Fake Out

I was asked for the first time today whether I had a "Fake."
Apparently, if I did have a coveted Fake, I would be able to go out this weekend with some of the other girls from my program. Otherwise I'm basically confined to my room for the next three days. DC closes early.
Unless you have a Fake.

The use of the word Fake caught me off guard when I was asked if I had one. It took me several moments to figure out what the other girl was talking about, as my first thought when hearing the word Fake is of Fake people, people putting on masks (so often of bad make-up) and acting like something they aren't. I guess it’s a peace of mind thing that I've been doing with the people here, but if I think they're just being fake, if they're just trying to impress one another of if they're just talking, you know, just to talk...well. I guess if I think they're being Fake it means that somewhere in there, under all the nonsense, there must be something Real. Though I've got to say, I heard the most inane conversations today, I'm beginning to doubt my theory.

I do not, of course, have a fake ID. I've never needed one; I've never even imagined needing one. At school, everyone was old enough to get into clubs, and if you weren't you just borrowed an ID from someone older, you didn't have your own Fake made. There wasn't so much influence put on drinking that people would go to any lengths to get liquor. Don't get me wrong—many of my classmates drank, but it was legal. Anyone could do it. Nobody cared.

Now here I am in the good ol' USA, and this simple right, one which I'd gotten used to having, has been taken away. It’s like someone telling me that I am still too young to drive, after I'd gone away somewhere and been allowed to do it for a year. In Canada, where I am moving in August (thank God), the drinking age is 19. I turned 19 last week, and I can tell you that it was the most depressing birthday I have ever had. Not only was I in an unfamiliar place with a group of people I didn't know (though to their credit, they were nice enough) but this rite of passage that my friends had been going through all year, I missed. Though the drinking age in England is 18, everyone at my school recognized that once they turned 19 they were recognized as being mature adults at home as well as at school, and for that they celebrated. At home I'm still treated like a little kid. I'm still given Shirley Temples or soda or just water instead of wine with nice meals. And maybe that's how it should be. I guess I'll have to accept it, at least until I get to school.

Not to would be Fake.