Seventeen

Seventeen
Jessica Marie

         Most people assume by the time that you are seventeen you will never act like you’re thirteen, twelve, or even eleven—they believe we leave those ages behind in the middle school. But, high school is a lot like the middle school; middle school was only the sugar coated candy version of high school. Even at seventeen, you still have the early teenage years inside of you, like a lollipop that a child eats and each suck brings you to the core.

         Some days we all feel like a middle school student, like if we argue with a friend and say something stupid that we don’t mean, just like a thirteen year old fighting with their mother. Some days we feel eleven and need the comfort, security and support of people we love. We even feel twelve at times, getting angry when things don’t go our way and storming off into our rooms to block out the people we love that try to help us. We don’t always feel seventeen, especially on days that are gloomy, dark and all around miserable.

         Today was one of those days; a day where those middle school ages were rattling inside of me… angry, scared and wanting to come out. Today I wished I were thousands of years old because then maybe those kids would have left me alone and I wouldn’t have acted out in anger and look like such an idiot sobbing for help and understanding. Maybe if I was a thousand I wouldn’t have to remember all this, something so similar that a middle school student goes through… I wouldn’t have to relive it.

         “They just need to hang! Southern justice I say… that would show them, daddy, it really would!” I screamed out like an angry twelve year old.

         “You know they can’t do that, especially for several prank phone calls. I called the police,” he responded.

         “You shouldn’t have! I could have handled it… I could have shown them. I have the perfect thing to say… I would just threaten their lives,” the angry twelve year old was turning into the rebellious thirteen year old who thought nothing of the actions and consequences.

         “That would just make everything worse and you’d be in even more trouble.”

         “I don’t care. You don’t care either,” and I began to cry like a frustrated twelve year old that could not get her anger across appropriately.

         I then walked away from the table, the defiant thirteen year old was still in me and I did not want to listen to him take sides with the enemy. And I didn’t want the cops involved… I could have handled it myself. I went through this in the middle school and I was not going to go through this again, I definitely wanted to do this myself. So, there I was; sitting on the computer, chatting briefly with a friend of mine. I screamed out my frustrations, again like a hard-headed twelve year old with even more anger issues. I, coming back briefly to my seventeen years, excused myself and told him I need to calm down by taking a hot shower, and thanked him for listening.

         The cop did come by the house that night, the angry twelve year old and defiant thirteen year olds were out of me, but were replaced by the apathetic eleven year old that just wanted to be held by a mother or grandmother. I cooperated with the police officers (who my dad knew, since he’s a cop as well), but I still wished I had someone there to hold me while they asked me the uncomfortable questions. I was just so happy when they were gone.

         The next day that eleven year old was still with me. I felt scared, unsure, and hopeless; I had no where to turn to and I felt ashamed sharing this excuse of a prank with people. While I was getting my lunch box out of my locker, my friend that I talked to the night before, came up behind me and asked me how I was. Like the scared eleven year old, I hugged him, started to cry and my fears came out like a waterfall. He just stood there consoling me and tried to cheer me up. It took a good ten minutes to finally cheer me up, but he finally consoled this eleven year old living inside me.

         Sometimes even at seventeen and even if you’re normally really mature, sometimes thirteen, twelve, and eleven live inside of you and try to claw their way out. Sometimes it takes a crisis for this to happen and I wish I was a thousand years old that day… I wouldn’t have acted like that and I wouldn’t have to remember it. But, at least, I had a friend to help me over the hump and that is something we all need at any age, especially to listen to our defiant thirteen year old side, our angry twelve year old side and our childish eleven year old side that needs a hug once in while.

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