Well, That Was Almost Incredibly Stupid

Written on September 7, 2009. Posted in Personal, School. 6 Comments.

Today, I was feeling a little stuck for a blog entry. After thinking on it for a bit, I realized that I’ve never posted any of my creative writing here: almost everything I’ve written is an informative, article-type or opinion piece. So I opened up the narrative essay that I turned in as a draft for my English class last Wednesday, with the idea that I would post that in place of an actual entry. (Not that I’m lazy or anything like that.)

I’d copied the entire thing and was entirely ready to paste it into FanUpdate when I was momentarily distracted by something (shininess may or may not have been involved, I can’t remember.) I came back to my essay and scrolled down a bit when I realized that my essay made rather blatant, obvious references to the high school I attend.

And that I very nearly announced to the entire world exactly where I go to high school, and thus exactly where I live. I’m comfortable giving out limited information about myself, but that just takes it a bit too far, even for me. Oops.

Here’s my unedited draft for my English narrative essay. The instructions were to write an essay about an experience we’d had and give it some kind of meaning/lesson. I think I did pretty well, but she still hasn’t given us back our first drafts. Ah, well- I like the essay as it is anyway; I think it’s one of my best pieces I’ve written for a class.

The Day The Music Died

In August of 2009, my English teacher gave me the impossible writing assignment.

We were to write a narrative essay about a meaningful experience that we?d had. I was excited at first. I?d had plenty of experiences. I gathered a list of personally valuable memories with relative ease, confident that the assignment would be a simple one.

If only it were as simple as writing a story? but I soon learned that giving my experiences value to someone other than myself was difficult. I didn?t have many life lessons, as it turned out. And of the life experiences I had, few seemed to have nice, neat endings.

It seemed that I had a problem- I couldn?t choose a topic. I mused over ideas all day, but by fourth period, I still didn?t have a single idea that I considered worthy. I searched my mind? there had to be something worth using.

Then I began to remember the year that everything seemed to change for me. I began to remember the year the music died.

• • • -

The sun had barely risen when I dragged myself reluctantly through the doors of [My] High School. An early April morning in 2008, no different than any other. I settled myself in the hallway between the math and band hallways, where my friends and I normally found ourselves before school started. Half an hour until orchestra began- half an hour to finish homework at the last minute, half an hour to make mindless small-talk with my friends. I slid down the locker and onto the floor; leaned my leg against my violin case. It was too early.

I had barely opened my book when my best friend raced up to the lockers and sat down beside me, panic in her eyes. Another friend joined us, and they began to talk rapidly:
?I can?t believe that it would be true. They can?t do that! It?s a joke.?
?If we got enough people to complain, we?d be able to fix it??
?We?ll talk to him. He?ll make sure nothing happens.?
?But did you see him last night? Totally passive. Didn?t say a thing. And it?s his job they?re talking about.?

At this point I took it upon myself to remind them that I was still sitting there. And that I hadn?t the slightest idea what they were talking about.

?Didn?t I tell you? I?m so sorry!? my best friend, Sarah, said apologetically. She gave me a long, miserable look.

?They?ve cut marching band.?

?Cut it?? I didn?t bother to keep the horror from my voice. ?Why?? I?d never imagined that the school would cut our music program. I was spoiled; I knew, of course, that our program was relatively small, and that the orchestra and band programs at the middle school were choking, but since I?d never experienced it myself, I?d always taken for granted that my class had always had a reasonable standard of music classes. I hadn?t had a year since fourth grade without some sort of orchestra class.

?Apparently interest wasn?t high enough. Or something to that tune,? Sarah told me bitterly. ?They?re eliminating an entire semester. We?ve only got three music classes next year.? Three classes? the spring semester. Admittedly, my first- somewhat selfish- concern was that the spring semester was the ?right? semester: I?d still have orchestra. I thought.

Still, it violated my sense of justice that music classes had been cut, when the school could afford to keep running four full-time physical education teachers. But what could I do?

I comforted my friends as best I was able, and when the bell rang, I grabbed my violin case and headed to orchestra, thinking, ?At least it doesn?t affect me all that badly.?

• • • -

Nearly a month later, another morning just like any other, I once again settled in the hallway by the lockers, prepared for the mind-numbing normality and routine that a school day brings.

Once again, I was forced to bear witness to a conversation between my best friend and another friend, having not the slightest idea what they were talking about.

?Everyone will find out eventually if you do, you know.?
?I know. And I?m not sure if I want to yet- but this situation- it?s making me crazy. I can?t stand it. I need that class? but I don?t even know if they?ll let me yet.?
?They will. Don?t worry. And you should do whatever you feel like is best for you.?

I raised my eyebrow.
Sarah?s friend looked at me. ?You haven?t told her, have you??
Told me what?
?She kind of wants to keep it private?? her friend looked at me apologetically.
Sarah hesitated. ?It?s okay,? she said. ?I?ve known her since I was a baby; we?re practically neighbors? you can?t tell anyone. Not even Erin. Understood??
I just nodded. I was afraid of what was coming next.
?Em? I think I?m transferring to [another school] next semester.?

• • • -

Soon enough, her statement was confirmed. She?d be going to [another school] next year so that she could take Marching Band. I still found it hard to believe that next year I?d be without my best friend for the first time since? ever. We?d been in the same school since we were three-year-olds in Pre-K. She?d be just down the street, but it wouldn?t be the same? And to think I?d believed, I thought with just a hint of bitterness, that the administration?s cut of Marching Band wouldn?t affect me.

