Being Honest in High School is like Ray Charles Watching a Silent Movie

"Be true to yourself." This saying, in various incarnations, has been the backbone of human society for eons. Thoreau, Shakespeare and countless other writers and ordinary people have taken this creed to heart, and for the most part is has proven successful. However, as stated in the title, being honest in high school is like Ray Charles watching a silent movie-impractical and finally pointless. As unfortunate as this situation is, it is also very true; one person can speak well of a "friend" and lambaste him or her as soon as his or her back is turned. This troubling conflict has one positive effect, however; it allows one to learn the true value of honesty. These lessons were reinforced by the stories "The Things They Carried" and "A Dollhouse."

Naïveté is, unfortunately, one of my more prominent traits. When I entered high school in 2002, I was brimming over with grandiose fantasies and delusions of grandeur. One of these was that I was a regular Casanova and could charm any girl off her feet. I quickly discovered this was a fallacy. Much like Lt. Cross in "The Things They Carried," I would often "imagine romantic camping trips" and my sole desire (other than passing my classes, of course) was for some girl "to love [me] as [I] loved her" (1). Opposite to my wide-eyed mental concoctions, I had about as much success in this field as the Cubs did trying to win the World Series. To expound on this baseball analogy, I became extremely frustrated when all my other forlorn friends (the Red Sox and White Sox) soon had adoring girls on their arms and all I had was a sixty-ton book bag. There are a few more analogies along this line I could use to express my extreme frustration at my romantic shortfalls, but I digress.

As I entered my sophomore year, girls were again on my mind. I had no particular prospects but by chance a girl was switched into my Physical Science class and just so happened to sit next to me. We began talking and soon hit it off. We would pass notes to each other (well, write them on the same sheet of paper when we weren't supposed to be talking), eat lunch together and talk to each other online. Of course, my infantile mind at this point was convinced I was in love, but I wasn't entirely sure. There was another guy we ate with that seemed to draw her attention more than me, but I never said anything; I wasn't the jealous type, and come on, who would pick any other guy over me? Things proceeded like this for a whole year, and I went home for the summer vowing to think about her every night. We returned in August and things seemed to have cooled; our conversations in the halls became one liners, she was never online anymore and she seemed evasive. All of this could have been coincidence, but my Cubs Sense of Impending Doom told me something was up. Then, on September 21, 2004 I read this lovely tidbit on her blog, referencing her prom plans, "I'll probably end up having to dance with Justin...::shudder::." I cannot describe, nor can I remember exactly how I felt. I can relay it to Nora Helmer's epiphany in "A Dollhouse," where she realizes she has been "played with me just as I used to play with my dolls" (280). This moment, more than any other, erased the veneer of high school and made me into the bitterly cynical but loveable person I am today.

Vowing, like Pete Townshend not to be fooled again, I made my way to my junior year. I figured I had gotten the worst of my travails out of the way and I would now be the man I thought I was; funny, charming and very down to earth. I still harbored and still harbor a deep resentment for the arrogant people who carry on like they own the deed to humanity, and yet have an army of beautiful women following them. I know that is the general rule in high school, but that is why I often replace the first letter in "HS" when I refer to those situations. As usual, I had all my good friends at my lunch, and we ate outside the cafeteria in the halls. Across from us and maybe 100 feet or so away sat the band and color guard people. One of their number was an amazingly beautiful blonde who was as perky as Maxwell House and crack cocaine and hugged like a machine.

However, we all knew she was trying to tempt us and we began referring to her as a succubus. Of course, she managed to seduce one of our regulars at the semester break, and we rarely saw him without her. This made me jealous and once again I fell into my old amorous habits; after I finished eating, a friend of mine and I would go to their area and flirt with her, trying both to incense her boyfriend and possibly entice her. Imagine my surprise when my friend got all the hugs and I was left holding the bag! Occasionally, she would talk to me and I would try my hand at seduction, albeit poorly. This girl also had the interesting trait of having a forked tongue; as soon as her boyfriend left sight, she instantly began badmouthing him and as soon as he returned she was madly in love with him. This disturbed me, but once again my desire to be loved won out and I still chased her madly. The most involved she ever got with me was "we should go see a movie some time," but that was a vast improvement over, well, nothing. At the end of junior year, I finally hinted at the fact I liked her and wanted to date her. Once again I was rebuffed; with a smile on her face she told me "I could never date you, you're one of my boyfriend's friends." Girls two, me zero. In hindsight, Nora's words sum up my situation "But our home (relationship) has been nothing but a playroom" (286). I became convinced I was wearing some subconscious sign that said "Please Play Me Like A Fiddle;" I just wished these girls had been honest from the outset instead of stringing me along like a kite for so many years.

This year, I have done somewhat better with the ladies. I am still on speaking terms with the second girl and as of late is the only person to consistently laugh at my jokes. She is now pursuing my best friend, who is also somewhat forlorn, but I am trying to ensure what happened to me never happens again, especially to him. Although I have had my heart broken and thrown away like so many toys, I now have a newfound respect and admiration for honest people. I have reconciled my two disasters and no longer lose sleep over them; in fact now I am somewhat glad they happened and defrocked my illusions of honesty and purity in adolescence. I am just sad it took me four years to find out what I should have learned in two. I guess I'm a slow learner.