“Fighting is the purposeful violent conflict between two or more persons or organizations, often intended to establish dominance over the opposition.”

“Depression is a state of intense sadness, melancholia or despair that has advanced to the point of being disruptive to an individual's social functioning and/or activities of daily living.”

“Love is variously conveyed as a sense of tender affection, an intense attraction, the foundation of intimacy and good interpersonal chemistry, willing self-sacrifice on behalf of another, and as an ineffable sense of affinity or connection to nature, other living beings, or even that which is unseen.”

And those three concepts defined our late nights in the December chill, pathetically hovering in the same hangout, loitering in the same parking lot. We were infinite compared to the freak storms coming in fast from the Midwest. Infinite compared to the clouds racing by above our heads: covering the sun, sunset, moon, stars, sunrise. One night, the sky was tinged green. We were lying in the damp grass waiting for a meteor shower in the Eastern sky. But it was too cloudy. The simplicity and beauty modestly hid behind murky clouds. Maybe that concept was a little more familiar. So we just focused on something else, practically half of us diagnosed with “mild attention deficit disorder” anyway.

The depression wasn’t too common… you never knew who was going home to see Mom, Dad and a razorblade pushed into their skin. You never knew who was popping psychobabble pills everyday with lunch. You never knew which boys were trying so hard not to cry and which girls had no tears left. Well, you knew, but you pretended not to.

Then, there was love. Some were in it for real. But some just said so to cloak their preference. Some claimed love for security, some for reputation, some for more pussy than their friends. Some didn’t care about the title, when everyone decides you’re a whore, what’s there to worry about? You could tell who felt something. Hey, Romeo and Juliet were only fourteen.

Romeo and Juliet died.

Fighting wasn’t too common until the new school. Then, it was commonplace. We were glamorizing it just like your dad’s favorite movie and the only good book you ever read in school. Not everyone understood it, but when best friends clenched their fists and stared each other down, there was a solution and a free show. Often, nothing even happened. But they had to know you were man. There was a new girl playing Helen of Troy every month. However, Trojans didn’t hide in wooden horses. They were lubricated and came in different sizes.

It was more in the stories that the upperclassmen spread with the hospital beds and the bleeding eyes and burning houses that made fighting move into our brains’ frontal lobes. It was always the stories.

The drama and the angst will never cease and the secrets and quieted fights and kisses and hugs and running and beating hearts pumping hot blood with too much booze mixed in, they’re all just commonplace. Stick the parents and teachers who give out homework and chores like Christmas in our place and they’d be dead or broke down by the first day. We’ve gotten so used to the made-for-TV movie we live in that the cameras are lost behind the storm clouds with the meteor showers and the sincere smiles and never-ending car rides and weekends. So used to it that we’re even having fun. So jaded that all you can do is laugh.

“The amygdalae are almond-shaped neuron clusters in the middle of the brain shown to process most emotional events and memories.”

Research shows that hormonal and still-developing teenagers process most other information through these emotional drive-thrus too. I think that explains a lot.