Girls Choice


Whew, June is finally over.  At last a reprieve from high school graduation photos hijacking my facebook news feed.  But it’s just a short reprieve, because in a few weeks all the high school reunion photos begin – including mine.

I went to a school called Sentinel High, and if I could have chosen which high school to attend, I would have chosen Sentinel.  And I could have chosen if I really wanted to, because between my sisters and me we had affiliations with all the high schools in town.  One of my sisters went to Hellgate, one went to Loyola Sacred Heart, and one used to ditch school with her boyfriend and smoke cigarettes in the field that would one day become Big Sky.

Why such a mix?  Well, I’ll tell ya.  Because my sisters and I were all wildly different, and as it turns out, so were the schools we attended.  Each of us ended up where we thought we fit in best.

I went to Sentinel because it was like me – practically perfect in every way.  It had the best curriculum, the cutest boys, the best drill team, the best choir, the best athletes and the best cafeteria cinnamon rolls EVER.  EVER.

Sentinel kids were fun and motivated.  We showered regularly.  We all had straight white teeth and drove Camaros.  Actually, we didn’t, but that’s what Hellgate kids accused us of.  Mostly, we were just flat out amazing on our own.  We didn’t need Camaros to prove it.  We had Trans Ams for that.

My oldest sister went to Hellgate because she was tough and that’s where all the tough kids went.  If you wanted to get wasted and learn street fighting there just wasn’t any other place to be.  I didn’t really know my sister’s friends,  I just knew that she’d leave with them in the morning and sometime later that afternoon I’d find her lying on the couch with a sprained ankle and a black eye … smiling.

I wouldn’t have called Hellgate kids slackers, they were more like chillaxers, you know, like your Uncle Billy.  They’d work a little, but would lose motivation quickly and spend the rest of the day kickin’ back on the front porch, listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd,  smokin’ a tasty bud and drinking Schlitz.  And like Uncle Billy they were mean drunks and anything could set ‘em off.

I heard Hellgate is having their reunion this year at Marshall Mountain.  That’s just some outdoor venue, right?  You know what that says to me?  That their reputation has preceded them.  They can’t be trusted in a joint with furniture that isn’t affixed to a concrete block so they have to take it outside.

That’s probably not the case for my other sister’s school, Loyola Sacred Heart.  They’re a trustworthy, religious institution.  She ended up there because they required fewer credits to graduate.  I think that’s all I’m allowed to say about that.  Oh, except their graduation gowns were a lovely shade of blue and really made my sister’s red hair pop.

My other sister doesn’t remember anything about high school at all.  We’re starting to wonder now if she ever actually went.  If she did though, she didn’t go to Big Sky, that’s for sure, because Big Sky didn’t open its doors until my senior year, so they’ve only been around for, what, 80 or 90 years.  The original settlers were a mix of Sentinel and Hellgate kids.  They were overflow – like the foam that swells over the top of your beer mug – worthless.  But they were people, ya know, so you had to do something with them.

Normally, my knee jerk reaction is to say that Big Sky never stood out or accomplished anything on its own, but I recently discovered that one year their drill team performed a half time routine in the dark using glow sticks, and I was like, “Are you frickin’ kiddin’ me?  That’s genius!”   However, that being said, I just heard they’re co-mingling their reunion with Hellgate’s.  Really?  Seriously dudes, get some identity.

In the end though, it doesn’t matter who parties with who.  All that matters is that none of those non-Sentinel kids show up at my reunion to beat me up for the truths I’ve divulged in this blog.  But, should any of you be unable to control your alcohol fueled rage, you’re free to come looking for me.  I’m male, blond, about average height and my friends call me Sannan.  Just ask for me at the door.

Missing Missoula,

CC the Trained Monkey

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BIO:  Carol Chrest is a bitter old spinster living in Los Angeles. When she’s not working ridiculous hours at her cruddy day job, she writes screenplays.  She drinks.