When you look at these two institutions, you can’t help but notice that they are not that different. Material things are the most noticeable: guards, gates, policemen, cafeteria, bells, yards, rooms of confinement, terrible food. And then when you look closer, into the abstract and intangible, you notice even more similarities.
U.S. History is possibly the longest class ever. Yes, it is the same 100 minutes in length as all other block periods at Sequoia High School in Redwood City, California, yet it feels like the time stretches out for hours and hours. The big hand on the clock seems to have a hangover every time I enter that class, slumping lazily and painfully slowly around one and two-thirds times before reaching possibly the most incredibly and merciful time of the day: 11:40 AM. Which can be translated by any Sequoia High School student into two words: lunch time.
I ram my binder into my overstuffed backpack, crumpling papers and books alike, hurriedly zipping it closed and racing out of the classroom. I’m on the top floor, at the end of the science wing (I have absolutely no idea why my History class is at the end of the science wing, but there it is), and just around the corner lies freedom.
I run down the stairs, skipping them two at a time in my haste. When I reach the bottom I am met with two doors, and I slam one of them open. The cool November air meets my face with a startling chill, and I lose a bit of my excitement as I bundle up against the cold.
I walk out from under the archway, out into the open. My destination: the B quad, where only fellow juniors hang out, and where my friends and I are not yelled at nor forced to pick up trash nor forced to clean up spilled food nor forced to clean desks of writing and gum just because we like to play hackey-sack at lunch. This, we have discovered, is frowned upon when one enters High School. At least, the ridiculously large security guards don’t like it very much. Hence our moving to the B-Quad.
I haven’t reached the B-Quad yet; it’s a wee bit of a walk from the science wing. As I’m walking, I turn my head to the left, and am met with a sight that I see practically every day I walk to lunch.
There, drawing the tall, spiked gates closed, drawing the heavy metal chain and locking the great giant lock, is one of the massive security guards. I see this every time I pass because I hear the huge metal gate screeching shut, and if its not that, then it’s the sound of the gigantic chains clanking against the fence as they are wrapped tightly around and around, making sure no one escapes.
Welcome to Authspot, the spot for creative writing.
Read some stories and poems, and be sure to subscribe to our feed!
