“What’s the difference between us and them?”

“They’re them… and we’re us.”

I looked out at their bright orange shirts. They were different from the blue shirts he and I wore, but still the same. Orange and blue were complimentary colors, so in a way it was a sameness of difference… or something like that. I gripped the loosely rolled bottom hem of my blue shirt, “If I put on an orange shirt, then would I be more like them?”

He smiled and shook his head, his blond hair bobbing lightly against the air, “Different colored shirts don’t matter, you’re still you.”

I rose my head slightly as I loosened my grip on the hem of my shirt, “What about you?”

“I’ll always be me.”

I lowered my head once more. Do you mean that it’s a line we can never cross? Or do those barriers ever fall down?

That night we went to the Homecoming football game. There was no more orange, just like there was no more blue. I had traded my blue shirt for a better fitting black one that I had designed with him and covered in gold glitter gel. “Bleed Black and Gold” was inscribed on the back. To be honest, I was never sure how someone could actually bleed black and gold, but it never stopped either of us from writing it on the back.

It could have been our battle cry; we went to every game in the state, home or away. I particularly remember the long drive of red taillights to Castlerock while we blasted Aqua from the car stereo. Only twelve people, excluding us, actually came to watch that game. Our rival school’s cheerleaders wore tofu shaped bags with the school letters on them. It seems a bit strange I still remember something like that, but who could not remember dancing tofu? I laughed for hours—kind of like that hair flip I enjoyed yesterday. Did anyone else catch that one? Maybe it was just me.

At the game that evening, suddenly, there were no more barriers. Blue and Orange. Senior or underclassman. What did it matter anymore? Was it ever important who was “us” and who was “them”? And even then, everyone was a part of many different groups of “us.” At that moment, we were all students at that high school, clad in black and gold. That morning, we had been the seniors clad in blue, or orange; everyone else was an underclassman. And there was still the “us” that wore blue versus the “them” that wore orange. And there was still he and I; no matter how small the groups were, we were still “us.”

I pulled lightly on the gold ribbons tied around the left shoulder of my shirt as I turned toward him. He shouted out at the football team; he tended to be more positive than the others when it came to the cheers. It made me smile. Even when we were classified as “us,” there was still a difference between us both. He was “him” and I was “me.” We were always relatively close, yet the boundaries rose and fell on numerous occasions.

When I first met him, I was a small person. There was no one else worth taking notice of besides my close group of friends. In a way, I suppose I’d placed a barrier around my heart, to protect whatever small precious love was contained within it. When I was younger, I remember there being endless pictures of me with my hands clasped to my heart. I suppose that back then, I never had the means to create a barrier with my will alone, so I had to use my hands. Or, perhaps I had a more gentle happiness then. As people grow older, they gain a greater ability to protect what is precious to them. It’s better that way, when they have no need to hold up their shaking hands in an attempt to grip their precious things tightly. Of course, there are still things that I hold tightly in my shaking hands. He is one of them now, back then he was not.

Back then I created a barrier between me and strangers, people I had never met had no interest to me. When we were freshman in High School, three years before now, I probably would have never given a second glance to the person I now call my best friend. I guess I’m fickle like that.

I sat at one of the long tables in the lunch room in the early morning, arguing with my friend Seth over geometry problems. Because, as everyone knows, there are obviously multiple answers to standard geometry problems in a high school textbook. It didn’t matter who really had the answer to the problem right, but neither of us wanted to be wrong. In their brains, I think people put some kind of barrier between what they think is right and what they know is right, that way everyone will be stubborn when it comes to their opinions.

“The answer is obviously six,” he boasted.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I’m smart,” he gave a short head nod.

“Who says?”

“The GT program in middle school.” His lips curled into another one of his smug looks.

How I wanted to punch him. “That doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Sure it does.”

“I was in the GT program in elementary school.”

“That just means I got smarter over the years… Like people are supposed to.”

I stood up quickly from the table and slammed my hand against the geometry book, “That has nothing to do with the answer to the problem!”

