NEW DRAFT:

“Home is not where you are born; home is where all your attempts to escape cease”

-Naguib Mahfouz

Austria was like a dream. The worn cobblestones gleam from years of foot traffic and the February sun reflects from the surrounding snow-covered peaks and A-framed alpine homes. The main street is dotted with small shops and tiny cafes and the snow covers almost every surface, absorbing most sounds save for the click of heels on cleared sidewalks and the faint sounds of birds. Maria Alm is a ski town surrounded by nature that still maintains an air of metropolitan Europe. The natural hot springs in the area give the town a faint smell of sulphur mixed with fresh mountain air.

The sensation of finally arriving somewhere you were always meant to be drapes warm and comforting over you. You wander the streets in awe, curious but unsure, and wishing so bad that you were here alone and slightly older than 14. Yes, your sister and parents are with you and this is one of the first family trips you have ever taken to a new country (Austria in February because the plane tickets were cheaper) but this only makes your desire to appear 18 and independent that much stronger. Since you arrived, the desperation to fit in and become a part of this world has been your mind’s sole preoccupation. To start a new life in Europe where the boys are more handsome, the clothes more fashionable, and the hair styles eccentric and so incredibly cool to your fresh suburban gaze.

You wonder what it would be like to leave it all behind; your high school and the imitation of friendship that pervades the hallways, the rumors and gossip that follow you around like a virus, the boredom of Upstate New York where the most exciting thing you have recently found to do is smoke pot. Instead you could change it for this. You daydream constantly about how much better your life would be. You play flirty eye games with most of the boys you see - at the Vienna Opera House, when boarding the metro, making side glances while you sit with your family at a coffee shop. You convince your dad to buy you two new blouses, one two shades of pink and form-fitting with a deep neckline and a collar, the other black, a crop top with the golden face of a lion printed on the front. You get your hair highlighted for the first time, blonde streaks to blend well with your pale skin and blue eyes. You sit in the chair at the salon, German syllables float between your ears but you are mostly unaware, the glow of cosmetic light bulbs envelop you and your new hairstyle and you finally start to appear as mature and independent as you feel.

The school bell rings and winter break is over. Unfortunately 9th grade still exists and now Austria really is a dream. Part of you yearns for the novelty of the place, the foreign language, the fashionable women and their sleek presence, so far removed from the lazy American style so effortlessly perpetuated by everyone in your unknown town. The other part of you walks tall through your high school parking lot, drawn in by the possibility of admiration from your peers. You enter through the side doors of the building to rows of faded blue lockers, the metallic noises of dry hinges and ribbons of steel slamming, the click of combination locks. You prepare yourself as you cross the cheap linoleum floor, a fake marble surface full of skid marks, to your locker.

You feel transformed, like maybe you could be the focus of high school jealousy, the kind that gets you the right friends for all the wrong reasons. The inside of your locker door has a mirror and you glance at your reflection, adjust a few strands of blonde hair, the corner of your mouth turning up into a shy smile of anticipation. You gather your things and walk to English class. Mrs. G is writing notes about Hamlet on the board and greets everyone with a timid smile. She’s the kind of teacher you could easily manipulate, and you have. But you also like her. She is a humble woman with a thin frame and she’s the kind of person whose sincerity feels like a guarantee, no matter who you are and how well you do in her class.

Jake, the new kid, sits in front of you, your best friend Kortney to the right, and a blur of other faces fill the gaps in between. Jake has broad, muscular shoulders, a shaved blonde head, and an attractive baby face. His torso is trimmed and he wears his baggy jeans low around his hips. You have noticed the sharp outlines of his hip bones, enveloped by toned muscles and evenly toned white skin. He has a sharp tongue and probably a sharp mind but he mostly wastes this strength on the effort to score girls and drugs and attention from others. You’re not impressed, but many girls are.

Jake turns, looks you up and down,

“What’s with the hair?”

You look at him in confusion, his tone hinting at ridicule rather than the admiration you were expecting.

“You think just because you went somewhere fancy and got some new clothes, you think you’re better?”

Your throat tightens as your Austrian dream begins to chip around the edges. You thought this was your opportunity to finally be cool. Jake dates the most popular girl in your grade.

You are unable to consider it at the moment but Jake is popular for his looks and his white boy gangster swag that he picked up from whatever inner city his parents removed him from. You heard he may have been to juvie but maybe that’s just a rumor. So what else can he do with a girl like you? Privileged, recently returned from a family vacation to Europe. He doesn’t understand. How could he?

You feel tears welling behind your eyes as he continues his smooth smack talking. The words roll off his tongue and into your ears and you give up.

Your entire face blushes and the tears release, sliding down your face to a place where they can’t be taken back. You are humiliated and crying in front of your entire 9th grade English class and your life is over. You look over to Kortney, your friend since middle school. Kortney comes from the kind of family that you have only seen in movies. Although her friendship gives you a sort of strength that you find yourself needing, you hate going to her house, the dwelling of her alcoholic parents and intimidating older sister. She is so much like Jake in many ways, her mouth moves so that her trauma stays dormant, unobtrusive, and unable to waver her cool and swaggering reputation.

