I can't say that I knew what we were doing. There we were, two kids, trying so desperately to be something that no one had ever seen. It damaged both our existences to think that maybe it had all been done before and that there was no escaping that. We were like the guppies in the small fish tank, ever aware of our impending doom. We knew that one day the cheap ninety nine cent green net would descend from the heavens and take one of us out. It had happened to so many before who had never returned. And we knew that one day, we would not be able to swim fast enough. Josh would have you believe that he was the crazy fish who couldn't wait to be collected. And maybe he was that eager son of a gun who was that insane.
And there we were, sitting in my mom's Mercedes Benz outside his dad's house. We were being consumed in a silence. We both knew what that silence was. Conformity would catch us, little green net and all. And no matter what we could do to try to avoid it or deny its existence it would swiftly find its way back into our lives like an annoying little sister or international spy. There was something about that that was so profoundly frustrating. There was nothing we could do to avoid that fact. Forever and always, nothing could ever truly be original. Conformity would run into our room with its friends, walk over to us and curiously say "what are you doing?" It had never been more evident than in that silence.
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