I heard laughter behind me, “Are you always so spirited in the morning?”

I sat back down and turned to face her, “What can I say, Amanda, I’m bubbly.” I gave her one of my trademark cheeky grins. I’ve never seen it myself, but I’m told it’s classic.

She shook her head slightly, “You’re too much. What is it this time?”

He crossed his arms, throwing me a smug glance, “In the geometry problem, the answer is obviously six.”

I put my book in his face, “It’s not six, Seth.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t know yet.”

He snorted and let out a laugh as he pushed the book out of his face.

I let out an exasperated groan and turned back to her. I blinked for a moment; there was a blond boy standing next to her, he looked about my height. “Amanda?” I asked, giving her a quizzical look and pointing slightly.

She turned, “Oh, this is my friend, Keith, from band. He was sitting by himself, so I thought he could sit with us today.”

Seth uncrossed his arms and rose his hand slightly, “Hey, Keith. Sure, come sit with us.”

“If Seth knew him, was that just for me?”

Amanda smiled, “Basically.” She extended her hand toward me, “Keith, this is my friend Deirdra.”

“Hi,” I smiled.

Keith muttered a small “Hi” before sitting down across from me and quickly looking at the page Seth and I had been arguing over in the book. “Which problem?”

I passed my book to him, “Thirty.”

He looked over the book and stole the paper I had been scribbling on with Seth, trying to figure out our thought process from the incomprehensible squiggles.

Amanda leaned closer to me, “Isn’t he cute?” She smiled as she sat down next to him.

I looked over at him as he scribbled mechanically on his own paper. Blond hair and blue eyes… he was just my type….

He passed the paper back to me slowly, “I’m doing this page too, actually. I don’t think the answer’s six though.”

“Ha,” I stuck my tongue out at Seth.

Seth laughed again, “Do you ever grow up?”

“I’m not the one being pig-headed about my answer,” I gave him a matter-of-fact look. I suppose it’s another one of my trademarks, though I prefer my cheeky grins.

“True,” he smirked, “But you’re being pig-headed about a lack of an answer.”

Keith passed the paper back to me, “Do you want to finish what you were writing?”

Seth leaned toward me closely, “The answer will be six.”

I shook my head, brushing off our argument to actually finish the work I had started on my own paper. They all seemed to sit quietly, watching me work through the calculations. That may be a narcissistic way to think of it, but I imagine everyone has those moments where they feel like everyone should be paying attention to whatever it is they’re doing.

I put my pencil down and considered my answer carefully before looking back at Keith, “It’s twelve, isn’t it?”

He nodded, “That’s what I got.”

Seth let out a low grumble, “That can’t be right.”

Keith handed Seth his work, “Sure it can, because…” He explained his work, and what must have been my work piece by piece.

It was one of those moments when I would have wanted to give Seth an elbow jab and gloat about how I had proved him wrong once again. But, I found myself distracted by Keith’s calm voice and earnest nodding as he and Seth talked over the problem.

He was just my type, blond hair and blue eyes. The only problem was he was just Amanda’s type too. I turned toward her a little; that must have been it, she was chasing after him. Do people ever put barriers around their feelings for people they care about? Obviously I couldn’t have fallen head over heels for a person I had only just met, but I feel like I could have pushed him out of my mind too quickly for her sake. If two friends have feelings for one person, is someone stepping over their boundaries? Or are there really boundaries at all? Do the boundaries only belong to the person of their affections? Regardless of all that, I decided that perhaps it was best to leave him only in the company of Seth, to explain why I was more skilled at math.

Fate has a funny way of telling you to overstep your boundaries.