Kortney is tough and expert at presenting and reminding you of your flaws. The presence of this unstable friendship in your life has become more important to you than maintaining your own self worth. A survival technique that keeps you from drowning in the teenage suicide of trying to navigate these waters on your own. You have learned the hard way to no longer talk behind her back because she usually finds out and refuses to talk to you for weeks. Those are the days you eat lunch alone.

But this is a good day and things have been going smoothly. Today she is your friend.

“What the fuck is WRONG with you? Mind your own damn business, trailer trash! You know you're just jealous, what the fuck kind of goal do you have making her cry?”

She bit him with her words, smacked him clear across the face with a defense he had not anticipated. Your tears stop, not because you regained your confidence but because you are in disbelief. You are so shocked that Kortney would put herself out there in the high school spotlight, making herself vulnerable to criticism from the endless cruelty of bored suburban teenagers. Of course Mrs. G backs her up, verbalizing her disappointment in us as a class, in our failure to support and be kind to one another. But Mrs. G’s reaction is something you expect and her support only extends as far as the next school bell, when the dark hallways will swallow us once again.

There were many days Kortney used that same verbal confidence and energy to attack you and your words and your wardrobe but this time she was using her power to defend you. For the first time in your short high school experience, someone stuck their neck out for you.

You stare at Kortney and think,

“I want to be like that.”

You want to somehow absorb her confidence, the targeted and purposeful aggression that lives inside of her.

You glimpse something that your mind subconsciously considers coming back to in the future. Maybe after all of this is over - the superficiality of high school and the keeping up of appearances, “European cool” or otherwise - perhaps you could instead aspire to what is real. Kortney and her confidence. Strong words in intimidating situations. Defending a friend.

Anais Nin, in observation of her lover’s wife once wrote, “She lacks confidence, she craves admiration insatiably. She lives on the reflections of herself in the eyes of others. She does not dare to be herself.”

And you think about what a shame it would be if this is how someone were to describe you. This occurrence weighs heavy on your heart.

That afternoon after school, you lie on your bed and stare at the ceiling. You daydream and from some subconscious place, a gentle smile.

***

Years later as you sit at your springtime desk, only a few miles from the Mediterranean coastline, you remember the memories of that insecure 14-year-old girl. Her longing to be surrounded by novelty and beauty, in a place where she can hear the liquid syllables of a foreign language and inhale the delicate scents of narcissus and wisteria, draping from the sun-drenched seaside balconies. The sensation of finally arriving in a place that you were always meant to be drapes warm and comforting over you.

You have chosen this place. You have come home.

ORIGINAL DRAFT:

Austria was like a dream. The worn cobblestones gleam from years of foot traffic and the February sun reflects from the surrounding snow-covered peaks and A-framed alpine homes. The main street is dotted with small shops and tiny cafes and the snow covers almost every surface, absorbing most sounds save for the click of heels on cleared sidewalks and the faint sounds of birds. Maria Alm is a ski town surrounded by nature that still maintains an air of metropolitan Europe. The natural hot springs in the area give the town a faint smell of sulphur mixed with fresh mountain air.

The sensation of finally arriving somewhere you were always meant to be drapes warm and comforting over you. You wander the streets in awe, curious but unsure, and wishing so bad that you were here alone and slightly older than 14. Yes, your sister and parents are with you and this is one of the first family trips you have ever taken to a new country (Austria in February because the plane tickets were cheaper) but this only makes your desire to appear 18 and independent that much stronger. Since you arrived, the desperation to fit in and become a part of this world has been your mind’s sole preoccupation. To start a new life in Europe where the boys are more handsome, the clothes more fashionable, and the hair styles eccentric and so incredibly cool to your fresh suburban gaze.

You wonder what it would be like to leave it all behind; your high school and the imitation of friendship that pervades the hallways, the rumors and gossip that follow you around like a virus, the boredom of Upstate New York where the most exciting thing you have recently found to do is smoke pot. Instead you could change it for this. You daydream constantly about how much better your life would be. You play flirty eye games with most of the boys you see - anyone attractive and seemingly between 16 and 21 years old - at the Vienna Opera House, when boarding the metro, making side glances while you sit with your family at a coffee shop.

You convince your dad to buy you two new blouses, one two shades of pink and form-fitting with a teasingly deep neckline and a collar, the other black, a crop top with the golden face of a lion printed on the front. You get your hair highlighted for the first time, blonde streaks to highlight your pale skin and blue eyes. You sit in the chair at the salon, German syllables float between your ears but you are mostly unaware, the glow of cosmetic light bulbs envelop you and your new hairstyle and you finally start to appear as mature and independent as you feel.

The school bell rings and winter break is over. Unfortunately 9th grade still exists and now Austria really is a dream. Part of you yearns for the novelty of the place, the foreign language, the fashionable women and their sleek presence, so far removed from the lazy American style so effortlessly perpetuated by your own parents and so many others in your unknown town. The other part of you walks tall through your high school parking lot, drawn in by the possibility of admiration from your peers. You enter through the side doors of the building to rows of faded blue lockers, the metallic noises of ungreased hinges and ribbons of steel slamming, the click of combination locks. You prepare yourself as you cross the cheap linoleum floor, a fake marble surface full of skid marks, to your locker.

