I was okay until then.

I had carefully chosen my outfit,
being sure that it flattered my waist,
being very careful to make sure 
no one looked at me and unconsciously thought
oh, she's fat. 

I tied my hair back with a silk scarf,
a bright pink bow on the back of my head. 
My sneakers balanced it out,
and as I looked at myself in the mirror before leaving,
I smiled. 

I was okay until then.

Driving into town felt similar to what I would imagine
charging into battle would feel like. 
I prayed the whole way, 
my hands gripped tight on the wheel.

And then the ceremony, of course. 
It was as expected, the same traditions, the same nonsense. 
I stared above everyone's heads most of the time. 

I was okay until then.

But then for some reason we were all sitting on the edge of the stage,
we had gotten up from our seats and we were sitting,
lined up on the black bamboo stage. 
Naturally I curled my legs beneath me,
wearing a dress was risky enough on an elevated surface. 

When we got up I realized to my horror
I had left half of the lotion I had rubbed on my legs
on the black bamboo surface. 
I closed my eyes and pretended not to notice the pointing.

I was okay until then.

And then the video, put together by my very own peers. 
Music blasted from a nearby speaker,
old pictures of us flash by our faces,
grainy and crooked. 
Mostly of them,
not much of me.

Except the one,
where I was playing soccer.
Middle of a game, 
my face red, my face contorted,
my unflattering unisex uniform 
hanging off my womanly body.
I cringed.
Why was this picture taking so long to pass? 
I heard a snicker from behind me,
and my eyes surprised me by beginning to sting. 

I was okay until then.

The appalling video ended,
the lights came back on.
Did everyone notice that picture of me?
My classmates,
seeming a thousand years younger than myself,
jumped gingerly back onto the stage,
as I shamefully walked back up the stairs
on the other side. 

Wearing a dress on an elevated platform is tricky. 

Then it ended. 
And then there were no lines, no orderly social rules to follow.
No sitting in seats quietly, staring ahead.
Streams of people flooded around me,
talking, laughing, doing the things high schoolers do. 
I knew their faces, 
but I truly did not know a soul. 

It felt suffocating, so I ran.
Past the line for pizza, past the principal and old teachers, 
past the smiling, bobbling, wide-eyed students,
and forced the door open,
greeting the air outside with little relief. 

By then, I wasn't okay at all. 

But then you came,
and let me sit in your car until I had to go. 
You let me cry there too. 
Told me I just had a little longer, 
and then I was free.

You were right.