At that time in my life, one of the most important things to me was the band Backstreet Boys, and their blond heartthrob, Nick Carter. I mean, how can a man I have no chance of meeting ever hurt me? He can’t; that’s the point. But regardless of whether or not I would ever have to protect my heart from Nick Carter, I was utterly enthralled with him. Maybe I still am. Obsession is a boundary many people refuse to cross for others, so perhaps even a small admiration of a celebrity could be considered obsessive to someone. Either way, his album was released two weeks after I had the chance to meet Keith and lock myself to whatever affections I could have ever had for him. What wasn’t to like about him? He had blond hair and blue eyes. And more than that he was studious and had outside interests. And, he didn’t seem at all the boastful, self-prideful, and self-interested person that Amanda generally sought out—after three years of being his closest friend, however, I can definitely assert that he was truthfully all three of these things, and other characteristics that tend to be negatively associated company with the others I had listed.

I spent the Tuesday morning of the album’s release with the person I had called my best friend at the time. Someone who I will only speak of now to say that she had once been a part of my life and she no longer is. That morning she had done my hair up in buns with yellow and orange ribbons, accenting the colors for the album art.

The week following, however, I returned to the table with Amanda, Seth, and Keith.

“Amanda, there’s this amazing song on here, it made me cry!” I pushed the album and my CD player toward her, hoping she would catch my enthusiasm.

She rested her chin on her hand lightly, giving me a half-smile, “You cry at everything though.”

“Not everything!” I protested, “Just sad things… and happy things… and things that make me mad….”

She let out a small chuckle, “Sounds like everything to me.”

A geometry book slammed down next to me.

“Please tell me you haven’t finished the homework either!” Seth exclaimed.

I turned to him slowly, “Actually I did… So Nick Carter’s new album came out last week, and I didn’t get to show you guys on Thursday and…”

He put his hand to my face quickly, “Not listening.”

“But it’s really, really, really, really good.”

He pushed his hand closer to my face; I had the urge to bop it with my nose.

Some days, I wish there were a barrier between the Backstreet Boys fans and everyone else. So that way, when Nick’s new alum came out, everyone I wanted to walk up to and gush with would have already heard it. Unfortunately, I’m fairly certain that would be a type of segregation the world would not support. I suppose it’s another one of those “us” and “them” borders. It’s funny, in a way, to think of fandom like that, as a perpetual “us” against “them” war. I guess I was used to it though; when you participate in the fandoms where ‘boppers are the standard fan, you’re bound to have a perpetual “us” against “them” war.

Seth lowered his hand, “So you did finish the homework, want to explain it to me?”

I examined my album for a moment before turning to my backpack, “Well, I suppose I could give you some help on the ones you were having trouble with…”

He sat casually next to me, “I owe you one.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Hey…” Amanda started, “Do you think Keith’s sitting by himself somewhere? I’d be so sad if he were…”

Seth looked at his watch quickly, “Well, we’re already twenty minutes into the hour… Maybe he’s sick?”

Amanda’s expression fell, “I’d hate it if he were sick…”

Seth shook his head with a smile, “I’m sure he’s fine.”

I’d agree wholeheartedly with this statement after I’d known him a few more years. This was the boy that stayed home with a one hundred and three degree fever, but rearranged the furniture in his basement anyway. I’d always thought being sick entitled you to sitting on the couch while watching television and eating soup all day. He would be the one to inform me that it was for catching up on everything else in your life that school prevents you from doing. And, of course, he was born prematurely. My grandmother was like that too; they always had to be doing something. Whether it was moving furniture or simultaneously being in gymnastics and swimming. There was always something. And that may have been the largest barrier between us; he always had to be running, while I always tried my best to help him stand still.

Finally, about thirty minutes into the hour, he ran over to our table.

Amanda was relieved, naturally.

He dropped his backpack on the floor and snagged the seat on my left side.

Seth looked over as he put his pencil down abruptly, “Did you finish the homework?”

Keith nodded, “I just overslept my alarm, so my dad drove me to school.”

“The important thing is that you got here, “Amanda gave him a sweet smile.

Keith cocked his head to one side slightly, “What’s that CD?”

I beamed and picked it up quickly, “It’s Nick Carter’s solo album Now or Never! I’ve had it for a week, I’m so excited.”

