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22:33 - May 07, 2002
food coloring and milk
Happy birthday, Erik. ::sings, until about halfway through falls over from exhaustion::. Into your arms, though. Love you, despite your stealing my baby's mommy. I wished your nonexistent self a happy eighteenth at lunch, but you'd gone home... how dare you indulge yourself on your own birthday by ditching? I never. (as I try to forget that freshman year Camille and I spent the entire day of my birthday in the band room, lounging back on the carpet)

Tynon and I were walking down the hallway today, and out of nowhere he says, 'This is gonna look pretty weird, right? A white girl and a black guy.' I was a little taken aback, because here, you see it all the time, and it surprised me that he was even thinking of it. I've gone through my entire school career with him. First grade through twelfth. My mother used to teach him. And at this school, 35% white, 35% black, he's suddenly noticing this? It's painfully obvious that, even now, we as a student body actively segregate ourselves, cafeterias being the prime example. Generally, Student Center is smug white upperclassmen, punk, prep, stoner, whatever... North Caf is the crowds of black upperclassmen. When Galen's band played, the two rooms, separated by only a door, flooded together to dance and scream and jump. It was like the swirl of food coloring and milk, and it was beautiful, and nobody looked at anybody funny, but it ended as soon as the music did. The silent trickle back to your own color. I mean... I don't know. I don't ever think about it. Maybe I'm being avoidant, or maybe it doesn't matter what color people are, and if they gravitate to their own color, then it's nobody's fault... it just seems like a loss to me.

 

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