• • • -

The last day of school had finally arrived. It had been a trying year, especially the last few months. I was ready for the bittersweet end- with a jolt, I realized this was my last day sharing a school with my best friend. I walked into orchestra that day determined to put on a brave face- and spend as much time in the band room as I could possibly manage.

That day, we didn?t do much in orchestra. We had fun; we sat around and talked and enjoyed each other?s company. It was the last day, after all; nothing mattered! Until the end of class. Mr. C took out a camera, told us to stand against the wall. When we questioned, he just stated vaguely that he wanted ?to remember us.?

That was strange. The seniors were already gone. We?d be here next year; what was the rush? But we didn?t wonder. Or, at least I didn?t.

When I came back at lunchtime, Sarah was already waiting in the band room, even though she didn?t have the same lunch shift as the rest of us. We all talked as usual- I don?t think I ate anything for lunch that day- when C mentioned his job interview in another county the next morning.

Job interview.

In that moment, I understood- he was leaving, too. I?d lose my best friend and my favorite teacher next year. All because they cut marching band.

And so it happened. The next semester I barely recall; but I do remember the perpetual silence of the band hallway, and I do remember how hard it was for me to get any kind of forms from a teacher I didn?t know and was barely there. It was unbelievably strange going through the semester without music, but I gradually grew used to the quiet.

• • • -

My thoughts returned to the present, the problem of my essay still unsolved. I wanted whatever I wrote about to have a positive message. I wanted a silver lining on my story? but how could I find something positive that someone else could see when I myself was still- two years later- having trouble finding good in it? I left fourth period deep in conflicted thought. On the one hand, I could write a self-pitying narrative with little to no meaning aside from personal value? on the other hand, I could use one of my less meaningful experiences and try to create an entirely new idea.

My feet turned instinctively towards the band hallway. I shook my head, and reminding myself that I actually did have something to do there: I still had to talk to Ms. Z, the teacher who had replaced C, about her Music Theory club idea. It was a bit urgent; club signups were due to be taking place any day.

I waved to a few of my band friends on the way in. I?d really gotten to know them since I?d had concert band last semester. They were a bit different from orchestra kids, but they were interesting all the same.

And as I spoke to Ms. Z, I thought, and I realized that I?ve become, slowly, just as accustomed to joking around and talking with her as I was with C.

On my way back to the bus, I thought a little bit more. Maybe everything does happen for a reason. If none of this had happened, I?d never have gotten to know Ms. Z- as things were, I?d been able to have two great high school music teachers instead of just one. As I thought, I realized that if concert band and orchestra hadn?t ended up as a combined class, I wouldn?t have nearly as many band friends. And now I?ve come to realize that the music never died? the melody just changed a bit.

It?s not an ending- not yet- but it?s definitely happy.

I think I?ve found my silver lining.

Who Killed Summer?

Written on August 22, 2009. Posted in School, Summer. 8 Comments.

No. I mean it this time. Who killed my summer vacation? A month ago, even two weeks ago, my vacation was healthy- thriving, even. It looked as though it could survive for a long time yet- the days stretched out ahead with no visible end. I have come to only one plausible cause for the demise of my break: Someone murdered summer. After all, there’s no possible way that something as wonderful as summer could have dropped dead of its own accord.

Really, though. I can’t believe summer’s nearly gone. I can’t believe that on Monday, I have to go back to school. And sure, it’s my last year of high school- but who in their right mind would want to trade away days of freedom and waking up when you please for days of being confined in a classroom and being forced to wake up at 5:30? Usually, me. I’m ordinarily quite ready for school to begin- ready to see my friends and favorite teachers, and even ready to face the hours of homework every night. But this year, I don’t. And I’m really not sure what’s wrong with me.

Maybe it’s the fact that this year’s break has been smaller than most. Summer vacation this year lasted two short months; ordinarily, we’d have an extra two weeks or so. There’s also the small fact that this year, I’m being forced to share the same school with my insane younger sister- which hasn’t happened since I was about 8. But I suspect that my problem is not that I don’t want to go back to school, but that I don’t want this year to end. It seems a bit premature, wanting my senior year to continue before it even begins, but I’ve barely begun my college application process, and I still haven’t the slightest clue about what I plan on doing for a living. The fact that I’ve let it go this far without much serious thought just shows how far behind I am (or how far behind I feel that I am- I suppose there’s a difference between my perceived situation and my actual situation). My vanishing summer is just another opportunity to get caught up on colleges that I should have taken- but didn’t. And quite honestly, that makes me feel like poo.

Ah, well. I suppose I am looking forward to seeing my friends on a daily basis again, and my favorite teachers (I hadn’t realized quite how much I’ve missed my teachers until I came back to help them for an NHS project yesterday. I’ve gotten really close to a few of my teachers in particular over the years- anyone else feel this way?). I also somewhat grudgingly look forward to learning, and even though I know I’ll have some homework to go along with my classes, I’m grateful that there’s almost no possible way that my workload can be equal to that of last semester. And, as usual, l look forward to fueling my Peach Snapple addiction before class every day. (Yes, I have a peach iced tea addiction. Don’t judge me please.)

Well, that’s my take on the loss of my summer vacation- I’m torn between excitement and dread. (My sister, for her part, is thrilled. Not that I blame her for being happy about escaping the hell-hole that is middle school.) But whether I like it or not, school starts in two days. Hello, Senior Year. Nice to meet you.