He gave me a blank stare—one which, unfortunately, I grew used to as time went on—“Why do you have that shit?”

I clutched the album tightly to my heart. It’s like that song, sticks and stones can break my bones, but words will never hurt me. That’s a lie; words suck. Holding the album to my heart seemed like a way of protecting my heart from those words. “It’s not shit!! Nick is so awesome and his voice is so beautiful and he’s a really good artist!!! Wanna listen?”

Amanda put her hand to her head, “Well, I suppose she is better than before…”

“Better how?” Seth laughed, “Ten minutes ago she was helping me with geometry and not blabbering on about that washed up musician.”

“He is not washed up!”

Amanda stifled her laugher, “I meant better than middle school.”

“Oh, well, if that’s the comparison…” Seth started as he and Amanda burst out laughing.

“Come on! It’s great! It’s always been great!” I waved the album in their faces, “Admit it!”

“Can I see it?” Keith piped up.

A large smile crossed my face as I enthusiastically handed it to him with a cheerful nod.

Keith stood from the table slowly.

“Hey… Do you need a CD player?”

He brushed off the comment as he walked away from the table.

“Wait…. Where are you going? Hey!” I stood up and followed him.

He stood over the trashcan, my album wrapped tightly in his hand, “If it’s not classical, than it’s trash, and this is where trash belongs.”

“Hey!!” I whined, “Give that back, give it back!” I reached my hand out demandingly, “Give it back!”

He dangled it momentarily, and then clasped his hand around it, emitting a click sound. As he held the album firmly, a smile crossed his face and he handed it right back to me.

When I was younger, there were things I didn’t understand, like what it meant to have people who truly respected what was important to you. Back then, I had no idea he was playing… no, knocking down his barriers for me. I should have realized it. There’s that barrier between what you know you should have done now and what you did then. Time is something that walls in your decisions, piece by piece. It’s never possible to turn around and correct decisions, otherwise everyone would be running across guarded boundaries with scissors. But, in the end, maybe none of that mattered. Fate is, I think, a boundary that’s there to help you. It says, “Hey, you can’t change me, so be smart the first time, and just go with it.”

Fate always had its own way around boundaries anyway. It’s something that may very well be without boundaries. There are certain ways it wants a person’s life, certain directions it needs to take, so in a way, fate has boundaries that it may have to cross a few times to get where it wants.

When I met Keith, I placed a barrier over my heart for Amanda. And even more than that, I locked him out of my heart with his blatant chastisement of Nick Carter. But his smile… I mixed together my conflicting emotions and simply pushed him away from me. I mean, that gave Amanda ample opportunity to go after him and satisfied both the ‘bopper within me and my growing attraction toward his temperament.

Fate, however, had decided to break down the boundaries I set.

It always seemed like my friends were never in my classes, mostly because I seemed to be running a different course path than them because of math. But, regardless of that, I was fortunate to have Brittany in my English class… Well, of course, Brittany wasn’t the only one who ended up in it, but… She was the one I was excited to see from the start.

We walked into the English classroom directly after lunch had ended, making the room eerily empty. On the teacher’s desk sat a seating chart. Seating charts are merely the instructor’s way of putting a boundary between you and your friends; I’ve discovered this throughout my school experience. I understand the reasoning behind it, because obviously, there are those students that will sit and do nothing but talk throughout the class. But there are those of us who feel like we’re more productive when our friends can help us when we have appropriately timed questions. I am one of those people. Sadly, my teachers never really cared how well I could work with others. Although, I doubt there has ever been an issue of how well I pay attention in class, considering I have almost nothing to say. Not that anyone who knows me personally would agree with that statement; they think I have too much to say. Which I guess can be true, depending on the situation. In classes, though, I like to sort through the best way to say something, so someone else usually responds with my comment more quickly than I do.

As the case stands, once again, a teacher had used a seating chart as an indestructible boundary, or so I had thought.

