Trialin'.

            It was a scary prospect for me. Going away, that is. I was invited to go to a faraway place to be a journalist, and write. It wasn’t with anyone I knew, and quite frankly, it was nothing I knew. I’d drive 45 minutes to Orinda, from which we’d drive another 45 minutes to get to San Jose, where the event was being held.

            It was a scary prospect from the beginning, because all of the people that I was going with were from a rival school, and had previously been enemies. My team had competed against them, and lost, leaving bitterness and resentment. Then, all of the sudden, they were my team; my friends, even.

            But it seemed to work out fine. No penetrating, hateful glances were issued to me; instead I was given introductions and firm handshakes.

            The real issue, it seemed, was the fact that I knew absolutely nothing about these people. They had their inside jokes and their precedents, and all I had was face value. Over the course of the time that I was with them, I rarely spoke, because I knew I’d be off-topic and annoying. The person who is off-topic and annoying is the person that I loathe most.

            The other issue was the fact that I wasn’t really connected to them as a team, in terms of my role. Being the journalist, I didn’t have to participate in the normal activities and proceeds that the others did, so I had even fewer topics to discuss with these new people. A whole day could go by without seeing the other team.

            Although I couldn’t talk with these people, I still admired and related to them. It was easy to tell that they were close friends, with only a few social rifts existing within them. They were always having a conversation about some sort of injustice done to them or others, or various past experiences. Again, I didn’t know what they were referring to exactly, but they always seemed to paint a pretty clear picture as to what had happened and how they felt. I wasn’t a part of ‘them,’ but I could tell that they had the kind of relationship that they’d be hard-pressed to forget.

            In this sense, it was like I was watching my own life happening in the third person. I could match these people to people I was friends with. We had similar conversations and similar viewpoints on the most pressing of matters, like how school and others's social lives. I knew who I was, and I knew who my friends were through this real-life representation. I often found myself grinning at this realization, seeing how peaceful and relaxed they were among each other. 

            The pitfalls, however, put dampers on all of the thoughts that travelled through my head. I was never included in any conversation, and not really paid any attention. I felt very third-wheel with them, and I eventually excused myself as the night began to dwindle on.

            I often wondered what they thought of me. Sometimes, I could catch one of them stealing a glance at me, and wondered if they felt positive or negative things. Perhaps it was only curiosity that shifted their glance towards me, or perhaps annoyance; I’d never know, though. Our distance apart would always be the same, and not even positive feelings could bring them closer to this unknown person.

            It wasn’t pressing, though, for me to be accepted, or even liked. I knew that they had gotten along this far without me, and they could easily do without me at this point and for far into the future. I was just another face, one that didn’t stand out or seem particularly noteworthy. They had the safety and knowledge of each other, and I knew that was more than some new person could ever give them, especially in only three days.

            So I didn’t feel too guilty excusing myself that night and going off to write them a tribute. They seemed noteworthy because they seemed so idyllic and perfect. It’s odd to say, but I’ll never forget a single one of them. I had connections with each, if only just in my head. They might not have any connections or any remembrance of me, but the opposite is true for them. Each one of them was in my memory as I wound through the beige corridors of my mid-grade hotel. 
            Soon it would be over, but only because my purpose had been fulfilled, and they were satisfied. This, in turn, made me feel fulfilled and satisfied. I didn't win any award, and I know I didn't win a place in their minds; they made it worthwhile, indubitably.