OC Me

by Kristin Albright

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Stop waiting for tomorrow; it’ll be yesterday before you know it.

  ~ Gramps

  The final weeks of spring evaporated without warning. James submitted his final painting for the Presidential scholarship competition and was anxiously awaiting news. Each day he called and sighed into the phone that there was no letter yet. Maybe tomorrow. No matter how much I poked and prodded, he refused to show me the painting he submitted and similarly refused to show me its facsimile. He’d taken the canvas to an office supply store to be scanned and printed into a poster so that he would be able to use the same project for our final critique in advanced painting.

  While James waited impatiently for word without any idea of when it would arrive, I was similarly waiting, but waiting with great anticipation for a specific day - the scholarship banquet. Finally it was May 21, and like a child on Christmas morning, I was filled with great hope. Despite wanting this day to arrive more than anything, on the morning of the banquet my stomach was twisted in knots. There was more at stake than my desire to stay close to James. I wanted to start and finish college all at one school. I wanted to explore a new city, to make new friends and live in the dorms. I needed to prove to myself that I could thrive on my own, and staying at my dad’s house for another two years delayed all of that.

  I was cold, but sweating. I slicked on some fresh deodorant and slipped a bright striped dress on over my head. The smooth stretch knit fit flatteringly and flared out around my knees. It was a rare morning that I did more than pull my hair in a ponytail. I took the time to twist it, pin it up, and smooth the stray hairs down.

  All the seniors who applied for scholarships were invited to the banquet. Some of the scholarships would be awarded by various universities, others through community foundations, and a small handful by clubs at the high school. Kat was coming as my guest as my dad didn’t think he’d be back from his delivery, and James was going with his parents. While James was still waiting to hear about the big scholarship, he had applications in for several others.

  The slate blue seats in the auditorium reflected the stage lights, and the smell of old-lady perfume was enough to choke even someone with a severe head cold. The low rumble of hundreds of conversations infused intense energy into the space. Kat and I filed into the back row of the front section. Sandra caught my eye and waved. She, Pete, and James joined us, and our voices joined the hundreds of others until the lights began to dim.

  Mr. Monson, wearing a dark gray suit and a school pride tie, grabbed the microphone. He welcomed us, introduced the superintendent and asked all of the scholarship presenters to rise for a round of applause. When he asked them to stand-up, I could see nearly 50 men and women rise from folding chairs set up on the stage. He reminded us that this evening was possible only because of the generosity of people who believed in education and urged us “someday” when we were done with our educational journeys, to give back to alumni foundations at our universities so we could in essence “pay it forward.”

  The scholarships started small. Dozens of $500 dollar awards were given by various businesses within the community for students going into their prospective fields. The bank gave scholarships to students who were studying finance, the newspaper for future journalists. As the scholarships grew in size, so did the applause in the auditorium. Two full scholarships were awarded by the hospital for future nursing students who agreed in the application process to work there for at least a couple of years after graduation.

  During one of the thunderous rounds of applause, James leaned over and whispered, “You look beautiful Ames.” He squeezed my clammy hand and kissed my neck. The nervous butterflies in my stomach collided with the happy ones, making me feel almost nauseous. I squeezed his hand back and took a deep breath. I was so lucky to have him in my life.

  Suddenly James popped out of his seat and started up the center aisle to the stage. Caught up in my butterflies, I missed the announcement. I watched as Mrs. Ropert handed James an envelope, and the audience applauded. He thanked her and shook her hand, and then she asked everyone to take a moment as they left to see James’ work in the showcase in the main hall. He climbed back into our row, and I turned hugging him.

  “What did you get?” I whispered. “Which award?”

  “Technical artist of the year,” he beamed and added, “It’s a supplies scholarship - a gift card for the art shop downtown that will be enough to buy most of my supplies for the next four years.”

  “That’s fantastic!” I exclaimed. I kissed his cheek, and then not wanting to miss anything else, I turned my full attention back to the stage.

  The superintendent stepped over the podium and invited the Chancellor of State to step up. This had to be the merit scholarship. I sat frozen in my seat as she began telling the history of State and the origins of the merit scholarship. For fifteen years now, the university had granted one full-ride scholarship to a student from our high school. They had to be in the top ten of the graduating class and be selected based on their achievements and goals for the future.

  She began, “This year our first scholarship winner was chosen based on his love of the violin.” I sank into my seat, processing that I wasn’t the winner she was talking about. I knew all along that I only had a ten percent chance, but all the same a deep disappointment swallowed up my insides. James squeezed my hand, and I watched in an almost out of body experience as Ian Wells bound up the steps and excitedly shook the chancellor’s hand. He stood next to her by the podium with a gleaming medallion around his neck.

  The next thing I knew, a second burst of applause filled the auditorium, and Kat grabbed my arm excitedly. “You got it! You got it!” she shrieked. Bewildered, I stared at her and then turned to James. “What’s going on?” I shouted over the applause.

