent.

I bit my lip, I knew what was coming—my turn. I was to speak to these people, these teenagers, these kids in front of me. Our entire school population sat in front of me and I felt every set of eyes on my shaky form as I moved towards the podium.

My sweaty palms grasped the sides of the old, worn, wooden stand and I glanced out yet again at the sea of faces before me. I let out a small, shaky breath before I began what I was going to say today.

“He-he-hello, I, I’m, I’m Michael Way, a sophomore at this school.”

I heard whispers, I heard chuckles, I heard scoffs. I closed my eyes briefly—more sniggers filled the air. I opened them, glancing down at the papers in front of me. I had to do this, I knew I could do it—for myself and for them.

I glance behind me, up at the massive screen that holds precious memories to me, flashing before all of these people to see. They’ll never understand—never. I had all day if I needed it; no one was aloud to leave.

My favorite photo flashed up on the screen—just last week, the three of us, our arms wrapped around each other, huge grins plastered on our faces. We were celebrating Gerard’s first job that lasted longer than a month.

“I’m here before you today to read to you a paper and I hope you listen with more than just your mind—I hope you listen with your hearts…”

I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly—shakily. I hear utter silence, then a gasp—I know the picture sequence. The one that is showing now will be of the same nature until the very last—the last will make them think, at least I hope it will.

“You ask me to write to you about what adolescence means to me, well here it is—its hell. Pure, agonizing hell; there’s no beauty in being a teenager, none at all. The constant worry of what everyone else thinks of me, how they see me, what I wear, who I talk to, who I sit with in the cafeteria. It all seems so small yet holds such significance during the most important four years of my teenage life.

You’ve been there before—all parents say the same thing. I was your age once; yes you were but during different times. The pressures are always the same, the drugs, the sex, the need to fit in; it’s all the same. It’s the societies in which we live that make the difference. You were a teenager when wars were beginning and ending, love was something accepted no matter what form it came in; now if you’re not prim, proper and accepted you’re nothing. It won’t matter how much money you have, it will only matter the clothes that are on your body, the manner in which you wear your hair, the shoes on your feet. The friends you associate with, that’s all that will matter. Not how nice you are, how much you care about those around you, how good a friend you are, your personality will not matter—not today.

Sure I give off the impression I don’t care but that’s where everyone is wrong. I care; I care more than I should. I care enough to make sure it seems like I don’t care, when it’s all I can think about day in and day out. Is this label okay to wear today, how about this one tomorrow, can I mix these two together? I envy the kids with little money, the ones who cannot afford the nicer things in life. They know what it’s like to have to work for something, earn something—I’ve always had it handed to me. They say life gets harder as you get older—does that mean more constant thoughts of acceptance by my peers? More fake acts to put on for those I’m surrounded by? I hope not, I truly hope not.

You go through friends like they’re nothing to you, if they can’t fit in with you, you leave them for dead. There are no real friends, only people who want parts of you that they don’t have themselves already. When you’re no use to them or they’re no use to you, ditch them. They no longer exist; I’ve always envied those who are real friends, who have real friends. Jealous they have someone who knows the real them, the person they are inside—not always outside, but always the person inside.

All my life I was wanted, accepted and adored by my peers. One day changed all of that, one moment, a mere ten seconds of my life that I wouldn’t give back for anything. I was tossed from the world I knew of, the only thing I had ever known it seemed. I was broken down, spit upon, battered and bruised because I took a stand at the person I was on the inside. The person no one saw but me. My every move was watched, my every word was listened to, my every thought inscribed, but now it’s all watched and heard for different reasons—no longer because it’s what everyone envisioned for them but what they hate.

Harsh, ruthless words were thrown in my direction every day. They say your peers are your harshest critics next to yourself. Your peers can be the cruelest people around—mine are. They’re the ones who you face your teen years with, the ones who make it hell—the ones who feed into this plague of popularity that is adolescence.”

I hadn’t looked up once I started reading. I knew the photo wasn’t going to change till I said what I was fighting back tears to say. I let out a deep breath before I raised my head and stared out among the faces that were staring between me and the screen flashing pictures of two people they didn’t know at all.

“Those two faces are all that I’ve known, they’re all that I see when I close my eyes but I don’t see the happy photos you’re seeing here. No, the image I see is much worse. I see the effects of what your words, your actions, your thoughts of them can do; I see what you did to them.”

I heard the gasps and the dead silence that followed once they saw the photo that haunts my every dream. It’s what I walked in on last week. I couldn’t look at the screen knowing the photo that I chose to show them.

I could only look out at their faces, see their reactions at the cold, hard truth of what they’re capable of doing to each other—of what they do do to each other. I saw tears falling down a few cheeks; I saw horror in the eyes of others.

I could feel the sorrow each and every one of them felt, I could see it etched onto their faces—they were all equals sitting before me. Not one of them was better than the other. I hoped that today never would have to happen again.

Tomorrow was another day--I could only wait to see what it would bring without my brother and my best friend by my side.