The River

This essay was written by Katelyn N. She is wonderful student that I had as a sophomore in a senior elective class. She also had recently moved to our school and was so uncomfortable. Despite the uncomfortable situation she was in, she was able to overcome these stressors and write a great piece that has stayed with me for years.

The River

by Katelyn N.

                In my life, as short as it's been, there's one thing that I've come to know for certain. The most beautiful things in our world can come from the ugliest places.

                The first time I saw the river was the day after my mother left her boyfriend. January of last year, it appeared to be nothing more than a flat surface under a thick layer of powdered snow. I was looking out of the car window, cramped by large boxes of whatever belongings we could salvage after his outburst, and decided I hated that river. I hated everything. I hated our friends, I hated the one bedroom-one bathroom apartment they let us stay in, but more than anything I hated myself. I had time wallow in my own self-pity in the forty-five minute car ride to my school that would take place every morning, whenever I decided to go. I'm able to say now that I regret missing the sun coming up over the highway. Really, I should have just switched schools. The wound heals quicker if you take the knife out, after all.

                Months passed, and the snow started to melt. By April, I was able to establish a routine. Wake up at 6:30, leave at 6:45. Push through school, lacrosse practice, get driven home, and sleep. You'd think everything would have gotten easier, especially now with the absence of a three-hundred pound man keeping you under his thumb, enforcing his own laws like a modern day Stalin. But for me, I'd hit rock bottom. I was isolated in a town that was thirty miles, at the least, away from anyone I even wanted to talk to, enclosed in a space with the person I wanted to talk to least. I was angry at my mom for a really long time, and today I feel sorry. This picture brings back fights and screaming, slamming doors and swearing to never speak to the other again. Something else is brings is reconciliation, a powerful rush of relief mixed with an abating heartbeat. It inspires me to see things through to the end, because that unique feeling of alleviation can only come after a storm straight from hell.

A few weeks later in the beginning of May, it was nice enough out to take a walk. At the base of the neighborhood, proudly showcasing the pristine boats of the elite neighborhood, was the river. The last time I saw it, I hated it.

But now, I was comforted.

                The soil surrounding the bank was damp, nearly black in color, and when I moved closer it dampened and dirtied the cuff of my jeans. Only the stray and sporadic bits of the water managed to come in contact with whatever skin was exposed, but each instance brought needles that would pierce into every inch. I didn't mind it as much as I usually would; the self-satisfying sounds of running water baited me to stay. Just as a river erodes a path into the ground, pushing away dirt and rocks and minerals, it cleared my troubles. The air was crisp blowing against my back, the incense of saltwater and moss consumed the air. It was tolerable, at least.

                In that moment, I knew I would be okay. Not just for now, but forever. Through thunderstorms and hurricanes, the river stood in its place. I decided I would, too. Trouble is temporary, if you let it be. Hard times are going to happen to anyone and everyone, but wouldn't be light without any dark. The good times are just as imminent as the bad. Sometimes the bad is really just good in disguise, as I've come to learn.

                I found peace in chremamorphism, the river was just as much me as I was it.