You feel transformed, like maybe you could be the focus of high school jealousy, the kind that gets you the right friends for all the wrong reasons. The inside of your locker door has a mirror and you glance at your reflection, adjust a few strands of blonde hair, the corner of your mouth turning up into a shy smile of anticipation. You gather your things and walk to English class. Mrs. G is writing notes about Hamlet on the board and greets everyone with a timid smile. She’s the kind of teacher you could easily manipulate, and you have. But you also like her. She is a humble woman with a thin frame and she’s the kind of person whose sincerity feels like a guarantee, no matter who you are and how well you do in her class.

Jake, the new kid, sits in front of you, your best friend Kortney to the right, and a blur of other faces fill the gaps in between. Jake has broad, muscular shoulders, a shaved blonde head, and an attractive baby face. His torso is trimmed and he wears his baggy jeans low around his hips. You have noticed the sharp outlines of his hip bones, enveloped by toned muscles and evenly toned white skin. He has a sharp tongue and probably a sharp mind but he mostly wastes this strength on the effort to score girls and drugs and attention from others. You’re not impressed, but many girls are.

Jake turns, looks you up and down,

“What’s with the hair?”

You look at him in confusion, his tone hinting at ridicule rather than the admiration you were expecting.

“You think just because you went somewhere fancy and got some new clothes, you think you’re better?”

Your throat tightens as your Austrian dream begins to chip around the edges. You thought this was your opportunity to finally be cool. Jake dates the most popular girl in your grade.

You are unable to consider it at the moment but Jake is popular for his looks and his white boy gangster swag that he picked up from whatever inner city his parents removed him from. You heard he may have been to juvie but maybe that’s just a rumor. So what else can he do with a girl like you? Privileged, recently returned from a family vacation to Europe. He doesn’t understand. How could he?

You feel tears welling behind your eyes as he continues his smooth smack talking. The words roll off his tongue and into your ears and you give up.

Your entire face blushes and the tears release, sliding down your face to a place where they can’t be taken back. You are humiliated and crying in front of your entire 9th grade English class and your life is over. You look over to Kortney, your friend since middle school. Kortney comes from the kind of family that you have only seen in movies. Although her friendship gives you a sort of strength that you find yourself needing, you hate going to her house, the dwelling of her alcoholic parents and intimidating older sister. She is so much like Jake in many ways, her mouth moves so that her thoughts stay dormant, unobtrusive, and unable to waver her cool and swaggering reputation.

Kortney is tough and expert at presenting and reminding you of your flaws. The presence of this unstable friendship in your life has become more important to you than maintaining your own self worth. A survival technique that keeps you from drowning in the teenage suicide of trying to navigate these waters on your own. You have learned the hard way to no longer talk behind her back because she usually finds out and refuses to talk to you for weeks. Those are the days you eat lunch alone.

But this is a good day and things have been going smoothly. Today she is your friend.

“What the fuck is WRONG with you? Mind your own damn business, trailer trash! You know your just jealous, what the fuck kind of goal do you have making her cry here in Mrs. G’s class?”

She bit him with her words, smacked him clear across the face with a defense he had not anticipated. Your tears stop, not because you regained your confidence but because you are in disbelief. You are so shocked that Kortney would put herself out there in the high school spotlight, making herself vulnerable to criticism from the endless cruelty of bored suburban teenagers.

There were many days Kortney used that same verbal confidence and energy to attack you and your words and your wardrobe but this time she was using her power to defend you. For the first time in your short high school experience, someone stuck their neck out for you.

You stare at Kortney and think,

“I want to be like that.”

You want to somehow absorb her confidence, the targeted and purposeful aggression that lives inside of her.

You glimpse something that your mind subconsciously considers coming back to in the future. Maybe after all of this is over - the superficiality of high school and the keeping up of appearances, “European cool” or otherwise, perhaps you can instead aspire to what is real. Kortney and her confidence. Strong words in intimidating situations. Defending a friend.

Anais Nin, in observation of her lover’s wife once wrote, “She lacks confidence, she craves admiration insatiably. She lives on the reflections of herself in the eyes of others. She does not dare to be herself.”

And you think about what a shame it would be if this is how someone were to describe you. This occurrence weighs heavy on your heart. That afternoon after school, you lie on your bed and stare at the ceiling. You allow your daydreams to take you back to those gleaming cobblestoned streets. You wonder what it might feel like to live comfortably in your own skin, in a shiny new environment, where no one knows your name or what you used to look like before the new clothes and the new hair. You see the reflection of sunlight on snow and of your own face in the eyes of strangers. And you pay it no mind. You daydream in that space of unconditional self-confidence and savor it. This is a space you will return to over the years until you find the courage to be yourself.

The courage to crave your own admiration.

Saskia Layden

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