Brittany crossed her arms as she stared at the seating chart, “I hate seating charts! We’re not even near each other.”

I gave her a smile, “Don’t worry, I’m sure she’s one of the teachers that changes the seating chart every couple of weeks.”

Brittany turned from me and walked to her seat.

My smile fell a little, as standing at the front of the classroom with a gigantic grin plastered to my face made me feel a bit silly. “Brittany…”

She dropped her backpack on the ground and turned back to me, “You really are too optimistic for your own good.”

It was one of those moments where I felt like bursting out into awkward laughter, but instead kept that half-goofy grin on my face.

She rolled her eyes as she sat down and let out a low sigh, “And stop smiling at me like that, you look like an idiot.”

I heard awkward laughter coming out of my mouth in my imagination again. But, I chose to ignore it and sat in my seat. As usual, I was near the front and the door. I was never sure why, but if I didn’t get to sit near my friends, then a seat is a seat is a seat. I pulled my planner from my backpack and started drawing pictures in the margins; it was how I kept myself amused.

“It’s you…”

I looked up to signify that I had heard the male voice and was shocked to find Keith standing in front of me.

He dropped his backpack on the floor lightly and sat in the desk directly behind mine before leaning forward, “How’s your CD? Is it still living?”

“Yes, very well, thank you.” I muttered before putting on a fake smile, “How about your math homework and band?”

He put his hand to his head and groaned, “Don’t even remind me… I just got out of band, I hate it.”

“Then why are you in it?”

“Because I like it.”

Okay…

There are unexplainable boundaries between sense and nonsense. In this case how you can both like and hate something. Maybe it’s because I didn’t get details explained at the time, or ever really. But I guess he was like that, always saying things that only made half-sense to everyone. And even then, no one understands him like I do—well, except himself. But having a deeper understanding of someone is nothing like being them. No matter how close you are, there’s still a barrier there. Becoming someone’s other self is a boundary that can never be crossed; it’s an impossible entity. Yet, there are times when there can be almost no boundary and it’s like you become that other person. All those strange idiosyncrasies they share only with you and the habits you both acquire from the other—things like pronouncing words strangely or constantly repeating weird idioms. It’s almost as though something deeper than the person standing there is being shared, some sort of inner being that intertwines with mine.

It’s silly to read this, isn’t it? Going into a tangent about people you’ve never met and that I can only vaguely begin to explain on this page.

But he’s a person that seems to surpass ever boundary I raise and every boundary that he encounters. It’s strange like that… that one person could traverse a barrier erected by my own strength of will. I think that, even the smallest people may have the strongest wills imaginable. Everyone always tells me that I seem like a small person, with small hopes and even smaller strength. But, I made it my goal in life to overcome the boundary in front of me.

Everyone who ever existed began as a small person. No one can begin with courage or strength. How can they? When people are born, don’t they all think everyone is good? Someone else has to tell them to stand up for themselves or to pull themselves up when they fall down. When small children fall on their face, they burst into tears until their parents stoop down next to them and pull them from the ground. No one knows the way to pull themselves up when they first start out on their weak legs or where to go when they take a wrong turn and get lost.

That’s the barrier between strength and weakness.

When I was young, there was this other world, not unlike this one, but very different at the same time. It was a world of boundaries, a world of unending night and also of unending day. It was a place to get lost and wander aimlessly in the dark. When I fell down there, I could only see unending darkness. It was a place where people were unable to pick themselves back up.

Strong people, people not unlike me, but very different from me, could pick themselves up with their own hands.

I envied them.

That was the toughest barrier I faced, the million foot tall one that stood in front of the weak me on my journey to my own strength.

Someone told me once that no one grows strong on their own; people grow strong by walking together. People are often called miracles, because their containers lead them to endless possibility. They grow strong by overcoming obstacles. It’s like success; people who overcome the things in their way are the ones to succeed. But it seems like it’s always at the expense of other people.

