Submitted by Sam
Adams Elementary had obviously seen better days. The strange-looking yellow brick walls were strung with ivy, stuck in odd places so that it looked as though someone had gone wild with a can of silly string that no one could get off. In the places where there weren’t weird, green leafy plants, graffiti littered the walls, violet spray paint declaring “ABBY LUVS JON” and nonsensical random cuss words.The windows- or what remained of them- were dirtied with bits of bird feces and pebbles that had been intended to go through the glass but didn’t quite make it. Down past moldy wooden railings cement lay, cracked and weeds sprouting up in various places, covering the ancient hopsotch chalk lines and four-square courts.
Yeah. You get the picture.
I wasn’t really proud to say that this used to be my school. The place where I whittled away most of my childhood…or at least my K-5 years. The place where I got in trouble, did endless math worksheets, and choked down nearly inedible food served by the lunch lady, ‘Elga.
I now only came to the school to get away from the world. Away from the harsh realities of middle school, the hierarchy of the YMCA football team, and a demanding set of parents and siblings. I came here to sit and think.
Slouched over in a spiderweb-covered corner of the dilapidated, rusted play structure, I kneaded my temples with my knuckles and gambled with myself over how much longer it was until this thing collapsed underneath my weight.
1 minute…2 minutes…
“Dude.”
The raspy voice of Trevor Walten startled me. I yelped, the sound echoing in the deserted neighborhood. Trevor peered around the rough bars, his black eyeliner-caked eyes looking me up and down, like I was a specimen in a laboratory or something.I blushed, knowing I looked idiotic.
“Dude,” he repeated. “Come here.”
I shrugged, trying to be cool so he’d forget about the circumstances under which he’d found me.
“Why?”
“Because I said, Moose.” He picked at a stray piece
of leather that poked out from his black spike-studded collar. Trevor was an authentic punk, and proud of it. He looked away, up at the school where it lay in all its splendor.
“Why’re you here?” I snapped. “Or do you just enjoy torturing random people?”
Trevor seemed undeterred, his focus back on the school. Neither of us spoke for what seemed like forever.
“Moose, remember back in third grade where you kicked me really hard and I cried?” He asked, reminiscent. I knew he’d take those words back, however. It probably still embarrassed him. “That was right…there…” Trevor pointed to where I was. “I wanted to get you back so badly, but I knew you’d get in trouble by Jenkins anyway.”
“Yeah.” I nodded, wondering who had abducted the real Trevor and if this was his long-lost twin or something.
“I have like…too many reasons to hate this place.” I silently agreed. “So why do I keep coming back?”
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