It's still a-rainin' =) And as long as it does, I imagine I'll continue to have warm fuzzy remembrances of my beloved school days (which are now more like dazes, since the math, I don't remember, but the fun times never end). Since I got lovely responses regarding the previous post, I shall continue on the timeline of D and take you back to middle sch-- or what is rightfully known as Junior High. Dacusville Junior High to be exact.
[Cue the raggedy-sounding movie reel, complete with flashing countdown: Three to the Two to the One...]
I am just sophisticated enough to be let out of the car in the place of my choosing, which most days is in front of the gym. And because I will always be the baby child, I provide my mom with her requisite pucker on the lips and bounce out of the car. Letter jackets are still cool and at DJH they are fly because they are purple and gold. I also really like mine because it has a nice gold "D" for the letter (and you know junior high kids are all about their self-conscious selves).
I breeze into the gym, saying obligatory good mornings to the P.E. teachers who are perennially my favorite people: Mrs. Sloan whose energy is boundless and she is so cool as to make Health class bearable, Mr. Harrison with his white man gheri curl and my hero/nemesis Coach McKinney, who depending on the supply status of Diet Coke will either crack a joke, laugh and say what's up OR she will give me the squinty Clint Eastwood eye that will leave me dreading practice in the afternoon. As a volleyball and basketball player for the Gold Wave, I have my own full-size locker that is adorned with magazine posters of my favorite athletes o' the time: Gabrielle Reece, Karch Kiraly, Kent Steffes, Dawn Staley & Michael Jordan.
Because our elementary school and junior high are in the same building, I pass along the back hall that almost always smells like bleach and the terrible odor of disinfectant spray trying in vain to shield the nicotine vapor from Mrs. Wiles office. (Because this is a rainy-day remembrance) I wipe my feet off as much as possible so as to not make that terrible squeak squawk noise with my sneakers as I stride confidently down the hall past the little scurrying kindergartners and the lowly 6th graders who must still suffer subordination DOWNstairs.
Two at a time I take the back stairs up, popping out just in time to impress myself with how well I can recall the combinations to TWO separate lockers. Unfortunately, Molly with the obese LL Bean bookbag (bearing her initials, natch) has beat me to the space where my locker sits above hers. I have to wait while she counts (like a goblin in Gringotts) the number of books that she will tote for the freakin' day. She got that big ol' backpack, but she still has to hand tote her books around. Go figure.
Luckily, homeroom assignments generally dictated that my locker would be in the midst of all my friends and so there is plenty of chatter going on in the halls directly outside Mrs. Paxton's guidance office. There is also too much chatter going on outside of Mrs. Neal's door, which is right across from the guidance office. If she appears at her doorway, looking decidedly marmish in her prim, plain colored skirt, with arms folded and pursed lips a hush falls over us all. Lockers close and like drones we file away to our respective 1st period classes.
Rain makes for a very long day of staring out the window. There are chapters to go over, villanelles to learn about, species and genuses... There are way too many "uhhhs" littering lectures and lulling me to daydream-land, and there are way too many fellow students of mine who don't read at our grade level but stutter aloud anyway. I watch the tributaries form deltas at frames in the windowpanes and wonder to what sea do the drops fall down below, and I thank God that I am not an elementary student anymore suffering through PBS programs during library or Mrs. Lawton's endless supply of aging 80s rocker videos. I also thank God that Tim finally found some kleenex to keep from picking his nose in my presence, but I really seriously wish he would pass some to Robert who is drooling a pool of Olympic proportions onto the Science book and subsequently the desk.
I am gonna pass a note in a minute that I hope goes unseen, even though I know the chuckle resulting from said note will not. I hope beyond hope that Eric and Josh will be absent so that today I will not suffer the glare of Mr. Manigault as he looks at me from the podium like I'm the one playing B flat instead of B natural. I don't know so much about being a band nerd, because in my opinion, when you are as good as I am with a saxophone...
On days like today, I pray for something tasty in the cafeteria because my diet of bacon and cheddar cheese hot fries, nacho rings, a Sprite and red hots isn't nearly as filling or as tasty as some hot grub from Mrs. Cisson, Mrs. Hyder and Ms. Debbie.
There are other things that fill my time, but they are mostly wondering what this zit phenomenon is all about and what is up with my bangs today??? And dear English God, would it be ironic that we have to sit through "periods" with the same disdain that we greet the monthly visitor? Why are there no cute black boys for me to go with (or why are there no cute black boys PERIOD)? I wonder if silk shirts will ever go out of style (because honestly, they are the bomb) and I wonder where has the Fresh Prince been all my life and why don't I have me an Uncle Phil with an empty room and blank check in Bel-Air, holmes? I think about how Sebagos and Keds are really all a girl needs to go with those tapered (or pinch and rolled) stone-washed jeans (because acid is so 80s), and how one must have scrunchie socks in a variety of colors to coordinate with every mix-matched ankle and all my outfits. I wonder what high school will be like - will Brenda ever find her way back to Beverly Hills? Will Donna every do "it" with anyone?
And why won't my hair just, you know, just go?!