But, fate said no, it wasn’t like that. Fate had its plan, “Someday, I’ll help you knock down that barrier. You’ll learn to be strong by depending on others.”

Don’t make me a leech, fate.

“You’re wrong,” it told me, “You can grow strong by discovering their strong qualities.”

It was what I was already good at anyway, holding people close and carrying their troubles. I was one of those people. I’ve heard it said so many times, everyone hates the people without boundaries. Everyone hates them because they pull others close and take in their suffering.

It seems strange like that, for people who have insurmountable barriers to cross to be the ones who are seen as having no boundaries at all. It’s wrong.

But, they say people like me, kind people have no boundaries, because they are sought out and clung to by the people who don’t know where else they need to turn. And yet, if I’m a kind person, then am I clinging on to other kind people? Or do kind people need a different sort of person to cling on to?

A person like Keith?

We had been given our first day assignment, to write an acrostic poem with our name. I like poetry, not as much as fiction, but writing is writing, so I was excited.

Keith leaned forward, “I hate poems…” He paused momentarily, “Hey, did she say we didn’t have to learn anything today?”

“Yes,” I nodded.

“Alright! I love poetry!” He gushed.

Our teacher leaned over him with a sheet of paper, “I’m so happy to see your enthusiasm, Mr. Caley.” She put a piece of paper on his desk and continued to pass them out down the rows, “Use adjectives that describe you or nouns that depict things you like. We’ll share them at the end of class.”

I stifled my laughter; behind me I could feel the oozing of Keith sinking into his seat from embarrassment. Hoping to lighten his mood, I cheerfully started discussing the words I chose, “Art!”

Having recovered slightly from his moment of near-death embarrassment, Keith decided to join my enthusiastic approach to the assignment, “Art is not an adjective, you should use an adjective.” His matter-of-fact, semi-boastful tone reminded me of another blond-haired boy I knew… How I hate your boastful geometric bragging, Seth…

“But we can use adjective or nouns,” I protested.

“But real acrostic poems use only adjectives.”

I let out a low sigh. When he said he hated poetry, he must have meant it. He obviously knew nothing about acrostic poems. It’s true that they tend to use adjectives the majority of the time, but they can also use nouns or even verbs. Someday, I think I will write an acrostic poem of conjunctions. I know there’s only three, but it was my favorite Schoolhouse Rock episode. Don’t judge, everyone’s watched it at least once.

“Artistic,” I finally responded.

“Good, I knew you could come up with one.”

I rolled my eyes a little. Since when is someone who admittedly hates poetry suddenly the king of the assignment? Future experience dictated that the answer to the question was “Because he’s Keith, that’s why.”

Out of curiosity, I turned around and rose my eyebrow slightly, “Oh? And what did you write?”

He smugly pushed his paper toward me. “Hot” was the first thing on the paper. If he had any sort of “N” in his first name, I’m ninety percent sure that “nice” would have been the first word on there instead.

I borrowed his paper momentarily and crossed out his writing, replacing “hot” with the word “horn-dog.” He’s probably the farthest from the definition of that word, but freshmen can be so childish in their petty rivalries with each other.

I passed the paper back to him with a nonchalant smile, “There, all better.”

He took a moment to look at my correction and promptly stole my own paper, “Well you’re ‘dumb’.”

I’ll admit, he wasn’t very good at coming up with adjectives either. But this, of course, started an acrostic poem war.

“Evil!” The word burst out in a bubbly sort of way.

“Eccentric!”—That was a pretty good one.

“Threatening!”

“Annoying!”

“Krazy!”—Yes, crazy with a “k,” all the meaning, only kookier.

“Dorky!”

“Icky!”

“Really stupid!...”

His sudden stalling worried me. Why did it suddenly feel like everyone in the entire world had their eyes on the two of us?

“Are you two quite finished?”

We both looked up to find our teacher standing over us watching our childish squabble. And more than that, many of our fellow classmates had stopped to stare at us. It really hadn’t been that loud of a squabble, but the childishness of it had been worth watching, I’d assume at least. Brittany was laughing hysterically in the background of my vision.