  “They picked two! First time ever! You got it – get up there!”

  Knees shaking and eyes blurring, I stepped over Kat’s knees and joined Ian up on stage. He turned and hugged me, and the chancellor slipped a medallion over my neck as well. The bright stage lights made it impossible for me to see beyond the edge of the stage.

  The chancellor began. “So Amy…I caught you off guard?”

  “Yes Ma'am,” I managed.

  She chuckled and addressed the audience. “The scholarship board deliberated for several hours between these two young people. They both have fantastic qualities. Ian is a phenomenal force on the violin, and the orchestra program badly wanted him. He intends on studying pre-law, but wants to continue in his musical studies as well. Amy has a bright resume of accomplishments and has a deep desire to work with youth in the role of a counselor. While we deliberated, it became clear that the panel was not going to be able to choose just one of these young people. We used to have just one merit scholarship winner a year from this school, but the graduating class has steadily increased in size; and this year when we found ourselves incapable of leaving out either of these two students, we chose instead to expand our program. Ian and Amy, State welcomes you!”

  My knees never regained complete composure. I walked as gracefully as I could manage back toward my seat. Standing in the aisle next to Kat was my dad. Tears glistened in his eyes as he pulled me into a giant hug. “I’m so proud of you,” he choked. I squeezed him back, and we shifted seats to make room for him to join us.

  The rest of the evening passed in a bit of a blur. Everyone was so excited for me. When the ceremony concluded, we all went back to James’ house. My dad visited with James’ parents, thanking them for hosting me for dinner so often. He looked tired and sounded rather apologetic when Sandra cut him off. “Nonsense, we love having Amy over. These kids will be off to school before we know it. I don’t mind one bit.” Dad looking both relieved and sad said, “Well it’s good for her to have a woman in her life. I can’t believe all the things she’s been cooking at home lately!” Sandra laughed and invited him to join us all this next weekend.

  Meanwhile at the kid’s
table, the three of us could barely contain ourselves. I think I was still in shock. Once they called Ian up on stage, I completely gave up all hope, so to have been called up was like an unexpected twist on a roller coaster. My medallion reflected hundreds of gold squares on the kitchen ceiling, and I couldn’t help but stroke the ribbon over and over, absorbing its concreteness, its realness. No one could take this away; four years of intense studying had paid off.

  James beckoned me toward him. He slung his arm around my back and nestled my head against his chest. He intertwined his fingers in mine and softly caressed the back of my hand. Kat flung popcorn kernels up in the air, catching them in her mouth. We eventually stopped talking scholarships and college and instead talked about graduation: who we expected to miss, which classmates would inevitably be sobbing during the ceremony, what we wanted for summer. The evening lifted such an incredible weight from my shoulders, pressure that I was unaware of carrying. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I could breathe deeply, calmly. My body slipped into a state of heavy relaxed happiness. We had two weeks until graduation, and I could finally say that I knew what my future would hold.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I dream my painting, and then I paint my dream.

  ~ Vincent van Gogh

  The day after the scholarship banquet, my classmates were nothing short of congratulatory. The iron-clad cliques that had dictated social interactions for the past thirteen years melted away over the duration of the last month. Suddenly everyone seemed to have the same epiphany; we were leaving…graduating. Some of us would see one another again and again. For others, this would be our last time together ever. We were going to be remembered not by our popularity, but rather by the interactions we had with each other. It’s too bad it took so long for the realization to happen, but at least it did.

  Teachers were jubilant, finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Many offered extra points for turning our final assignments in early. I cranked out my last pieces of work and celebrated the fact that my backpack was becoming lighter and lighter each day as I returned my textbooks.

  As the last days slipped by, I began to feel a little sad. I’d been so ready to get out of here. It wasn’t Kat or James I was sad about; close friends you take with you no matter where you go. It was the realization that I wouldn’t be having small group anymore. That Matt and Amber and Gabe and all the secrets we shared would be a thing of the past. It was knowing that Mrs. Ropert wasn’t going to prod me to dig deeper into my artistic capabilities. It was knowing that locker 1128 would belong to a new freshman come fall. It was change, and while I greatly anticipated all of the newness of campus, living in the dorms, and being pushed academically at the collegiate level, I finally came to a deep understanding of what the past four years had been for. I was both grateful and sad that they were almost over.

  …

  It was the final critique at last. The windows propped open on the far end of the room seemed to breathe out the old air and bring in summer; it was undeniably the end of the year. The floors were coated in flecks of acrylic paint – all of which would be buffed off over the summer and re-waxed for a new set of artists next year. Mrs. Ropert looked extra springy in a light orange dress. It was the first day all year that she wasn’t wearing a smock. I invited Kat to attend the critique with me; she usually had study hall second period and gladly joined us. I chose to go first.

