PART 1
I always thought secondary school would end like a scene out of High School Musical with every student spontaneously dancing and singing to the same song as if the lyrics and the routine were engraved into their soul.
But mine was somewhat of an anticlimax.
For the five years of compulsory education I have survived, I did not make more than three friends. Sure, there were acquaintances and you get to know someone’s face when an horrifying rumours spreads about some horrifying act they’ve done, but other than that I was quite reserved. Which is why I was surprised when handfuls of people I didn’t even know were in my school, let alone my year came to wish me good luck in the future.
They didn’t really care.
Whilst part of me was slightly pissed off at the fact that they seem to think I was grateful for their goodbyes, another side of my mind was quite happy that they knew who I was. I got that I wasn’t invisible but I wasn’t well-known.
It’s kind of fucked up isn’t it?
I’ve been in the same place as these people for half a decade now and I know nothing more than their name and age. It’s quite sad really, that we probably won’t see each other again and even if we do, the meeting would be so awkward. These people that stand around me now in the familiar place, look nothing but familiar. I imagine passing one of them in the street, if I smile, would they smile back? Would there be enough familiarity for a conversation or would I just walk by? Though we seem so close now, in reality miles are between us. For I may not remember their names and ages next month or next year and I will regret not doing so.
But if you ask me to do it all again, I would reply simply, get lost.
After enduring a few too many hugs and sloppy cheek kisses, I was left with a school shirt full of rushed signatures and promises. The British cliché of signing your white cotton shirt was meant to be sentimental but I was left thinking, what a waste of money. What does it really symbolise? For me, it was a constant reminder of education, of long hours and hard working. For others, it may be a reminder of what was and what will never be again. In years time from now, their kids may ask ‘What was school like for you?’ And they will answer with a smile, ‘Unforgettable’. And unforgettable it was. I don’t think I will ever be able to forget Mr Richardson’s rants about nothing important, or the after taste of the cafeterias ‘Mystery Meat’, or even the lack of school pride everyone seemed to possess. Every last memory was timeless.
I was stood on the concrete area, surrounded by rundown buildings. This school was extremely old. Even my mum came here, twenty nine years ago. In 1983, I hoped it looked a little more like a school than it does a building site, which is the current state. There was a prep school, a bit further down the road but mum insisted coming here, saying that I should stick to my roots and being where she went will do me good. Personally I think it she wanted my sister to keep an eye on me. With me being the youngest of three, with two older sisters, I had somewhat of a responsibility. After all, I was the only one eligible to carry on the family name. Dad was always one for stereotypes; he wanted a traditional family with traditional ways. Unfortunately it backfired rapidly when my oldest sister, Samantha, came out of the closet.
That night, when she told everyone, our family turned into a scene out of soap opera. It was dramatic, and kind of exciting. My life had always been so boring and here I was in the middle of a heated argument, defending my now gay sister. I got sent to my room after a while for joining in, back then I felt exponentially guilty but now I felt proud of my twelve year old self. I barely knew what a lesbian was then but apparently, according to Sam, they were all proud of me.