Both of us repeated Keith’s earlier action of oozing into our seats and hiding underneath our desks with bags over our heads; “Yes,” we answered meekly.

That may have been the first time there was ever truly an “us”. Before that moment, we were wandering on our own paths in search of what was most important to each of us by ourselves. The moment we had met each other, our two fates had decided that perhaps it was for the best if we ran toward each other from that moment on. It was something that didn’t happen automatically. No, it was much slower than that. Step by step, we started walking together, slowly at first, but then we ran together. Of course, there were still the times when he wanted to run as fast as he could to anywhere else, but I kept him standing still.

And there were still the times I stared up at that million foot wall in that other world and I wanted to lie down, crying myself to sleep. But, I had decided that maybe it was alright for me to grab someone else, because I was so weak and powerless on my own; I clung to him as tightly as he clung to me.

That world of endless dark was suddenly lit by the brightest shining bulb in the world. And when I fell down, hands pulled me up. I was safe and protected for the first time in a long time.

It was almost frightening to feel rescued, because if someone is willing to save you, they will knock down every protection you’ve built for yourself. But, he was there for me when I had no one, when I was the only one inside that entire dark world. The part of me that stood staring at the million foot wall didn’t know where to run or how to gain the courage to overcome that. My courage came from Keith who helped me stand tall and knocked down my barriers. In return, I gave him kindness.

The part that amazed me most, I think, was back when I had to hold my shaking hands over my heart, I almost had an outer-facet to my personality, the most non-abrasive person in the world. People pull close kind people. The kind people are never excluded. In ways I never understood, Keith found this personality to be abrasive and he could see through the mild fakeness of it. Yet, he met the small me who couldn’t overcome her barriers and pulled her closely in his arms.

Everyone is like me, I think. Everyone is running around searching for a way out of the cage they find themselves in. That’s why everyone believes they have a future without boundaries, because they want to feel like they can find a way out of their cage. Mine was that million foot wall… Because I could find a way to climb out of a cage.

I let go of my ribbon lightly and turned back to him, “Keith?”

He cupped his hand into a fist and blew a puff of warm air on to it, “Hmmm?”

“If we’re all wearing black and gold together, does that mean we’re more like them?”

He paused for a moment. He was piecing through my question very meticulously. “No, it means we’re more like us.” He gave me a brief smile.

I could feel the quizzical expression forming on my mouth.

“Why do you wear black and gold?” He laughed slightly, “Because you love our school, right?”

“Mm.” I nodded.

“And why did you wear blue this morning?”

“Because I love being a senior.”

“And why were you the first one to laugh that they picked orange to contrast blue?”

“The color wheel; they’re actually complimentary colors.” I let out a small giggle.

“And that’s all because of who you are,” he smiled, putting a hand on my shoulder lightly.

“Mm.” I nodded again with an increasingly larger smile.

“Now…” he paused, “Where’s the Deirdra I know who would be shouting along to the cheers?”

I smiled again, “Maybe if we shout loud enough, they’ll do ‘Marching’.”

Keith put his hand to his face, “Hey Cheers, let’s do ‘Marching’!”

The cheerleaders waved back to him, I think to say that they would start it soon.

Keith was right, black and gold or blue or orange, it didn’t make any difference to us. They were “them” and “us” a million times over. But the one thing that never changed was that I was “me.”

It didn’t matter if I was the lonely and small person running through that world of endless darkness. It didn’t matter how many times I stopped to stare up at that million foot tall wall. Someday I would have the strength to cross it all on my own. Boundaries and barriers are put in place for many things. Some of them protect us from what we aren’t strong enough to handle yet. And others hold us into what are supposed to be our small cages.

I don’t want a cage any longer.

Someday, I feel like I’ll be able to knock down all my barriers and cross all my boundaries. Some day, when I’m strong enough; Keith showed me that. Someday, I would gain all the courage I needed to take my steps on my own.

