Rockaberry Cooler

To say I wasn’t popular in high school would be a lie. Everyone knew who I was all right, but it wasn’t because they wanted to befriend me. It was because they wondered why I was so odd and didn’t want to fit in.

I left the comfort of my friends in Sylvan Lake to move to the “big city” – (Edmonton) in grade 9. By then, my completely random, boisterous and totally honest (even when I shouldn’t be) personality was coming through. My friends in Sylvan knew this about me and loved me for it, my new classmates, not so much.

I was an outcast, a rebel and “alternative”. I preferred my Dr. Marten’s to their Nike’s. I liked my band shirts and my piercings, they liked their inside out Club Monaco sweaters.

I turned my energy to being the president for the Committee for Public Awareness while organizing 30 hour famines. I managed the boys Basketball team (hormones) and played the flute in the high school band (nerd).

You should have seen how surprised I was to get an invite to a house party one of the “real” popular, cool kids was having. An invite to a real party, my first high school party!

I was so excited. I asked friends what to wear and planned everything out. A guy I liked from my Math class was going to be there. I got butterflies just thinking about it.

I showed up at the party and surprisingly enough, people were being nice to me. I decided to sit outside and my dream boy came up to talk to me. OMG! It was great, we were talking and I was being charming.

Then it happened…

One of the popular girls came from behind me and started to pour an entire two litre bottle of Rockaberry cooler over my head. As it was happening, I made the decision to keep calm and collected. I kept talking to dream boy while ignoring the obvious. After she was done, I got up and excused myself. I turned around, grabbed my friend Kim and walked out.

I could hear the laughter echoing on the walk to the car. I guess I knew why I was invited to the party. Funny thing is, no one talked about it at school on Monday.

Years later, the girl who poured the bottle of cooler over my head approached me at a bar. She apologized and told me she felt terrible about what she had done. Looking back, said that she wanted a rise out of me, she wanted a screaming match, she wanted me to hit her. Anything but nothing. She asked me to forgive her.

I did.