Sometimes you can’t begin again, even when you want to. When I returned to school in Flagstaff, I came from a school where I was a freshman, but I was a sophomore in this school. No, I never got to experience what it was like to be a newcomer to high school. My friends from junior high were still around, but they had changed dramatically in my absence. We hung out on a little bridge that crossed a small stream during our lunch break, which we called “the Bridge.” If you told someone to meet you there, they knew exactly what you meant. The Bridge was where all of the punks, goths, skaters, and fringe people hung out, talked, smoked, and did drugs together.
It must have been difficult to raise yourself as a teenager...