All on my own.

I know, Keith, someday we’ll have to say goodbye. Even when we’ve been running together so long, there’s still a border we can’t cross together. You have your future and I have mine. I know that, in the end, those two things probably won’t cross. But maybe it’s better that way. If we both learn to walk by ourselves, then maybe when we walk into our future, it’ll be like we’re walking toward it together even when we’re far apart.

There was a time when we were first running our paths together that I thought I would follow you anywhere. Or, more accurately, that you would lead me to the way I needed to go. And I was small then, so I could hold on to you with weak hands.

What did our futures matter? What did where we were going, or what we did, or what we wanted have to do with anything? If other people are holding you up, can’t you both continue supporting each other?

No.

Because that’s a border we can’t cross.

We were seniors. Being a senior means moving into a new world. When you’re in elementary school and you graduate fifth grade, you’re crossing a border into an entirely new world. When you’re an eighth grader and you cross the border into high school, you’re supposed to know where you’re going. Being a high school senior and graduating means you’re crossing the borders to undiscovered worlds. College can be in-state or out-of-state with new places and new settings. But, more often than not, when you cross that border, you leave everyone behind. And when you get out of college, you cross the border into the real world and leave everyone behind again.

Life prepares everyone to stand on their own. Some people get to that place on the backs of others, just like I’ve been holding on to Keith these past few years.

“Keith, when we’ve graduated, will you still come see me?”

“Deirdra, you’re my best friend, of course I will.”

“You’re my best friend too, my best friend forever.” I gave him an affirmative nod and a bright smile.

“But if I go to BC, that’s okay right?”

I nodded, “Just because we’re best friends doesn’t mean we have to stand next to each other all the time. Right?”

“You won’t cry?”

I laughed quietly, “I cry at everything.”

He laughed with me and put a hand on my shoulder, “I mean, you won’t be too heartbroken?”

I shook my head slowly, “That’s my job as your best friend. No matter how sad it makes me to see you go, I’ll send you off with a smile wherever you go off to, because I’m happy for you.”

“That’s a lot coming from you,” his laughter increased, “Three years ago you would have fallen on your knees, grabbed my ankle, and begged me not to leave.”

“You weren’t thinking about leaving back then.” I turned and looked up at the night sky, the twinkling stars were like our small hopes piled together. “Now that’s it’s here, I think it won’t hurt so much anymore.”

“You’re really something.” He smiled.

“But if you never come visit me, I’ll come after you.”

He laughed and rose his hand to his face, protecting himself from any forthcoming onslaught.

I smiled once more, “I know you’ll be back sometimes and I’ll wait for that.”

“Deirdra, if I do end up going away, you have to make me one promise.”

“Sure.”

“Just be yourself.”

“That isn’t hard.”

He shook his head, “No, I don’t mean your brightly cheerful persona.”

“But I like being happy.”

He laughed again, “I know, I mean… Be obsessed with Nick Carter and cry at stupid movies. Scream at the top of your lungs if you need to. And don’t look down or backward.”

“And my cheeky grins?”

“Give them to everyone who needs one.”

“What if it’s a professor?”

“Loud and proud,” he broke into hysterical laughter.

I nodded.

Yeah, Keith, I’ll do that. I’ll be obsessed with Nick Carter and I’ll cry at every stupid movie. When I need to scream at the top of my lungs because I’m happy or sad or upset, I will. I’ll sing at the top of my lungs. I’ll always hold my head high. And I’ll pass out a few cheeky grins to the masses. And late at night, when I recount my day, I’ll think of you and how you told me to do all those things. And all those things you meant to say and left unsaid.

Don’t let people tread all over you. You’re a kind person. And, more than that, you’re trying your very hardest. When you feel alone and you know I’m not there, don’t look for me, but instead, know that you’ll be okay. I believe in you.

I’ll always be okay, Keith, because I have my own boundaries to cross.