Confusion Starts Here

By , Camden, ME
It was chaos. But not good chaos, the bad kind that makes you cringe in your seat. The type of chaos that stays with you, lingering in the back of your mind, in a storage box labeled “Pet Peeves.” Something you just must warn all your friends about, in hope they don’t experience such a thing. And it all started in a school. As a matter of fact, in a classroom.

You could have glanced in from the hall, scenario in mute, and it would have looked like a normal classroom. It had a teacher and students. However, while walking by, you may have noticed the frustrated look on the teacher’s face. You become suspicious, for you expected this scenario to be completely straight forward. Glancing toward the direction in which the teacher scowls, furrowed brow and all, you notice the students. The two in the back passing a note; the kid half sitting, half standing in his seat, one eye glued to the clock; maybe even the one with a puzzled look painted on her face.

Yes, the girl in the front is me. My expression looked as though you had asked me to recite the alphabet in pig latin. And puzzled is the perfect adjective to describe how I was feeling. Having been the end of a very long school day, all I could comprehend was how completely confused I was. You will notice that as we were talking, Teacher has started passing out papers. Some sort of homework, my past self concluded. Teacher whispers, one hand beside her mouth to hide her words from being read right there, that this paper is secret. Frazzled me doesn’t have the energy to listen, so I stare blankly up at the teacher. I pretend to understand why a blank paper is worth keeping a secret and watch as Teacher explains the same instructions to the next table.

To add to the frazzled me’s stress level, the classroom is extremely warm. The kind of warm that makes you wonder if you are actually insane for feeling such a warmth. Not to sound dramatic. For in times of such stress, one can exaggerate a large amount. You’ll notice Teacher has found herself back at the front of the room, scolding someone for packing up. Another student, seemingly immune to noticing how high the stress level in the room is, decides to blurt out something non-important. I know this because I can’t remember what he said. Some phrase starting with an “I don’t get...” or a “Can we...”. Not worth remembering. Past me imagines the “not words” spilling out of his mouth, for imagination comes to you at the strangest of times. They have already formed a jumbled pile on his desk that exceeds the mess of binders on the floor.

Past me closes her bloodshot eyes. She is tired beyond belief. She longs to escape and clear her dizzy mind. But soon recognizes that it will follow her each day. Maybe this is just the way of being. Such chaos is only the gateway and she has yet to enter the new world of high school.





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