Just Another Day

April 29, 2009
By Mackenzie Morrison SILVER, Hartland, Wisconsin
Mackenzie Morrison SILVER, Hartland, Wisconsin
6 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Walking into a class freshman year, fear lingers in your mind. Will I know anyone? What if no one talks to me? Should I even go?

You scan the room for a familiar or friendly face. Blank stares. Dirty looks. No looks. You find the open seat, and carefully place your backpack near the desk. It’s your only comfort zone. The only one who accepts you. The teacher, whether trying to or not, doesn’t even notice your presence. You’re just another set of bulging eyes in the sea of many.

Attendance is taken, and your name gets called. No one acknowledges you. No one cares. Snickers fill the room. Was it something you did? Was it something you said? You yearn for the minute hand to strike 52, when the class is dismissed. But then…who will I walk with? Who will I talk to?

Classes continue. Each is harder to stand than the last. As the fifth hour rolls around, the fear of lunch is pertinent. Hopefully you can make a friend by then. A single friend. That’s all you need.

A two-faced girl offers for you to join her at her table. She gets your locker number and says she’ll meet you before lunch. Five, six, seven minutes pass. No girl. No friend. No lunch table companion. Nothing.

Just like in the movies, you head to the bathroom. The only place where you won’t get judged for eating in solitude. You start to roam the halls as the bathroom fills up with cliques gossiping and laughing. You wish for the day when you can have a friend to eat with, laugh with, grow with, be with. When will that day come? How will that day come? Questions remain.

As the day goes on, you feel more and more insecure. The school bell rings at 2:26 pm and the student body is dismissed for the day. You make your way swiftly to the office. Groups of well dressed, pretty girls and sporty, loud guys travel like packs of wolves to the parking lot, and hop into their sports cars and shiny SUV’s. Your mom pulls up, and you hop in. She sees the sadness deep in your eyes. You look out the window and see rain pouring into the street gutters. A teardrop forms and streams down your face. One school day down, 179 to go. 179 more days of clicks. 179 more days of exclusion. 179 more days of sadness.

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