A Memoir - Next Part

The school bus forgot to pick me up. Again.

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They seemed genuine. It took about a month or more to begin to trust my new acquaintances. They were not making fun like the others. This new band of the nerdy kind, sitting at a lonely table. I was accepted. But I didn't fit in. I wore mini-skirts. I was sporty. I watched the cheerleaders, though the thought of becoming one never entered my mind. That was for the special girls. 

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The first ever email address was peninsula. That is what I was. Mostly alone and barely connected. My one true friend turned to drugs and left my side. Others followed suit. I was without a home.

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I was mostly confused. Why did it matter if a high school boy had a car? Why was everybody working so much? No, all the time. Why "what do you do?" was the first question asked at a party? I couldn't understand why a man would tell me about a private jet his friend owned. I was confused why financial security was a human value alongside kindness and compassion. 

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How to act? At a long table full of strangers who seemed to know everything. I looked around mimicking and smiling awkwardly. I was a new kid on a block, brought to the rabbi's house by a new friend. Like fish out of the water, I slowly learned to stay afloat. These were "my" people, except they weren't. Funny, eloquent, intelligent they were while speaking in an unwritten code I couldn't break. I didn't recognize arrogance at the time. No, my husband would not be here, hard as I looked. Sorry, mom.

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"You don't care about money, and all the guys who take you out pick you up in BMW's and Audis. All my boyfriends are unemployed," exclaimed my roommate in disbelief. I never considered that angle before.