Retracing the many steps in my life is a bittersweet experience, Things that change and things that stay the same. Today I drifted through the halls of my high school. So much was different; the halls seemed wider and so much quieter. The students looked at me with the same sullen look in there eyes that used to look through mine.

I saw so many familiar faces, not the faces themselves but the shroud of emotion or lack thereof. Theirs were the faces of my own school days

There were the lively angry young boys, with their barely contained energy. I remember you my memories whispered. The fighters with scowls on their faces, daring anyone to "mess" with them, unapproachable except by the chosen few they call friends. The player with his easy grin, and smooth manner, a friend to all and none, his grin his shield. And then of course there are those boys who don't find refuge in these halls, they are the undesirables and a target for the rest of us. Those of us with no power to lash out at those who actually hurt us. These boys are cannon fodder for the strong and the angry and here more so then most places it is truly survival of the fittest. Looking at these young men faces flash through my mind, names surface in my mind; Randy, Jake, Philip, Mooch and Carver. And I wonder are they still the angry lost boys I remember or have they, like me, moved on to something more?

Then my gaze falls on a small group of girls and again they are familiar. Of course I must start with the beautiful girls, the popular and desired. These girls are not the shiny Barbie dolls of Boise high or Capital, no, the popular of Fort .Boise have to be "tough" especially the girls. Any misstep in the scholastic jungle could land you in no woman's land labeled a "Slut" or "Whore" or worse a "Bitch" which could mean any thing in this place. No it's better to play the social game, at least for some. Among the female population of FT. Boise the rest of the girls float somewhere between noticeable and forgettable. However there a rare few who refuse to play the game and like their misfit brothers are canon fodder for the strong. Into this group I remember a younger me someone who simply didn't have the social skills to become one of the desirables. I was forever saying the wrong thing. It was mere days before I was Labeled "Bitch" they called me.

Like all people these young adults are social creatures and groups of students fill the hall. My mind turns to my lifeboat; my friends. Strangers in strange land. We five consisted of a "Bitch" a "Whore" two "Freaks" and "That weird chick in black" Emily refused to be defined by people she considered to stupid to live. They were my best friend, my girls. We were always in some kind of trouble and it was usually my fault. I did not handle boredom well. Ah good times.

Sadly the girls I once considered closer then family have been scattered to the winds. Rochelle and Janice have families of there own as I myself do. Latina searches for her place in life and Emily has simply disappeared. Four years ago anyone who dares to suggest that we would not be friends forever risked their very life. But the years have come and gone and we have moved on. I can feel the girl I once was wandering through these halls and I don't like it. It makes me feel old.

I came here today to say both my thank you's and my I'm sorry's to those who made an imprint on my life, both good and bad. The principal, vice principal, and many teachers. Again Good times.

And finally there he stood the man I had really come to see. The Man my fantasies revolved around for over a year. He hasn't changed, oh, there are small things, he's lost some weight and cut his glorious hair short, but to me he was a handsome as the first day I saw him. I had hoped to put these feeling to rest today but there they were as strong and powerful as always. I still want this man. This is a problem as I am a happily married woman these days. Those eyes, they mesmerized me. It was always those beautiful brown eyes.

His smile transported me back to the day I first came to this school. I was terrified. I had heard the rumors and stories, and for all my big talk and bravado I desperately wanted to run. But like all of us, this was my last chance for an education in Boise.

I just stood there angry at the world. Angry at my parents for being so far away, Angry at my poor sister for not being my parents. Angry at my old friend who were moving on without a backward glance. I stood there remembering my home town tiny little Rupert Id. I had been one off the shiny there, friends with everyone and straight A's but that was over and I raged at the unfairness of it all.

I almost ran right there and then but then I saw him his silky black hair framing his strong face, those soft brown eyes an that oh so sexy mouth. He smiled at me and suddenly I felt reassured.

It was four years later and there he stood, the big jerk, with that same sexy smile. Why couldn't he have gotten bald or something. My time at FT. Boise was bittersweet laden with failure and humiliation and because of this the good things were so much sweeter. Yet through it all a simple smile from him could make my day that much better.

Through the years I've wondered about these feelings and I wondered why He had such a profound effect one me.

Finally I realized that it was because he was so different from the men I grew up with. My father is a very harsh man, carved from hard times and pain. There was nothing soft or gentle about my father. Life revolved around how much work a person could do. My uncles on the other hand were all big brutal men with a tendency to back hand a wife or child who dared to get in their way.

He seemed so vastly different that I put him on a very large pedestal. I found in him hope of a better future. My fear that all men were like my uncles or worse, I had already come across much worse in my time, began to fade. He represented a type of man I had never known existed a man who cared about others more than he cared about his meal being cold. To the young girl I was he represented hope, hope that old wounds would heal, hope that someday I could escape the prison of my own fears. For that I thank him and now it's time to move on.