The First Day of School vs. The Last Day of School

Her eyes fluttered open with speed faster than the wings of the butterflies in her stomach as she squints to check missed texts from all her night-owl friends. Unable to decide whether the churning feeling in her gut is anticipation or illness, she clutches her boney fingers against her petite waist and barely rolls herself out of bed, being subconsciously dragged to the sweet smell wafting into her room through a slim crack in her door.

Coating her senses in fresh coffee dripping into the carafe, the snap and sizzle of bacon on greased pan, and the ringing of cereal hitting the ceramic bowls, she feels motivated to start her day, kiss her mom goodbye, and try to hide the shaking in her legs on her walk to the bus stop.

The bus ride to the high school was a blur of shuffling papers, counting and recounting of pens and pencils, and double-checking supplies. For her, at least. For most other students, the bus ride was no different than usual- paper airplanes, back-row pranks, etc. No other students seemed to have hit the realization that it’s the first day of a new school.

She hurried off the bus quickly after it arrived, hoping to catch her friends before the first bell rang to pretend like she hasn’t been texting them all morning. They spot her before she notices them and she’s greeted with smiles, hugs, and “You look great!”’s from her four closest girlfriends. She smiles as she tries to stop the jittery feeling from scaling the surface of her body.

However, it is a pretty difficult feat, considering her situation. Row after row, stack after stack of cold, heartless lockers, staring her down in a way that shook her to her core. Upperclassmen, towering over her at what felt like thirty feet taller than her small five-foot-two, giving her the feeling that she was shrinking in a growing room. The unembarrassed stares of teachers and other students that made the hair on her arms stand on end. She imagined herself and her surrounding class their next catch, fresh prey they can sink their teeth in.

Feeling the pit of her stomach drop, she keeps her eyes focused on the floor and her head turned down as she excuses herself from her friends, tucks her long, brunette ringlets behind her ear, and scurries into her first period classroom on her first day of school.

He's counted down the months, then the days, then the hours, and now the minutes. Finally, the minutes. He can taste the upcoming freedom in his mouth, sweeter than the Cherry Blow-pop on his tongue.

He knows his teacher can sense the lack of eyes on whatever last-day lesson that’s failing to be taught as his class of seniors can only stare at the clock directly over the instructor’s head in a “High School Musical”-esque way. There is no way his teacher doesn’t know the countdown is the only thing filling their tired minds, the only thing settled on the tips of everyone’s tongues, threatening to escape everyone’s lips.

He wonders what the use is of his teacher trying to foster their attention for every last second. The anticipation in this classroom is palpable; he could cut through it with a knife, if he had one. How is his teacher not molding that energy into something positive? There just needs to be one last snooze-fest, he guesses.

Every one of his classmates is ready to take the next step in their lives, ready for that bell to ring for the very last time, ready to leave this place once and for all. Not counting graduation in three weeks.

He feels prepared. Prepared to journey on his own. No longer under his parents roof, no longer held by his secure base of high school friends that he can rely on daily support from, no longer in this state of mind or state in the country. He’s ready to let the upcoming cool air of “good-bye”'s and “miss you already”’s from his classmates kiss his face like the breeze his town never seems to feel.

It’s almost like he’s five years old again, boldly introducing himself to his kindergarten teacher and meeting the people he’d spend the next 13 years of his life with.

And, right before the big hand on the clock his 12 to signal the end of class, his world stops turning. His whole life until this point flashes in pictures and memories and sounds and smells and people he will never see again. He moves in slow motion. His head starts to pound as every memory he’s ever made and every person he’s ever met floods into his tight cranium, maxing out capacity and causing him to squeeze his eyes shut in an unbearable pain.

Unnecessary doubts and negative thoughts flood his mind, causing him to shake his head in hopes of willing the wriggling parasite out of his brain, causing him to miss the last second of his ongoing countdown and the heightening level of excitement being excerpted from the rest of the class.

The only antidote seems to be the bell, sharp enough to clear the fog in his mind as he slings his backpack over his shoulder and high-fives his friend, smiling from ear to ear as he moves as one with the rest of his senior class.