Author’s note: The following is what I consider my first crack at so-called ‘stream conscious’ writing. That means you write what you think about, literally. I wasn’t having a good week at the time, and the following thoughts somehow helped me get through that day.
I have not been having good days recently. I cannot write, I can only work and study. I am burning out, I am breaking down.
I reach a brief respite, but I am still hostile, so my mother claims. I say goodbye to her, and walk up to my locker, my ‘hostility’ slowly fading.
I am finding that I live two lives, each giving the other its distance, sharing information only when needed. One life is slowly ebbing away, slowly allowing the other to take its place for the day.
My English teacher concludes the lesson before the period is truly over. I take out a notebook and continue a story. One of the boys of the class, also one of the boys I have a crush on, stops by my desk and asks what I am doing. I tell him, and offer him the notebook. He accepts, and skims my story. Inside I am in turmoil, while outside I pray that I show no hint of my hidden feelings.
As usual, the story is hard to follow. I tell him I have a webpage, and offer him the URL. He accepts.
After class my English teacher, a few other classmates, and I casually discuss some rather touchy topics, mostly what teenagers do with their lives negatively. During the class she and some other classmates speculated whether or not some students had done some of these acts. I laugh, happy to hear that they had determined correctly I had done none of those acts, and go to second period.
After second period I give my Careers with Children teacher a hug; she is applying for National Certification, and the stress is unthinkable. I chuckle to myself as I walk out of the room; sympathy and hugs, that is what I seem to be known for at the moment, a stark difference to my other life. As I walk out of her room and through the crowd, my mind wanders.
I think of my English teacher, also coach for our Academic Decathlon, my Careers with Children teacher, and my other teachers, and their personalities; this year I have been wonderfully blessed with the teachers I have. Each of one them are wonderful teachers, and also wonderful people. I am lucky to be their students.
I also think about the school itself, with its 3200 students. To me that is not very big; such a size seems to be connected with California. I push and edge my way through the crowd, not bothering to say “excuse me”; here, it seems that an unspoken pardon is heard and accepted.
My thoughts then drift to the tragedies of Colombine and, more recently, Santee. I shudder in fear. Could my school be next? I push the dreadful thought back into the recesses of my mind.
My thoughts about large school sizes returns, but in a slightly different context. With it come pleasant memories of the years past in my high school. They feed upon the dark memories of torturous middle school, and how I yearned to become part of the crowd, unnoticed, not bothered. Now I have that wish. I am of the crowd, the massive sea of ‘nobodies,’ and yet I am content.
My thoughts turn back to the shootings, and tragedy and triumph come together to try and make sense of one another. I have read articles that try to pinpoint some of the factors of such shootings; a large school size is one of the listed factors.
I sigh as I open my locker. I wanted this crowd, and I have it. Maybe it is the friends I have made here; maybe it is my parents; whomever it is that helps me get by, I am truly happy, despite the skirmished in my life, despite its bleakness at times.
The two lives I lead seem to be in harmony for now.
