In high school I was not a cheerleader. I was not a jock. I was not popular. I was not in the drama department. I was not a nerd. I was not one of those kids who smoked behind the school. Yet, I had friends who belonged to every one of those groups even though I was not a part of the group.
I guess I was the high school equivalent of a remora - you know those fish that swim alongside and around the sharks. They hang around. They go where the shark goes, but they don't get a lot of notice since all eyes are on the shark. The most important thing about a remora is the fact that they don't get eaten by the shark. I think that pretty much describes my high school years. At least I did not get eaten by the sharks.
This is not to say that I did not have any groups that might say I sort of kind of belonged to them. I did pursue art and was involved in several art projects around the school. These art projects often seemed to involve painting murals.
Now painting a mural might sound like quite a thing until you actually get involved with it. One of our projects was to paint murals of various plays the drama department had put on through the years. This sounds impressive until you realize where they wanted us to paint the murals. It was not a main hallway, but rather a hallway entered from a door off of a back hallway and leading to the stage area. Only drama people went here and in fact until they showed us where they wanted the murals I had not even known this part of the school existed.
Still, it got the three of us away from the regular art class, which was great because our high school art class was filled with 'artistic' people. Artistic people can be very interesting, but they can also be very moody and scattered. When the chance to do the murals came up our art teacher selected the three of us, me and two other girls because of our artistic talents sure, but also because she felt we would be unlikely to sneak off to the smoking area, sneak off with boyfriends or start a fire somewhere.
So we got the mural gig and for what seemed like most of the year we would leave the classroom after roll call carrying our paints with us and enter the drama room sub-hallway. Our subject matter was the various playbills for things the drama department had done in the past, such as 'Arsenic and Old Lace' or 'The King and I'.
First we drew the designs on the wall using playbills as a guide then we filled in the background and finally the details. There were about ten or so of these designs and we each worked on one until finished then we would choose another. I would like to say that it was exhilarating work or that our conversations were stimulating, but in actuality we were just doing copy work - no great feats of imagination or artistic license needed and also none of us had very interesting lives, so any conversation was centered on very mundane things like what we had for lunch.
The only thing that stands out in my mind from this time was that I had an uncanny knack for knowing exactly when it was 15 minutes before we were supposed to pack up and end for the day. None of us wore a watch and the closest clock was outside the sub-hallway. Without fail, every day I would be struck with a sudden urge to ask - "What time is it?" and invariably when one of the other girls went to check it was always 15 minutes before the top of the hour - exactly. Once this had occurred for several days in a row, I tried to suppress the question, but it would build and build within me until I just had to ask it. I would even deliberately delay asking in a vain hope that it would be some other time than 'a quarter til'. Every time they would check and every time they would announce that it was "exactly 1:45".
The eons passed and we were still at the project and would likely still be after it today but for the fact that the school year ended. Probably the worst thing was that the project itself was never completed by anyone else because they decided to remodel the building and subsequently tore down that sub-hallway when they expanded the auditorium. Goodbye murals.
This was not the only mural I was a part of. Once somehow I was part of a group that was to paint a mural on an outside wall facing our schools stadium. Our school mascot was a Wildcat and we chose to paint this huge wildcat in a dramatic pose on this 30 foot by 20 foot brick wall. This group was made up of about a half dozen diverse people including popular people, athletic people, really smart people and one really handsome guy who was also very nice. I have no idea how I got to be a part of such a spectacular group except for that whole remora thing I had going.
We would meet after school and work on this arduous task of painting this really big wall and it involved gallons of paint and ladders and in today's world would doubtless be prohibited due to how much risk there was involved what with all the 30 feet of vertical wall we were climbing. We met quite a few times and on one of the last occasions we met on a Saturday. One of the girls had ridden on her ten speed bike and set it aside near the parking lot. There was some sort of commotion going on in the parking lot that involved someone's car. Specifically there was a car with the hood up and two guys looking into it with unhappy faces.
We were doing our painting thing and very near the end of the project, so we were all talkative and happy. One of the girls rushed over to where we stood and announced that she overheard these two guys talking about stealing the bike. This girl said this and looked very pointedly at the handsome guy who was also very nice. Now this nice guy, who also happened to be athletic was unfortunately not a spring into action kind of guy. I can still remember her staring at him and him looking at her and there was this big unspoken empty space in their conversation where he was supposed to morph into a hero and save the day. It was pretty awkward because he did not have the hero spark.
Now in one part of my mind I could see all of this happening with the group dynamics, but in another part of my mind something else was happening. I looked over to where the two guys were standing with their backs to us and sort of near the bike. I can remember this sensation of - well it is hard to describe except that the world seemed to get very bright and sounds became a bit dimmer, as if coming from underwater. I found myself in action without intending to be as if I had been picked up by the scruff of my neck and put into motion. I felt no fear; I felt no anxiety; I felt filled with purpose.
Somehow I was marching down to where the bike lay in the grass and was picking it up and nonchalantly moving it away from the two guys. My intention was to make it seem that I had just decided to ride the bike. No big deal - I was just going for a ride. I can remember putting my leg over the bike as if to mount it but being completely overwhelmed by the size and structure of the ten speed. My previous bike experience was with my banana seated much, much smaller one speed and all I could do was dangle my knee over the middle bar and hop awkwardly forward.
Well, the two potential bike thieves were not very dedicated and as soon as I picked up the bike they just looked at each other and walked away. The girl who owned the bike came rushing over grateful and laughing and happy that I had saved her bike. The handsome and nice guy was also happy because I acted so quickly he did not have to confront his inner coward.
As soon as the ordeal was over I felt like all the air went out of me. The sounds came rushing back. I felt fear and anxiety and absolutely no sense of purpose. Although I didn't talk to anyone about it I became convinced that some mysterious super-hero identity lived inside of me. When danger or evil reared its head my normal 'Clark Kent' manner would be chucked out the window and 'Super-chick' would appear, able to whisk bikes out from the clutches of potential thieves. As soon as the situation was resolved my alter-ego would vanish back into the banality of my normal life. So, apparently I was some sort of secret super hero that no one actually noticed, but they were grateful for what I could do, and I was also a mild mannered remora circling just outside of the group. Double secret identity.
As far as the brick wall mural. We completed it and it was awesome. Then before the next school year began they tore the wall down to add on to the gymnasium. Apparently my super powers include painting walls destined for destruction.
Sharp looking carp!
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