Radio Silence

You never pictured yourself here, did you?

In the midst of an ocean one thousand times bigger than your god could have created and twenty-seven times deeper than your most tear filled conversation.  Covered in chaos like icing on a cake, and I'm not talking about the waves.  I'm talking about the hope of 'any second now'.  

But no matter how many times you'll press that rubber button down on the radio, there won't be a reply.  They can't hear you.  I can't hear you.  There are only the reverberations of static from the mouthpiece, telling you that you are in complete and utter radio silence. 

 81,043,200 seconds of silence.  

1,350,720 minutes.  

22,152 hours.  

134 weeks. 

 938 days.  

2 years, 6 months, 24 days.  

That's how long we've been here.  Drifting on an ocean of 'waiting for something bigger to happen than this pile of algebra homework I have to get done'.  Drifting in this world labeled 'High School' that in the movie versions was way cooler and much more dramatic.  Nearly 3 years of static on the dashboard of our teenager infancy.  I guess you wouldn't consider static silence, but that is only withholding us from the real voice.  The pure, sweet voice that reminds us that we are human.  That 'High School', that floating in this boat of never-ending blue and waves that crash over us again and again, is in fact, not even 26.2 miles close to the Finish Line.  It's only the first print of your shoe on the pavement.  

"Come in, Lone Peak 2015.  I repeat, come in."

"Yes, oh God!  Yes, I am here."  

The ocean is almost drained.  And that boat you drove is rusting away in your backyard, next to the bike your parents bought you when you turned 12.  It is a memory of the time you were stuck in the middle of a place that seemed never ending.  Looking back, you see it differently, don't you?  That time where you went stag to the Homecoming dance your senior year because a boy didn't ask.  Where you decided that football games weren't so bad.  Where you screamed at your dad to lay off your back about your grades, because you know what?  I'm doing just fine.  But knowing you aren't, and later realizing you should have told your dad he was right.  Where you watched your siblings leave, one by one like an Agatha Christie novel, until you were the last one.  But this isn't a murder mystery.  This isn't fiction.  This isn't a book you can let someone else write. 

This is your ocean.  Your story.  The chapter labeled 'Drowning' to some and 'Love' to others, is about to end with the words, "It is never quite like it seems." 

73 days.  Keep pressing the button on your radio, because soon the static will be gone, replaced by the voice you never thought you could love so much saying:

"Congratulations, Lone Peak High School, Class of 2015."