This is a post about dying.

"Ryan Dilks." I smiled at her and she smiled back, as if saying my name specifically brought her intense amounts of pleasure. I had always imagined stairs, but as it turns out, I had to walk up a ramp, not stairs. Which made me wonder why the kid from that episode of scrubs couldn't graduate. He was a burn victim and the problem was that he had to get out of the wheelchair. But there should have been a fucking ramp. This school has to have had more than one cripple.  This was going through my mind and everything was going slow motion and I reached forward and he handed me my fake diploma and shook my hand and he said congrats and I felt different. 

I felt older.

I felt... better.

"Thank you." And I walked off the stage. My family was cheering and so I turned to wave and point and feel proud of myself. I was still walking, down a line of juniors who apparently all knew me, because I knew all of them. On my right was Daniel. I had done it. But it still hadn't really sunk in. I sat back in my chair, after being hugged by the couple friends that had gone before me. Slowly the rest of them walked down the line, being greeted by the whole of us. And when Mr. Wilborn said to switch our tassles and shit because we graduated... I cried a lottle bit.

Here's a boy who didn't think it would ever happen. A boy who didn't really care if it ever happened.

But now? 

Now it happened.

And now I can do anything.

I'll probably lay in bed for the rest of summer.

But I need a fucking job.