Drama, drama, drama-rama

Drama: A word normally associated with high school and the immature goings on of adolescent Barbie-girls. Most average, slightly responsible or mature people, especially of college age, tend to avoid drama, or at least look forward to Drama's departure from their lives by the time they turn twenty. I'm nineteen. I am one of those people counting down to the Drama Departure, but there are some who have warned me that the duel with Drama is never-ending.

After that lovely introduction, allow me to get to the story behind it. I experienced the resurgence of a drama that I thought I had closed the book on today. To set the juicy stage, I should give you a bit more background information. The main subject of this tale, the Dramatist, if you will, is an ex-boyfriend of mine. Also involved are two of my friends, one of whom has a class with the Dramatist. That is about all the information necessary to get me through this story and to the point behind it.

Today, I was sitting quietly in my room, playing with my new phone, when I received a text from a friend who I meet once her class has ended to help her avoid being intercepted by the Dramatist. Her text explained that he was being particularly abnormal today, and she requested that I be sure to meet her after class as she was feeling nervous. According to her, the Dramatist had shown up to class, uncharacteristically addressing her as "turd", insulting both her and a nearby friend of hers, and telling her to wait for him after class because he wanted to talk to her. He brandished a flower and apparently shook in his for a time during class. Now, allow me to tell you at the risk of exposing my very poor taste in men that this Dramatist is completely and exactly that: he makes everything into a show, and is sadly very rarely completely honest or genuine. His shaking was probably nothing more than an attempt to get my friend to notice him and become sympathetic towards him. It only succeeded in frightening her all the more.

Near the end of the class, I was joined by another friend who had received similar texts from our friend who was cornered in the classroom. We waited to quickly be reunited and make haste towards lunch, but this did not go as planned, however, as the Dramatist managed to position himself in front of my friend as they exited the classroom. I made eye contact with him, and he smiled at me, raising the flower slightly.

My friend joined us as the Dramatist took a stage-like position directly in front of us. He used every technique we had all learned in our public speaking class as he addressed us with a well-rehearsed speech, making eye contact with each of us as he continued on. After a small spiel, the Dramatist looked me in the eye with what I know he intended to be a warm smile, but I am far too familiar with his tendencies towards manipulating people to interpret it as genuine. He presented the flower to me, and my heart started beating at double its normal pace as I quickly became very nervous and scared. He told me he had originally bought the flower for someone else, but thought it was better to give it to me. Praying for the right words, I told him how I have come to feel about him: I am afraid of him, he is very dramatic and volatile, I never know when he is lying or telling me the truth, and he forgets to consider the needs of others far too often. I asked who the flower was originally for, and suddenly his story was that it was meant for no one--he didn't know--but he thought I should have it, and he was sorry it was kind of old. He'd throw the dried out bloom away if I didn't want it. I responded by telling him what I'd told him more than a hundred times before. I appreciate the thought (or the afterthought, I suppose), but it would be wrong of me to accept it. I suggested he find someone who didn't look to be having the best of times and give it to them, just to brighten their day a bit, because, while he argued that his problem was lack of love for himself, I stand by my theory that his true issue is lack of love and regard for other people. The conversation ended after an awkward pause, and he apologized for being so dramatic as he left. By this point I was shaking just slightly from adrenaline or fear, or both.

Once my friends and I were safely outside, I began breathing normally again. I asked them if anything I said had been too harsh as I did my best to put everything in the right words, and they assured me that I hadn't been offensive, and I was glad, after reflecting on what I said, to find that I agreed with them. I felt more mature than I expected to feel, and I regretted nothing that I had said.

If anything can be categorized as the dreaded Drama, I believe this story qualifies exceptionally. However, it makes me wonder, if I came out of this feeling more enlightened and assured in my increasing understanding of attempting to handle difficult situations in the best of ways, is drama perhaps a very necessary part of life? For as much as we resent it, is it possible that drama can sometimes be very imperative life lessons? In high school, drama could be summed up in the passage of rumors and feelings or reputations being unjustly hurt, but there was always a recovery. As we grow up, it seems, drama becomes more than rumors and reputations, because those things matter a little less in such a big pond. Adult Drama, as I am finding may be a more fitting description, seems to be more of a building of maturity with a much larger impact on our character. For as much as I would love to avoid drama, I think I might have to agree with a notion made by my pastor yesterday in church: sometimes we are led into difficult situations so that we can become better people because of them. Now, I'm not Jesus being tempted by the Devil, but I am growing, and, for as insignificant as this moment will be in my future, I think it is the beginning of a very important turning point in my passage from childhood to adult....much like my buying a cell phone on my own for the very first time a few days ago!

I have always dreaded growing up, but when I look back at my childhood and think of how so many of my peers say the tragedy of growing up is losing the wonder of childhood, I feel as though I have lost nothing that I cannot live without, and the wonder is only increasing with my understanding of people. Like a toy not played with given away by mom without being missed, I think my childhood is something I'm ready to release, though I do very much plan to keep the memories close to my heart, and I never intend to fully grow up. It runs in my family.

So, next time we find ourselves experiencing a petty "high school" bit of drama, maybe we can maintain our grasp on maturity if we remember that a life without drama is like a sky without thunder...and I do love a good storm. :)