Yearbook

My mother was cleaning out a bookshelf today to put in my brother’s room. One of the books I saw lying around was my sophmore yearbook from highschool. I couldn’t help but take a small look at it. Flip through the pages a bit. They were all strangers. People who seemed vaguely familiar yet looked like every other person I’d see walking down the street. A few faces seemed recognizable, but I can’t say I could put a personality or voice to the face. They were just blank sets. Then I saw my picture. What a nobody. A no one. Just a know-nothing that will never accomplish anything. Funnily enough that would be the last yearbook photo I’d ever take. I realized that I wasn’t required to take them, so I just didn’t show up for picture day on my Junior year, and didn’t pay the fee for my senior year. I liked being a ghost. A hollow nothing that no one will remember. It was just odd seeing it again. It’s weird to think that any of these somewhat recognizable faces are complete and utter strangers to me now. For all I know, they could be dead. Of course I couldn’t help myself but take a brief look at her picture. She looks the same from when she sent me a photo of herself a few months ago. I guess I don’t look any different either. I can grow facial hair now, so I guess there is that. After closing it, I felt the strong need to just chuck the thing, but I knew my mom would get pissy. She got pissy when she found out I didn’t bother taking anymore yearbook photos, so throwing out my last one would probably make her more upset. Oh well. She can have it. It’s not like I’ll ever look at it.