Everything had happened, yet nothing had changed. Walking through the walls of the building that was like a second home for six years of my life felt eerie. Over the shiny, shellacked gym floor lay a sprinkling of dirt and dust. I could hear the echoes of screeching sneakers and loud calls and laughter. I could remember myself lapping that gym floor many times in my past and felt as if I were required to begin a slow jog upon entering the room.
Looking around the halls I had walked five days a week for all of my childhood, I saw backpacks hung in place of mine and children sitting in desks that once belonged to myself. The doors had not been replaced, but the pictures hung upon them had. Many new, smiling faces were stuck with blue sticky tack on doors in which my face radiated a smile from not so many years ago. Each classroom came with new stories. I was still slightly frightened to step into the room in which I attended fifth grade; this room carrying memories of hurt and pain and heartbreak that had not been revisited for years. Entering the door of my third grade classroom, there was an indescribable abundance of happiness that overcame my body. Countless smiles and conversations were soon remembered and quickly missed. Nothing stood out among those priceless memories at that time, just the fact that I remembered always feeling at home. It would have never been guessed that a new teacher had taken this room as her own, seeing that everything still seemed in it’s place.
Entering the building felt as if I were entering a dollhouse. It seemed that everything I loved and cherished about the school had stayed the same except it’s size. Reaching up, I unknowingly brushed my fingertips upon a clock I had once looked up at and never imagined one day I could touch. The chairs my feet once dangled from have shrunk to seem as if it would only be able to now seat a Barbie doll. The room around me had dust gathering in corners and on bookshelves, yet everything had not seemed to age. Looking at the faded posters that were once vibrant and full of life left me with an odd feeling in my stomach as I exited yet another familiar classroom.
Teachers remembered my name as I passed by them in the small, dark, now empty, hallways, receiving many waves and “how are you”s. Some stopped to catch up, although not many conversations left the topic of high school, with both them and I realizing there was not much else to discuss among old students and teachers. Conversations were short lived and the tour of memory lane continued. Hallways that I celebrated leaving, I had returned to out of desire and longing. One hallway gleamed so bright it was slightly blinding. The reflection of the celling lights on the still new tile floor shown brightly and lit up its surroundings. The entrance to this hallway was different than others, with more windows than doors and a large empty place where some diligent students sat and worked. Those few students did not realize that what they were working on then, in fifth grade, whether they hated or loved it, could be a memory they would never forget.
This school seemed less cluttered than the school I had recently gotten used to. Not many students roamed the halls and there were no lockers for people to stand at in between periods. It seemed so full of life yet deserted from reality. Loud voices soon erupted from the nearest classroom to the entrance. No bells rang but soon the halls were filled with many little footsteps and only few loud voices, and then the halls were full again. The last step out of the front doors seemed familiar but not the same, because I had realized that everything has happened since, but nothing has really changed.