Voted most likely to get shot.

I remember it well. It was late into my senior year with graduation looming over us just a few weeks ahead. I was sitting uncharacteristically quiet at Mrs. Greene's hour of pain. We had a love but mostly hate relationship, Mrs. Greene and I. She knew that for all I cared, Hamlet and Horatio could have been in the inky darkness of space doing the cabbage patch, it mattered none to me.

I did, however, take notice when the conversation turned to the yearbook. This is the moment that really stuck with me over the years; she looked up at some distant point past the ceiling and while making writing gestures in the air said; "Oscarito, voted most likely to get shot."

See, back on those awesome days much as now, I had an opinion on anything and everything, trouble was that my stupidity filter was not fully developed yet, still is a little iffy at best. Take this blog post for instance, maybe I shouldn't talk with you fine people about my dance hall days, but is that stopping me, I mean, is it? Imagine the beauties I used to let out unfiltered and completely uncensored back when I was seventeen, just ponder upon that.

Although I cared not at all for literature back then, and I didn't have a word processor to rely on, I could still write one hell of an essay. This was my saving grace, at least when it came to English and Mrs. Greene, regardless of my prepositions prone ending sentences. I would watch her quietly smile to herself when she came to that phrase I wrote especially for her, and then she would unsheathe and wielded that red pen like a sword and scratch gleefully at my paper. Boy! did she loved that pen. I swear she used to buy them solely for me.

I wonder if is not too late to translate that slight talent of yesteryear into money, now that I'm older, a tad wiser and equipped with an improved filter. For one thing I don't shout "let's get naked!" for no apparent reason. There is that to be grateful for, although, I'm sure it must had been quite relevant to me at the time. I had much fun back them, I took to high school not unlike some people take to college.

I wonder what Mrs. Greene would make of this wild idea of me writing to the world, would she graduate from red pen to permanent marker? She did keep my very last essay, you know, claiming to get it back to me over the summer.

Oscarito.