Hippolyte Desit Get Over it Secondaire 2e prix

Secondaire

Get Over it 

Hippolyte Desit

It was a bland autumn evening, just like it had been a bland autumn day. Like any other. Fainting sunrays still shone through a handful of crimson leaves, torn by the wind. An unremarkable routine.

Philip had started the day as he did any other day: alarm clock, snooze, snooze again, a painful but necessary shower, half a cup of coffee, half a piece of sugar, then a resigned walk to an early train he knew he would miss, and to yet another day of class, where he would attempt to blend in with people he didn’t wish he knew. Like yesterday and like he would tomorrow, he had behaved well, partook when he had been told to, and payed attention. Heading home, he had walked a few hundred feet with whoever was going the same way, he had waited for a few minutes on the docks, and for the next thirty or so minutes Philip had stared aimlessly at whatever would pass by the window: the Seine, the Eiffel Tower, a tunnel, someone’s garden. Same old.

Precisely 1,6 km away from Philip but yet worlds apart, Matthew had awoken content, listening to his favorite rapper’s newest songs, excited and wishful. Bearing a wide toothless smile, he had taken the bus alongside familiar faces, and gotten swiftly to school. Not all were his type of people, but over the years he had learned to appreciate each and everyone of them, and it was heartwarming seeing this close a group of friends, as loud as they may have been. Effortlessly, he had been through hours of class, and then had meandered pleasantly through town, with a few of his closest friends who, like him, had no particular reason to get back home. But eventually he did, as always.

Back home and mildly exhausted, Philip had firstly kicked his shoes off, dropped his ponderous bag on the hardwood floor, and laid back. Tenderly swatting off his concerned and caring mother, he had then got to his room, sat at his desk, booted his computer. The young boy had desperately wanted to relax, to have fun: he had browsed the internet, watched the newest videos he could find from the creators he followed. He had yet again realized how stale and repetitive what he gazed at had gotten over the years, but it somehow had something comforting. He had addressed the few needy texts he would receive from classmates, and stayed available to his phone. Every so often Philip would get a text, on social media, though only through group chats composed of everyone in his class indiscriminate. He enjoyed thinking those texts were for him. He would usually wait at least one minute before answering, everyone did, as to not seem desperate.

Blue, Matthew had finally headed home, as the group had split. His parents had once again lectured him for having come home so late, and Matthew had once again ignored them and scrambled downstairs. Hastily turning on his console, he had thrown his headset on, and gotten back with his friends, in theory until his eyelids would pressure him to stop. A couple inches from his lap had been his phone, set on “please do disturb”, and every so often the gamer would interrupt his session to answer a text, more or less thrilled to do so.

Philip and Matthew had been friends for seven years. Granted every relationship has ups and down, this friendship had been unconditional. The two of them could effortlessly remember the way they had met: on a bus, on their way to school, it was Philip who had stepped up and greeted Matthew. Immediately they had discovered shared interests and made each other laugh, so much so that the next day and for the year to come they had become inseparable. They would easily spend weeks at a time sharing a room, while seeing time fly and asking for more. Philip would make his friend discover his new favorite game. Matthew would make his friend discover his new favorite band. They were truly wholesome: best friends.

That very night, that unremarkable night, something clicked.

During the four previous years, of course the two mates had been in the same class, which contributed to them spending more time with each other than sleeping. However, they had also shared four years of their lives with an entire band of the same people, creating not only one strong bond, but a large yet intimate group of friends. But now: things were different, drastically.

A few months previously, that very group, however intimate and however loving had split up. As each and every one amongst them had weighed up his interests and his friends, most had decided to leave, in pursuit of something more, in pursuit of something great, and more or less having accepted to sacrifice years of bonding. While a core had decided to stick together and disregard “greatness”, none of them really understood why things had had to change this much, and most envied the four former years of their lives. On top of that, this rough episode had, as change often does, revealed in some of them foul aspects of their personalities: arrogance, lies, judgement, disdain…

It was in a last and somewhat naive attempt at reviving what had made these people so special that three weeks ago Philip had taken it upon himself to organize a reunion: plane, simple, cheerful. He pursued what he had cherished over the years. During that October afternoon, most of the class had confirmed they would be able to make it, at least all of the people that mattered to Philip: Matthew would come. As the day had come closer, most had seemed like they were looking forward to it: Philip had been ecstatic.

Then the reunion had arrived. Everyone had come. They were all there. They had had a quiet lunch. Philip had expected the magic to happen; he had expected it for a long time. On one couch, had been Matthew along with the group of friends that had decided to stay, as Matthew had had. In a corner had been a group of four or five girls; they had been friends forever and would remain friends forever. Philip envied them. Several feet away had been yet another group of friends, who had left together, and continued to see eachother everyday. In the dining room another group. In the kitchen another. Ready to go home yet another. And there had been Philip. Walled off. All around him: friends laughing. Together. Amongst themselves. Without him. He had tried.

Philip had failed. He did not understand why but he could clearly see he had failed. Why was he so different? It had been that day that he had realized how different. He had thought that it was helpless, impossible to keep a friend who was so far away, a friend who has other friends, a friend you no longer see every day. Except he had been proven wrong: it was undeniable and it was spectacular. A slap across the face.

That night, Philip would find answers.

On social media, at a time everyone is home, and when teenagers think they have nothing better to do than be on social media, all of them were on social media. Then, conversation got to choices, their choices, their interests: why they had split up. None would remember how or why it had got to that, but it wasn’t interesting or important. There had always been people who talk and people who don’t. Philip talked. Matthew didn’t. That night everyone talked. It had started as a calm and tame discussion, but it quickly became clear how much they all had bottled up, and friends who hadn’t argued in seven years started insulting each other. No one knows how someone feels, hidden behind a computer screen, and it’s so much easier to type. Then it became personal, as they were all simultaneously trying to say the least about themselves, while learning the most about others. However painfully, Philip quickly heard, or read, what he hadn’t understood, and why he was so different: “arrogant, disdainful, petty, boastful, deceitful, clingy, impatient, jealous, rude, untrustworthy, hypocritical”. “A toxic person” in the words of Matthew. That night, Philip didn’t sleep much.

It took a long time for Philip to process that night, a long time full of thought and introspection. A period during which he would look back on four years of glee, learn to see moments when those four years were more ambiguous. He started to see more flaws in certain friends, certain behaviours, he noticed dubious people. But most importantly, he understood..

However difficult, Philip told himself he would climb over the wall.