  Kat giggled the minute I pulled the sheet off my canvas. I started, “As you can probably guess, this is my best friend Kat and I. I based the painting on a photograph that my mom took on the last day of kindergarten. I’d been crying non-stop because Kat was going to be gone all summer at her family’s cottage up north. My mom brought her camera to school and took this so I could see Kat whenever I wanted.”

  Kat dabbed at happy tears in her eyes. “Now I’m the one going away, and I wanted to give Kat a picture of us so she could see me whenever she wanted.”

  The class gave a polite round of applause. It was a strong painting, but nothing profound. They already knew that I was an efficient portrait artist, and I got the critique I was expecting. I’d done the painting for Kat; she was full of her bubbly happy tears and gave me a big squeeze.

  It was interesting to see my classmates’ final works. We’d all grown tremendously; and become stronger as artists - less afraid of criticism. We were more willing to critique and undoubtedly all had thicker skins than we began with. James was hovering near his easel and waited until everyone else was done before he volunteered to share.

  He unveiled the poster version of his painting and turned, meeting the eyes of each of the students in our class. The painting that he’d kept secret from me was now before my eyes, waiting for me to absorb every last layer of paint. It was a vibrant still life of a galvanized steel bucket overflowing with daisies. The sky behind them was deep cobalt, and the gentle twist in their stems indicated a light breeze. Upon closer examination, I could see that the daisies themselves weren’t white, but a myriad of iridescent colors. Why had he needed to keep this a secret? I wondered.

  James began, “I have a friend who has progressed through a series of events this past year that I can not imagine. Unfortunately, part of that series of events has been fighting an anxiety disorder commonly referred to as OCD.” I startled slightly in my seat, not knowing where this was going and not understanding what daisies had to do with OCD. He continued, “My friend has a couple of the stereotypical attributes of this disorder, but doesn’t necessarily exhibit them in the way you would imagine. As I’ve learned more about OCD, I’ve learned that as many as one in forty Americans are affected; and that out of our graduating class, my friend cannot possibly be alone.” He cleared his throat while the class sat silently waiting for him to continue.

  “My friend hasn’t yet seen the silver lining to their OCD the way I have. They think the disorder is ‘ugly,’ specifically the name. They fear that when others hear ‘OCD,’ they only think of the stereotypical severe cases and that no one will see them as a normal person ever again.

  While they may not see it, the beauty that I’ve seen in my friend is that they are truthful - part of their particular case is for them is to be hyper-truthful. My friend finishes things to the absolute best of their ability because anything less would not be honest. This has resulted in astounding academic accomplishments that may have not been achieved by someone without their level of focus. My friend is careful to be gentle with others as they fear accidentally hurting someone. My friend is dedicated to everything they do because their OCD will not allow them to do anything half-heartedly.

  My friend’s beauty shines in every facet of them – I don’t want my friend to dwell one day longer on the ‘ugliness’ of their OCD; so I painted these daisies, these Opal Colored Daisies, as a way to positively illustrate the acronym OCD. It may require the passage of a lot of time, but I’m hoping that my friend can see that beautiful things can come from unexpected, and even undesired, circumstances.”

  A steady and deep round of applause rose from the back of the room. It wasn’t the superficial light applause that we typically acknowledged each painting with; it was a sincere, appreciative applause. It was a fantastic painting, technically speaking; James was always years beyond everyone else in ability, and we never tired of seeing what he was capable of. But today, I knew the applause was also for the light James was shining for his friend. He was so careful to not allude that his friend was me or even that his friend was a girl. I wanted so very badly to stand up and give him the hug he had been earning all these nights holed up in his room painting my “disorder” in his beautiful brush strokes. And the name rolled over and over in my mind. Opal Colored Daisies. I loved it - it was perfect.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  He who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words.

  ~ Elbert Hubbard

  It was our final small group and we decided to sit outside in the school gardens
. We weren’t too concerned about eavesdroppers; our most serious discussions had already been had. This was a farewell party as much as it was a therapy session. As we sat perched on giant boulders, we were bathed in the late afternoon sun that was streaking down through the trellis. We imagined aloud what the years ahead would hold. Amber looked the most somber out of all of us.

  “What’s up?” I gently prodded her.

  “You guys are all headed out,” she sighed. “I am stuck here another two years…I might be the only junior next year already with a bad case of senioritis.”

  I laughed along with Matt. “We’ve been there Amber.” I admitted thinking back to how I felt when the classes above me graduated. I didn’t have any super close friends in the upper grades, but the atmosphere of the school changed with each new class, and it was easy to be nostalgic thinking back to the past.

  Matt slid closer to Amber, motioning for her to sit in front of him. He reached down to knead her shoulder blades and whispered something in her ear. She smiled shyly and reached up and slipped her fingers into his. A few moments passed while I took in their shy affection for one another. Reaching far back into the recesses of my memory, I recalled the day I prodded Matt about sharing his OCD diagnosis with girls. He had started to admit something; he had started to say something about another girl, and then James had come barreling down the hall. That conversation ended so abruptly and unexpectedly that I had forgotten about it. Until now.